#fox Mulder is so sexy help me

[luvfo00l]

Some of my favourite fox Mulder hcs

Pairings: Fox Mulder x F!FBI!reader

Warnings: these are SFW and NSFW, MDNI below the cut!

SFW

Fox’s love language is physical touch, anytime of the day, you could just be looking at a case at your desk, he would lean over from his desk to feel your hand.

Whenever you steal his glasses he blushes almost uncontrollably, he just thinks you’re so cute.

totally writes you love notes and letters, leaving them around your desk and when you two live together he leaves them around the apartment.

Mulder is a surprisingly protective lover, he’s the sort to put his arms around your waist if another man was ever looking at you, he’d kiss your neck too

You two on a case of some crazy X file and Mulder getting bored in the car and singing along to the radio.

Whenever you feel upset he doesn’t leave your side, like at all

Fox is a super romantic man, he could see you’re cold on a case in the middle of the night and give you his big trench coat that was significantly too big for you.

He absolutely adores when you do his makeup, there’s something about you practicing your makeup on him that he just really thinks your concentration is cute.

The first time Fox realised you had taken his heart was when you got sent to work with him on a case in the middle of nowhere Oregon when you were focused on reading, he just..fell for you.

NSFW

Fox Mulder is a switch. You cannot tell me otherwise.

He likes when you wear his glasses and ride him, it just makes him so hard.

He likes missionary and cowgirl.

He REALLY likes your ass in pencil skirts..

Mulder is a tits man, he just loves squishing them, putting his head on them and obviously putting his cock between them.

You two once had sex in a rental car on a case.

You wanna know why he always wears that long coat? To hide his damn boner when you bend over in a skirt or trousers.

Remember when I said physical touch is his love language, it has two meanings..

He LOVES when you leave hickeys on his neck, people in the FBI don’t really call him ‘spooky Mulder’ when they realise his ‘innocent’ little girlfriend gave him those hickeys.

He absolutely loves when you sit on his lap and when you grind on his lap he just loses it completely.

Sorry guys this is my first time ever writing for Mulder so I hope I did good :)

[universalsatan]

i love knowing a stupid amount of science (in this case, neurophysiology and endocrinology) for the primary purpose of explaining phenomena in fanfiction. i may be struggling enough in my courses that i gotta extend my undergrad degree, but ive got the hyperspecific passion for niche subjects of a graduate student. i might take a masters in endocrinology because i was trying to scientifically explain the mechanism behind the sex pollen trope.

[sisterspooky1013]

A Christmas Story, Chapter 1/2

2409 words | Rated X | Read it here on AO3

The opening chords of Jingle Bell Rock are barely audible beneath the din of a dozen conversations, but it’s at least the third time the song has played, by Mulder’s count. He’s managed to stay in the same spot for the majority of the evening, holding the same half-empty bottle of warm beer and making the same glib conversation with Maggie Scully’s church friends, who all raise their eyebrows knowingly when he introduces himself as Dana’s coworker. That’s something he’ll have to ask Scully about later.

Scully herself has been milling around the room explaining time and again that no, she isn’t married yet and no, she’s not seeing anyone special. In return, each congregant, aunt, or cousin tells her how lovely she looks and how easily she could find a nice man to settle down with, and Scully smiles politely before changing the subject.

Mulder isn’t even sure she wanted him to come, but Maggie issued the invitation directly and he didn’t feel right saying no when it’s not like he had somewhere else to be. And a month ago when he got the invite, things between him and Scully were different than they are now, which he couldn’t possibly have anticipated. Not different enough that her saying she isn’t seeing anyone special is hurtful, but different enough that when she said it within earshot, she glanced at him to gauge his reaction.

He catches Scully’s eye across the room and throws her a reassuring smile, to which she draws in a deep breath and then takes a gulp from her wine glass. She’s refilled it at least as many times as Jingle Bell Rock has played, by Mulder’s count.

“Are you having a good time, Fox?” Maggie asks, appearing beside him and giving his arm a squeeze.

“You definitely know how to throw a party, Mrs. Scully,” he says sincerely, and she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind his artful avoidance of the question.

Maggie surveys the room and clucks her tongue.

“Would you mind helping me round up some of these empty glasses and bringing them into the kitchen?” she asks in the rhetorical manner that a mother does, and Mulder dutifully abandons his beer so he can make himself useful.

He has four champagne flutes and a teacup in his hands when he crosses paths with Scully in the hallway, and she smiles at him affectionately with pink cheeks and shining eyes, markedly more relaxed than the last time he saw her.

“Is Mom putting you to work?” she asks, taking the teacup.

“I’m happy to have something to do,” he assures her, taking advantage of their relative privacy to give her a long look from head to foot. She’s wearing a velvety green dress he’s never seen before with opaque black tights underneath, which isn’t objectively sexy but does give him a little thrill, given that he rarely sees her in anything but a suit or pajamas. “You look really nice,” he says as his eyes wander back up to her face. “Did I tell you that already?”

Her dress has a V at the front that he’s not sure whether he’s allowed to appreciate, and her lips are stained red from wine. He meets her eye and she just looks at him for a beat before slowly shaking her head. Something hot coils in his lower belly, threatening to embarrass him, and he swallows hard.

If his hands weren’t full of champagne flutes, he’d kiss her. If they weren’t at her mother’s house surrounded by people, anyway. And if they weren’t in public. But if they were at his apartment, or hers, and she was looking at him like that, he’d absolutely kiss her.

“Dana, come say hello to the Campbells,” Maggie calls from the far end of the hallway, and Mulder makes a run for the kitchen before he spontaneously combusts and ruins her nice carpet.

Two Jingle Bell Rocks and as many glasses of wine later, he’s on the back porch separating the recycling and enjoying the cooler, quieter atmosphere as the party begins to wind down.

“There you are,” Scully says with a thick tongue, and he looks up to see her peeking around the open door with a wide, wine-drunk grin on her mouth that he can’t help but return. She shivers and scrunches her shoulders up as she leaves the warm house, quickly shuffling over to him. “It’s freezing out here,” she says, stepping up close, and he immediately wraps his arms around her.

“Then why’d you come out?” he teases.

Scully tips her face up to look at him. The weak yellow porchlight doesn’t allow him to read her expression, but he can smell the sweet wine on her tongue and feel the press of her chest against his sternum as she leans heavy into him. From inside, he hears the sound of breaking glass followed by a round of applause.

“Because you’re out here,” she says, and the white vapor of her breath blinds him just enough that her kiss is a surprise.

They have yet to do more than kiss, but Mulder is far from complaining; Scully kisses with such diligence and intensity that it feels like a sex act. And drunk Scully, he’s currently learning, makes kissing feel downright pornographic. She sucks on his lips and tongue, hums into his open mouth, cants her body forward and back. When he feels her fingers fumbling with his belt buckle he panics and breaks the kiss, taking a step away from her.

“Whoa there,” he says lightly, very aware that he’s at least half hard. “Danger zone.”

He cringes at his own ineloquence, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She steps forward to close the space he created and touches the waist of his jeans at the hip.

“There’s nobody out here,” she whispers with a smile in her voice, then kisses the corner of his mouth.

“That’s not—” He sighs and lets her kiss the other corner, and then his cheek. “You’re drunk, Scully.”

She shivers, and he wraps his arms around her again.

“Only a little,” she slurs coyly, and he feels her fingers creeping back toward his fly.

His brain knows he can’t let her do this, but his dick has no such moral misgivings and she’s dangerously close to learning that firsthand.

“You have no idea how much it pains me to turn you down,” he tells her gently. “I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret tomorrow.”

Scully groans in frustration, which does absolutely nothing to help his situation below the belt.

“I won’t regret it,” she says, a bit petulantly.

He’s about to tell her again that it’s a hard line for him, all puns intended, when two things occur almost simultaneously: Scully slides her open palm down the front of his jeans, and Maggie steps through the back door with a bag of trash in her hand.

Mulder lets out a sound that’s part gasp, part moan, and snatches Scully’s hand by the wrist, pulling it away from his body. Maggie mumbles a surprised, “Oh! Sorry,” and the door closes again before either of them have an opportunity to address her.

For several agonizing seconds, nothing happens. Mulder keeps hold of Scully’s wrist, and she stares at his chest, not speaking.

“Scully—”

“Excuse me,” she says urgently, shaking free of him before she rushes unsteadily back inside.

Mulder stands on the porch until he can no longer feel his extremities, then finally bites the bullet and returns to the heat of the house. He can hear Maggie’s voice from the foyer saying goodbyes, so he ducks into the bathroom and spends a few minutes collecting his thoughts. If not for the fact that he drove Scully here, he would probably just sneak out and hope the whole thing blows over by Monday.

“Fox, is that you in there?”

Reluctantly, Mulder leaves the bathroom and finds Maggie in the kitchen washing dishes. There’s no sign of Scully.

“What can I do to help?” he asks, and Maggie briefly looks at him over her shoulder.

“Dana went to lie down,” she says. “I think she had a bit too much wine. She’s upstairs, if you’d like to check on her.”

Mulder takes her direction and quietly creeps up the stairs, making his way to the bedroom at the end of the hall he knows once belonged to Scully. The door is open a crack and it’s dark inside, so first he just listens, though he’s not totally sure what he’s listening for.

“Scully?” he says softly, but there’s no response.

He pushes the door open a bit wider and light from the hallway falls over her velvet-covered hip on the bed. She’s curled up on her side with her back to him, and he watches her even breathing until he’s confident she’s asleep, then heads back downstairs.

“She’s out cold,” he says, reentering the kitchen. “Is it okay if I let her sleep it off for a bit?”

“I think that’s for the best,” Maggie says ambiguously, and Mulder takes over washing while she dries.

They work quietly, and the silence makes him think that she is also replaying what happened outside over and over in her head. He’s not sure exactly what she saw, but lord knows he isn’t going to ask her.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt something…new,” Maggie says, apropos of nothing, and Mulder freezes for half a second.

Scully feeling him up actually was new, but he doesn’t imagine that’s what Maggie means. He also doesn’t imagine that Scully would appreciate him filling her mom in on their budding romance, private person that she is.

“Uh, no, not quite,” he says. He feels his face getting hot, so he keeps his eyes on the dishwater.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Maggie says. Another loaded silence. “Dana has never been very forthcoming about her personal life, but I’ve always wondered…” Mulder keeps his head down and keeps scrubbing. He can’t even explain the nature of his and Scully’s relationship to himself, much less could he begin to explain it to her mother. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to. “Well, for the record, I think it’s wonderful. I’ll just leave it at that.”

Gratefully, she doesn’t bring it up again. Mulder helps her get the house back in order, including taking the chafing dishes to the basement, and they’re watching It’s A Wonderful Life with steaming mugs of tea when Scully comes plodding down the stairs in her party dress and stocking feet, pillow lines on her cheek and her hair fluffed up on one side.

“There she is,” Mulder says affectionately.

Scully stops in her tracks and regards him with surprise, though she quickly tries to mask it.

“Hi,” she says demurely, smoothing her hair down with her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to wait around for me.”

Mulder shrugs dismissively, but Maggie doesn’t pass up the opportunity to give her daughter a hard time.

“It’s lucky he was here; the girl who was supposed to help me clean up got drunk and passed out in my spare bedroom, if you can believe it.”

Her delivery is so flawless that Mulder snorts in his attempt to suppress a laugh, and Scully glares at him half-heartedly.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I have a raging headache, if it’s any consolation,” she says miserably.

“I’ll get you some Tylenol,” Maggie says, standing and giving Dana a pat on the arm as she leaves the room.

Scully stares intently at the TV screen, which makes it fairly obvious she’s avoiding looking at him, given that the movie is paused.

“Hey party girl,” he says, and she cringes before she reluctantly turns her head. “You okay?”

Scully sighs and looks at the floor. “Technically, yes,” she says, “though I think my ego may have suffered irreparable harm.” She slowly lifts just her eyes, looking at him woefully from beneath her lashes.

Mulder just smiles at her, because she looks so cute, all sleepy and embarrassed, and because the idea that her getting drunk and frisky would negatively affect his opinion of her is so outlandish it’s laughable.

“Here you are, dear,” Maggie says as she returns and drops two Tylenol into Scully’s hand. “We’ll have to take a raincheck on the rest of the movie, Fox.”

Mulder takes the hint and brings his teacup into the kitchen. He can hear the murmur of their conversation in the living room and does his best not to eavesdrop, but when they move into the foyer the acoustics make that difficult.

Mumble mumble not my best moment mumble mumble

Mumble mumble not the first time I’ve walked in on you with a boy, Dana

Mumble mumble Mulder mumble mumble mistake

Oh, honey, don’t mumble mumble mumble

Mumble mumble mumble

I’m sure it’ll be fine

Mulder’s heart sinks. He makes a point of clearing his throat as he rounds the corner into the hallway, and the conversation abruptly ends.

By the time they reach the end of Maggie’s street, Scully is resting her head against the window with her eyes closed. Mulder knows she isn’t really sleeping, but he plays along. He even pretends to wake her up when they pull up outside her apartment building, and she pretends to be surprised that they’ve already arrived.

“Thanks for driving,” she says, already pulling on the door handle.

“Hey,” he says, reaching out to touch her arm.

Scully stills, then sighs, then looks at him.

“Do we have to talk about it?” she asks reluctantly.

Mulder cracks a smile. “I was just gonna ask if I could kiss you goodnight.”

She heaves an even bigger sigh, which means something else entirely. He’ll have to catalog them someday.

“To be perfectly honest, between the wine, the vomiting, and the four-hour nap, I think it’s in your best interest to take a raincheck on that, too,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Aw, Scully,” he says, pity on full display, which he knows she hates. “You’ve got a toothbrush up there, don’t ya? Let me walk you up.”

She gives him a long look and he decides not to push it any further. He just doesn’t like the idea of her spending the rest of the weekend feeling like she committed some kind of unforgivable faux pas.

“Okay,” she finally acquiesces, and Mulder does his best to conceal his delight.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[atths--twice]

Chapter Four

Time to pick out a Christmas tree...

“So, I’ve been thinking about your birthday advent calendar and I have questions,” Fox said as they left the diner and walked to the tree lot to pick out her Christmas tree. 

“Is that right?” she asked, looking at him with a smile. 

“It is. Whoa!” he said, grabbing her arm and moving her out of the way of a man on his cell phone, not paying attention to his surroundings. “Hey man, watch where you’re walking!” 

“Fuck you,” he yelled, flipping him off over his shoulder. 

“Oh right, we must have forgotten that the world revolves around you, asshole!” Dana yelled, as the man turned around, staring at her. 

“Excuse me?” he asked, walking back toward them as she pulled her arm free from Fox’s grasp, stepping closer to the man.  

“You nearly ran into me as you stared at your phone. You weren’t paying attention. Don’t act like you’re not in the wrong here. You need to watch where you’re going.” 

Fox looked from the man to Dana, his hands in fists, waiting to see how the situation would be resolved. The man stood before her, phone in hand, his jaw clenched, but Dana did not back down. He sighed and glanced at Fox, before looking back at Dana. 

“You’re right. I… I apologize.” He nodded and turned around, sliding his phone into his pocket as he walked away. 

“Well,” Dana said, looking at Fox in surprise. “That went better than I imagined.” 

“Me too,” Fox said, unclenching his fists and letting out a deep breath. 

“Were you ready to fight him?” she teased, turning back and continuing toward the tree lot. 

“I… well, if I had needed to, I… hmm, it’s weird, but I don’t normally behave that way. I can’t remember the last time I was in a fistfight.” 

“Yet you were ready to fight him?” She smiled at him and he nodded, his expression serious. 

“He nearly ran into you, then came toward you the way he did, I’d say that’s worth breaking my fighting streak.” She stopped walking and stared at him, tilting her head to the side. “But you handled it without any help and if I’m being completely honest, it was rather… sexy.” Her eyes widened and he froze, worried he had spoken too candidly. 

“Well,” she said, licking her lips and trying to hold back a smile. “Thank you for being willing to break your streak.” He let out a sigh and smiled, relieved that she had not taken offense. “Christmas tree?” 

“Yeah. Christmas tree.” 

“And what did you want to know about Ivy’s birthday advent calendar? You said you had questions?” 

Even more relieved, he chuckled softly and nodded his head, falling into step beside her. When she slid her hand into the crook of his arm, he glanced down in surprise. 

“Just in case anyone else isn’t paying attention,” she said, looking up at him from the corner of her eye, a smirk on her lips. 

“Good idea,” he agreed, looking away so she did not see the giddy grin on his face. 

____________

“So, what size and type of tree? Do you have a preference?” he asked and Dana sighed, touching one of the trees with her gloved fingers. 

“Nothing too big as we will have to carry it and I don’t have a lot of space, but also nothing too small as I don’t want it to be skimpy.” 

“Understandable.” 

“Hey there! You folks looking for a tree today?” A ruddy cheeked man asked them with a huge grin. 

“We are. But not entirely sure what we want,” Dana said, smiling back at him, Fox unable to stop his own smile at her use of we. 

“Well, we got some new trees in today, let me show them to you.” Dana nodded as she caught Fox’s eye and followed the man. He nodded and followed behind her. 

Pines, spruces, and firs, were viewed and discussed, Dana smelling the branches with a happy sigh. 

“I think a Douglas fir,” she said, nodding as she smiled, holding the branch and stroking the needles. “It seems most like Christmas to me.” 

“I getcha,” the man said with a smile. “You want that one?” 

“Oh, no. I need something smaller. Maybe like… four feet?” 

“Hmm,” he hummed as he rubbed his chin, glancing at Fox. “Your husband will be towering over it unless you’re putting it on a table or something. I’d suggest maybe a five foot, that way if you had it on a table, it would be about midway for the two of you.” 

“Oh, I’m not-”

“We’re not-” 

They spoke over each other, both of them flustered and quickly glancing at and then away from the other. She looked down and the man chuckled. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to imply anything.” 

“Just friends,” Fox said, looking at Dana and sighing. “But maybe a five foot would be good? Unless you did want to place it on something? I think it would be a good height for your place.” She looked up and met his eyes. He smiled and nodded and she exhaled a breath. 

“Okay. Let’s see what you have in that height.” 

“You got it,” the man nodded and motioned for them to follow him. 

Fox allowed Dana to go first, squeezing her elbow gently as she passed, speaking without words. She smiled softly at him and he smiled back. 

Ten minutes later, they had the tree picked out and were waiting for it to be wrapped up to bring to Dana’s apartment. The tree lot offered delivery, but Dana had politely declined. 

“You sure?” Fox asked as they waited. 

“Yeah. I don’t need strange men in my home, or knowing where I live. Can’t be too careful.” She shrugged and walked toward the tent where they were flocking trees.

Fox froze as he stared at her, feeling horrible that she even had that thought, as he had not even considered it for a second. Suddenly he remembered a story his sister had told him years ago, about a man following her off the train one night and the panic she had felt. She had tried not to show it, but she had been terrified. It turned out that he had actually been hurrying to meet his wife and kids who were waiting at the car, happy and excited to see him. But the panic she had felt still made her wary of her surroundings. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping close to Dana, shaking his head as he looked at her. “I didn’t even think of that being a problem. I should have thought.” 

“It’s okay,” she said with a smile. 

“It’s not,” he replied, shaking his head again. “It didn’t even cross my mind.” 

“No, it wouldn’t have,” she said softly. “It’s different for women. We’re always on the alert. Like I said, we can’t be too careful.” 

“That’s really fucked up,” he whispered and she nodded. 

“It really is.” She touched his arm and smiled. “But when we know someone is safe, we cherish that, believe me.” 

He leaned forward and pulled her into a hug, surprising both of them. She gasped and then made what sounded like a half laugh half sob sound, her arms wrapping around his waist gently. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s-”

“It’s not okay,” he whispered, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “It shouldn’t be that way.” 

“No, it shouldn’t,” she whispered back and her hold on him tightened. “But, I do all I can to be vigilant. Which includes personally helping to carry a tree through town.” 

He gave a short laugh and she patted his back. He pulled back and kept his eyes on hers. She smiled and blinked a couple of times, before looking down and sighing. 

“I hope that wasn’t too forward,” he said, worried he may have overstepped. “I just-”

“It wasn’t.” She raised her eyes to his and smiled slightly, touching his bicep and squeezing. “Thank you.” 

“Tree for Dana?” A man called out, looking around. 

“Right here!” she shouted, smiling at Fox as she turned around and began to walk to the man, Fox watching her with a deep sigh. 

____________

“Well,” she said, slightly out of breath as they set the tree down on the living room floor. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” She laughed and he nodded in agreement. 

They’d had to stop a few times on their journey to rest and get a better grip on the short rope handles that had been added to the tree wrapping, both of them laughing as they did. 

The flights of stairs had also been an adventure. Maneuvering around the tight corners could have been problematic, if it had not been so funny. Good natured ribbing on her end had left him laughing and enjoying her company even further. 

“So… do you have a stand?” 

“Oh… I don’t know. I mean I do have the fake tree stand, but that won’t work.” She bit her bottom lip and he nodded. 

“Looks like we’re heading out again,” he said with a smile. 

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“Can you get the tree in on your own? Tighten it down and secure it? On your own?” 

She stared at him and he saw a stubborn set of her jaw that he had not noticed before. She stuck her chin out and he tried not to laugh, knowing she was having an internal debate over how to answer him. 

“No, I can’t,” she whispered and he smiled. 

“No one can. It’s a two person job. And I’m happy to help. I offered, remember?” 

“Yeah.” She nodded and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m very independent and sometimes it’s hard to let go. Even when it’s a friend offering something as helping with a Christmas tree.” She looked at him and he nodded. 

“Completely understandable. Come on my friend Dana, let’s go get that tree stand.” 

She laughed and nodded, following him out and locking the door. 

___________________

Realizing she needed more than a tree stand, Dana worried her bottom lip as she looked around the large Christmas section of the shop they had chosen, something he noticed she did often. To ease her mind, he stated that since she paid for the tree, he would pay for everything from the shop, not backing down when she tried to argue with him. 

They added boxes of lights and a tree skirt, but she stopped him when he started adding decorations for the tree and for the apartment to the cart. 

“We have some in our storage unit in the basement, stuff we’ve had for years, so we don’t need-”

“New stuff is always good to add to the old,” he said, selecting ornaments and decorations he thought Ivy might enjoy. “I mean look at this one. It’s a panda on a sled. Am I supposed to walk past that and not buy it? No. It’s coming back with us. And ohhh, this is cute.” He grabbed a chubby snowman holding a sign that said Happy Snow Day. He smiled at her before placing it into the cart as she shook her head and sighed deeply. 

As a result of their shopping spree, there were many bags to carry, but thankfully they did not have far to walk. When they arrived, he offered to order some Chinese food and she looked at him, sighed with a nod, and opened a bottle of wine. 

They ate, drank some wine and discussed a game plan. He offered to go down to the storage area and get the containers on his own, but she insisted they both should go and make the work quicker. Placing them to the side, waiting until Ivy arrived home on Sunday, they got to work putting the lights on the tree. 

“I always felt this part was so boring as a kid. My dad would make us wait until it was perfect before we could even approach the tree. That’s why pre lit artificial trees are nice, but… they don’t look or smell the same as real ones. It’s tough to decide which I like better,” she said, helping him wrap the lights around the tree. He smiled and nodded, completely understanding. “I wish Ivy was here, even though this bit is boring. She would be opening the containers, taking out the decorations, and asking about each one. She loves hearing the story behind all of them and why those are the ones we keep.” 

“I’m sure she does,” he said with another smile. “There, I think… that’s it.” He pressed the lights into the tree making sure they looked good and even. “Yeah. It’s good.” 

He stepped back and she stood beside him, both of them staring at the tree. 

“It looks wonderful.” She smiled and he grinned with a nod. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” he said, bending to pick up the empty boxes from the lights. “Do you want to keep these?” 

“No. I’ll never get them back inside the way they were when we opened them.” 

“True,” he laughed softly and started breaking them down. 

“She’s going to be so happy to- oh… she’s calling. Hang on.” She hurried to the table to get her phone, answering the video call with a huge smile, turning away from the tree. “Hey baby! How are you?” 

“Hi, Mommy! I miss you!” 

“I miss you too, honey. Are you having fun with Auntie Missy and your cousins?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Good, I’m glad you are. I have something to show you. You wanna see?” 

“Yes! What is it?” 

“Close your eyes.” 

“Okay.” 

Dana smiled at Fox as she stepped over to the tree and he moved out of the way, setting the now flat boxes on the coffee table, smiling back at her as he did. 

“Ready?” 

“Yes.” 

She flipped the camera around and counted down. “One, two, three! Open your eyes!” 

Ivy gasped as she saw the tree, Fox watching her reaction over Dana’s shoulder. She leaned closer to the screen, looking all around with a huge smile. 

“It’s beautiful! I love the rainbow lights. They are so bright and happy.” 

“I can’t wait for you to see it when you come home. I have the box of decorations right here for us to put on the tree when you’re here again.” She swung to the left and he did not have enough time to jump out of the way. 

“Fox!” Ivy yelled and he froze as Dana’s eyes widened. 

It was not that him being there was wrong, not on any level, but he knew she kept her life private. He worried it would be awkward, but made a decision to keep it very light. 

Stepping closer to the camera, he smiled and waved at her, though he could not see her. 

“Hey there, Ivy. How are you?” 

“Wait! I’ll be right back!” They heard her running away and he glanced at Dana. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean… I should have moved.” 

“It’s my fault,” she said, holding the phone and flipping the camera around again, muting it as she spoke. “It’s not as though there is anything wrong with you for being here. You were here yesterday.” 

“It was different.” 

“Yes, that’s true. But, it’s okay for me to have you here.” 

“Are you trying to convince me or you?” he said quietly and she sighed. 

“Both?” she answered softly and honestly and he smiled. 

“I can leave the room…” he suggested and she shook her head. 

“I don’t want you to do that,” she whispered and shook her head. “Besides, she’s already seen you.” 

They stared at one another and she nodded with a sigh. He smiled and moved to stand next to her, the video empty as Ivy was still gone. 

“I’m coming!” she yelled and they both laughed softly, Dana unmuting the phone. Ivy ran back into the shot and smiled as she held Pandy up for them to see. 

“Hello!” she said in Pandy’s voice and Fox grinned, bowing his head. 

“Your Highness,” he said, looking up. “It’s so nice to see you again.” 

“Yes, it is nice to see me,” she continued and he laughed. “Can I see the Christmas tree? Ivy said it has rainbow lights.” 

“Of course,” Dana said, flipping the camera again and showing her the Christmas tree. 

“Ohhhhhh. Ahhhhh. It’s simply splendid!” 

Fox smiled and shook his head as he watched her on the screen, holding Pandy very close to it, a paw at her mouth in amazement. 

“I can’t wait to see it when I come home. You made it beautiful for the palace. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Dana said, smiling at Fox. 

“Ivy, did you get a hold of your mommy? Ohhh, she got a Christmas tree? Look how beautiful! I love those lights, Dane.” 

“Shit,” Dana breathed through gritted teeth and he saw her close her eyes briefly. “Thanks Mel.” Sighing again, she turned from him only slightly, and he shifted without question as she flipped the camera around. 

“It’s not your fake one is it? I don’t remember it being that big.” 

“No, it’s a real one.” 

“Really? That’s great. Did Manny or Joe help you get it home?” 

“No, it was a friend of mine. Fox.” 

“Fox? The… the customer from the diner?” 

“Yeah, the writer.” He grinned at Dana even as he watched her cheeks becoming red. 

“Well, that’s… that’s…” her sister trailed off as Ivy spoke over her. 

“Mommy, I don’t see Fox. Where did he go?” 

“He’s here.” 

Dana gave him a look of apology as she angled toward him and he saw a woman beside Ivy, who looked similar to Dana, with long, wavy strawberry blonde hair and kind eyes. He smiled and waved, even as he felt her silently sizing him up. 

“Hello. Fox Mulder. Nice to meet you.” 

“Fox, I painted a picture for you today,” Ivy said with a grin. 

“You… you did?” he asked, feeling simultaneously shocked and extremely touched. 

“Yes. Auntie Missy, will you hold Pandy? I want to go get my painting.” She shoved the panda into her aunt's hands and ran away once again. 

“Yeah, I…” her aunt laughed and shook her head, looking at Fox again. “Melissa Kellman, Dana’s sister. It’s nice to meet you. Or see you, I suppose.” 

He laughed and nodded, aware of the way she was still taking him in and flicking her eyes at Dana, asking her silent questions. Choosing to ignore it, he smiled and asked how she was doing. 

“We’re good here. Painted today obviously, as you heard Ivy saying. She’s been having fun with my girls, Saffy and Delilah.” 

“Oh! Those are great names,” he said with a nod and Melissa stared at him, an unreadable expression on her face. 

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes moving to Dana for longer than a beat and he knew something important was exchanged between them. 

Thankfully, Ivy came running back into the room, breaking the slightly awkward feeling. 

“Here it is! It’s a story, but it’s also a painting.” 

“Oh, an illustrated story. That’s one of the best kinds,” he told her and she grinned. “Tell me about it.” 

“Okay!” 

“Hang on, Ivs. Let me hold the phone and you can set the painting on the table to show him as you tell him.” 

“Thank you, Auntie.” 

They moved around and the painting was laid down. He smiled at the sight of it, glancing at Dana to find her smiling as well. 

“Okay. It’s a story about this cat, her name is Butter,” she said, pointing to a yellow cat in the left hand corner. 

“Butter? That’s a unique name for a cat and I absolutely love it,” he said and they heard her giggle. 

“This is Butter’s house and her garden where she grows carrots.” She pointed to a square brown house with a door and two windows, a small patch of green beside it, orange lines representing the carrots beneath, drawn in a straight line. 

“Carrots? Cats don’t usually eat carrots. Hmm, is Butter possibly growing those for Funny Bunny?” 

“You guessed! You got it right!” she giggled again and he smiled. 

“That’s nice for Butter to do. They must be good friends.” 

“Yup! So this tree is where Funny Bunny lives. He’s inside right now. Butter is going to bring him the carrots soon so she can make him some soup. Funny Bunny has a cold and soup makes him feel better.” 

“Well, Butter sounds like a really nice friend.” 

“She is. You were a nice friend too and came to help me and Mommy, so I wanted to make a picture for you.” The camera panned over, showing Ivy smiling at them, Pandy in her hands. 

Fox smiled, glancing quickly at Dana out of the corner of his eye, knowing her sister could see them. 

“Thank you, Ivy. It’s a beautiful picture. Will you bring it home with you so I can put it up on my fridge? I don’t have anything on there now and I think that would be a perfect addition.” 

“What’s addition mean?” she asked, tilting her head to the side and he chuckled softly. 

“It means to make something more.”

“I don’t get it,” she said with a shrug and he laughed as Dana covered her smile. 

“My refrigerator doesn’t have anything on it and if I add your picture, put it where the door is empty, it will be an addition to my refrigerator. Do you understand now?” 

She made some faces, moving her mouth from side to side as she tapped her cheek, and Fox shook his head with a smile. 

“Yeah. It makes sense now.” 

“Good.” 

“Ivs, you need to take a bath,” Melissa said, turning the camera around and they could see her, Ivy squishing into the frame. “Let’s say goodnight to your mommy and to Fox, okay?” 

“Goodnight, Mommy! I love you! Goodnight, Fox! I’ll save your picture so you can make it an addition.” She waved and blew kisses, waving Pandy’s paw as well. 

“Goodnight, my love,” Dana said, waving and smiling. “I love you so much.” 

“Bye, Ivy… your Highness, always good to see you.” 

“Byeeee!” she said in Pandy’s voice. 

“Bye, Mel. Thank you so much for this,” Dana said and Melissa smiled. 

“Of course, Dane. Goodnight. Bye, Fox. Nice to meet you.” 

“You too. Goodnight.” He waved to her and then the call ended. 

“I need a drink,” Dana said with a deep sigh as she put her phone in her pocket. She walked to the table and picked up her glass,  swallowing a huge gulp of wine. “Phew… that… God.” Another drink and then she turned to him, opening her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it. 

“You talk about me?” he asked with a grin and she stared at him, her cheeks flushing again. 

“I… I talk about lots of people.” 

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, his smile growing. She drank the last of her wine, setting the glass back down on the table, and he knew he needed to back off. “Your sister seems nice.” 

“Huh…” She snorted and he raised his eyebrows at her. 

“She’s not?” 

“She is. But… I know she’ll be calling later, wanting to know more about you and why you were here and… it’s none of her business, but…” She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly. “When Ivy’s father left us, Jordan, my sister was my rock. We stayed with her for three months. She helped with Ivy, helped me get back on my feet. She found us an apartment and orchestrated the entire move in, along with my mother, as I was coping with a newborn and a breakup. It was a very stressful time. I know that she’s worried about me and I don’t blame her, considering the past, but I also don’t look forward to her phone call later.” 

“I come to the diner, you work there. We’ve recently upped that dynamic to our friendship by folding laundry together, picking out a Christmas tree, and hauling it to your home. That’s it.” He shrugged and she started to laugh. “What’s so funny?” 

“If only it were so simple.” She shook her head. “Her husband, Artie, is a lawyer and works at a great firm. They decided together, before the girls were born, that my sister would stay home with them. She’s an amazing mother and homemaker. She homeschools them, like I said, but she also listens to true crime podcasts as she cleans and organizes the house. She’s on the alert and can research people online faster than anyone I know. She can be very intense.” 

“Well, if she researches me-”

“When she does,” Dana said with a sigh and he chuckled softly. 

“She won’t find anything unusual about me. Oh… ah, except for that cult thing…” He made a face and her eyebrows shot up as her eyes widened. 

“What?” 

“I’m just joking,” he said, laughing at the look of relief on her face. “She cares about you, it’s nice to have someone like that in your corner.” 

“I know. I really shouldn’t complain.” He smiled and she sighed again. 

“I should probably get going. Let me help you clean up and then I’ll head out.” 

Trash was collected and added to a large bag which he would take out when he left. He asked for her vacuum and vacuumed her floor while she washed the dishes and wiped down the dining room table. 

“Thank you for everything today,” she said as he put on his coat. “I really appreciate it.” 

“Of course,” he replied, putting his bag over his head and adjusting it across his body. “I had a good time. See you in the morning?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay. Goodnight to you, my friend Dana.” He put out his hand and she chuckled softly as she shook it and rolled her eyes with a smile. 

“Goodnight to you, too.” 

He smiled and let go of her hand. Picking up the bag of trash, he walked out the door. Glancing up, as he started down the steps, he saw she was leaning against the railing with a soft smile. 

“Bye,” she said quietly and he nodded. 

“Until tomorrow.” He nodded his head and she sighed. 

He heard her door click shut as he began walking down the next flight of stairs and he nodded again, smiling happily, the trash bag swinging in his hand. 

[misslilli]

I'm so nervous about posting this, help 🙈

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. E. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 59 - Finally

Even though the dinner he prepared is absolutely delicious, we're both so eager to get it over with, we eat a few bites before setting down forks and knives and he reaches across the table to brush his fingers across the back of my hand and voices the thought that's on my mind too.

"Skip dessert?"

"Oh yes, please!"

Not quite ready to skip ahead to the real dessert, we first clear the table and move into his kitchen to keep our shaky hands and wandering minds busy. And we do sneak in a couple of spoonfuls of his chocolate mousse, way too good to pass up. As is the look on his face when I lick the spoon purposefully slow, adding a little moan just to see his eyes darken a shade or two.

I'm usually an active listener, but with sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms during dinner cleanup, he's effectively distracting me from paying attention to whatever story he's telling me while loading up the dishwasher, I lean heavily against the kitchen island, knees weak and throat tight with anticipation of what we both know will inevitably happen next.

"Helloo… Earth to Scully. You didn't hear anything I just said, did you?" His hand comes up to cup my cheek, the amusement at catching me staring at him spreading a slow smile across his face. I turn my head into his palm, giving it a brief nuzzle and a quick kiss, leaning my cheek into his caress with a dreamy smile.

"Mhhno, sorry, I was too distracted…" Before I can even blink or catch my breath, his lips descend to mine, all 6 feet of him pressing me into the sharp edge of the kitchen counter. Driving me further out of my mind with each nip and stroke of his tongue, tentative and shy only at first.

He is a dangerously addictive force, attacking all five senses at once, his spicy cologne in my nose, tasting faintly like the chocolate mousse we had for dessert, the silky strands of spiky hair between my tangled fingers, little moans of pleasure that reach my ear and travel downwards with dizzying speed to settle between my thighs. Filling me with an ache and longing no-one before him ever came close to.

There’s also a dangerous unpredictability in his wandering hands and searching lips, searching until they rediscover the sensitive skin just below my ear, giving it a just one last nip before stepping back suddenly.

“Wait…There’s something I need to do real quick, don’t go anywhere!” What? No! Come back!

Every fiber of my being screams bloody murder in protest at the loss of contact but only a pathetic little whimper makes it past my lips as I watch him disappear up the stairs. Leaving me still leaning against the kitchen island, heartbeat rushing in my ears, breathless, flushed and a little light-headed. Trying to regain control over my ragged breathing and racing heart.

With 25 kids each with a mind of their own and a house full of chaotic friends, my OCD lifestyle with all my lists and labels and neatly alphabetized kitchen cabinets allows me to keep a tight-fisted stronghold of control over my life. A stronghold that threatens to slip from my grasp, endangered by the tantalizing mixture of endearingly sweet and devastatingly sexy that makes up the essence of Fox Mulder.

I take a great sense of safety from being in control, on top of things, terrified of what will happen once it slips from my hand.

However terrified, I can not for the life of me control the way my body reacts to his unpredictable, wandering hands that seek out the dips of my waist to bring me in even closer. Closer to losing my mind, fantasizing about his body moving on top of mine.

The creak of the stairs rip me from my fantasy as Mulder returns from upstairs with a secretive grin on his face, holding out his hand and my stomach gives a nervous flutter. Oh God, this is really happening. Right now. Upstairs.

On our way up the staircase, the family portraits and snapshots pass me by in a blur of shapes and colors, my mind blank until we're standing shyly in front of each other in a room full of more lit candles that bathe the room in a yellowish glow and add warmth and coziness to the nervous anticipation that sizzles between us.

The magnetic pull of the raw need and desire in his eyes that catch fire in the pit of my stomach pull me towards him and we snap together like opposite poles, North and South coming together with frantic fingers, unbuttoning, unzipping, unbuckling. His crisp white dress shirt tossed aside. My silk dress pooled on the floor. His dress slacks followed suit.

As if it were a ballroom dance, he takes the lead, his step forward, my step back take us across the candle-lit room until we've reached the edge of his bed.

The comforter he lowers me onto with gentle hands on my back like I'm the most precious thing in his world, is soft and cool under my heated skin.

Skin that tingles and breaks out in goosebumps as I watch him watch me, standing the foot of the bed.

Skin that's set on fire by his gaze that trails over the black lacy fabric that's been haunting his mind ever since he laid eyes on the bag they were concealed in. Swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. Rendered speechless.

Self-conscious and blushing under his intense, dark gaze, I draw my arms across black lace and flushed, pale skin to hide behind, biting my lip nervously.

With an imperceptible shake of his head, he finds his voice, low and gravelly rasping out his words. “No. Don’t… Please.”

The mattress dips under his weight as he fits his lean body right next to mine, tracing the edge of black lace with amazement written across his face that spreads out a new series of goosebumps underneath his finger.

"I've been dreaming about this for a whole week… But this, I could't have dreamed up! It's… you’re so beautiful!" My silent disagreement that leaves my nose with a scoff is met with a shake of his head and a continued gaze of absolute awe that follows the gentle flutter of his fingertips from my collarbones, over the curve of my breast, over the butterflies in my stomach, all the way into the vee of my thighs. He silences my gasp of surprise at his touch with his lips, humming into them appreciatively at what his fingers discover there.

Not a big talker in bed myself, I'm surprised that his words accompanying his touch are just as exhilarating. Bringing his lips close to my ear for a husky whisper, he punctuates each compliment with an agonizingly slow flick of his thumb.

“I mean it, Scully, you’re absolutely breathtaking… gorgeous… amazing… sexy, oh so sexy” He continues his list until he has me right on the edge, shaking and moaning breathlessly for more.

The lights of the candles dances behind my closed lids, my other senses only heightened by the darkness as I lie waiting with bated breath. Instinctively, I lift my hips to help his fingers hooked into the waistband to rid me of my flimsy panties, carelessly tossed off the bed and joined with a rustle by his alien-head boxers. Followed by the unmistakable crinkle of a condom wrapper.

His warm and gentle hands return to light each and every one of my nerve endings ablaze underneath my already sensitive skin, mapping out the dips and curves on his way up, he pauses only to drag his lips across black lace and I can hear the smile in his mumble to keep this on.

With movements so slow and carefully measured I marvel at his self-control, he slips his arms underneath my shoulders and settles himself between my legs, cradling my face between his hands to brush away a few stray strands of hair and tracing my face with feather-light touches that elicit a quiet sigh. I’ve never felt so safe and cared-for as in this moment. Or so beautiful as the sole focus of his unwavering, loving attention.

“Open your eyes, Scully!” Shivering with anticipation, I meet his request, struggling to keep them open when he slips inside, slowly as if he's terrified of hurting me. Oh God, finally. With only a thin layer of latex separating us, we blink at each other for a moment, a mixture of surprise and wonder, relief and undeniable dark desire.

He touches his lips to mine, softly, sweetly, quietly repeating his previous list between kisses.

Soft turns to firm demand with each slow stroke, sweet turns into a desperate, fierce need that coils deep in the pit of my stomach.

Inside, I'm fighting a losing battle for control over my trembling thighs, arching back, the jumble of Oh Gods and yesyesyes please he draws from the back of my throat. The warm huffs of breath that wash over my face, the look of deep concentration on his and the increasingly frantic thrusts of his hips tell me he's fighting the very same internal battle for control.

And then, cradled in the safety of his arms, wrapped tightly around his body like a vine, the last strand of control slips from our fingers once we find our release, only seconds apart.

Instead of terrified, I’ve never felt so alive.

Languidly stretched out with absolute bliss underneath the soft cotton sheets, surrounded by the comfort of his scent, I eagerly await his return from the bathroom. The dreamy smile that he has once again managed to firmly plant on my face and that is probably stuck there forever, falters once he re-emerges from the bathroom. Not to join me in bed but to pace the length of the bedroom, raking his hands through his disheveled hair. The anguish on his face illuminated in flashes by the flickering light of the candles.

"I'm sorry…"

After the wonderful, mind-blowing, life-altering experience that was this evening, an apology is the very last thing I expected to hear from him. I give him a puzzled look across the room, propped up on my elbows, eyebrow raised.

"You're … sorry? For what?" With a brief lapse in judgement, old insecurities creep up that have me afraid he'll throw me out now that he got what he wanted. No, no, stop, that was someone else, not him. Never him. The one who gestures wildly in search of the right words.

"For this, I can… you know, do more… draw out the experience… last longer… but it's been such a long time, and you… with the black lace and … it all felt so good, I just couldn't. I'm sorry."

I'm stunned into silence at the words that tumble out of his mouth, did he not hear or see or feel that he's got nothing to apologize for?

The sight of him standing before me stark-naked, wearing only a pained expression and his insecurities on his sleeve, pricks at my heart. Minutes before, he helped me overcome mine, now it's my turn to help him with his.

I toss back the sheets and open my arms, reaching for him with a gentle "No… don't apologize… Come here, Moose!". This is the first time I wish we had more endearing nicknames, softer than our surnames or code-names, like baby or sweetheart or honey to convey the affection behind the words better. But that's not us, so a gentle tone of voice and Moose will have to do for now.

After a reluctant pause chewing on his bottom lip and with a heavy exhale, he finally caves and slips into my arms, his face pressed into my neck to hide his unwarranted embarrassment into.

Underneath the sheets, warm and cozy, he's still tense and clinging to me almost afraid I'll vanish into thin air if he loosens his arms around my waist. My kisses disappear into his hair and onto his forehead between reassurances that he has nothing to apologize for, that it was perfect, all of it and how much I appreciate everything he's done for me tonight and slowly, his tension begins to dissipate.

Melted into my side, limbs tangled so deliciously I have no idea where he ends and I begin, at long last we get to bask in the afterglow. He's already half-asleep when I feel his lips curve into a smile.

"Reeeally? Everything?"

"Mh-hm, everything."

The little contented sigh that accompanies his "Good, good…" and his arms squeezing me tightly once, so hard it takes my breath away for a moment, fill my heart with joy and hope, that with time, the wounds from our broken pasts will heal once and for all.

Flying high on oxytocine, there's a tentative spark of hope for a happily ever after I never thought I'd get.

[scullydubois]

memory-bound: a revival one-shot

Set between Rm9sbG93ZXJz & My Struggle IV, Scully moves back into the Unremarkable House after her smart home burns down and returns to an age-old ritual: coloring her hair.

T, 1.8k, fluff/domestic fluff, read on ao3 here.

-------------------------

Lamp light casts shadows on the wall as Scully unpacks in a place she never thought she’d find herself again: the master bedroom she and Mulder shared for almost a decade. She lays her remaining clothes on the tribal-patterned bedspread and smirks at how little the room has changed. She expected to be put up in the guest room and was perfectly fine with that. They had rarely gotten any use out of it--she figured an inhabitant would do it some good. Imagine her shock, then, when Mulder told her he hadn’t slept in “their” room since she left. That the room was all hers.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that after a decade of a bed, he returned to what he knew upon losing what he had known. He swapped the couch he slept on for seven years for a Barcalounger. An old man needs his amenities, he joked while showing her its heat and massage functions. And she felt a gnawing in the pit of her stomach, the mark of a fool.

She salvaged what she could from the fire, but most of her Bethesda things were ruined. That soulless smart house was never worth its automated thermostat system, let alone any of its other data mines disguised as gizmos. Mulder hated it--hated it, like, wouldn’t step foot in it, and if she’s being honest, that was the only selling point for her: the shelter it offered from his incessant search for truth & his unsatisfiable conscience. This was back when she felt like that was something she needed to get away from, of course. She had wanted to settle somewhere and mean it. Now, she realizes they were settled all along.

She rests a pile of folded clothes in the crook of her arm and pulls open her old dresser. She envisioned cobwebs--maybe even a whole family of spiders--in there, but instead, a ratty New York Knicks t-shirt greets her. And a Spaceship Earth one under that, and a Wile E. Coyote one under that. Her holy trinity of Mulder t-shirts. She refused to take them when she left, though he insisted. And in protest, he hadn’t worn them. She knows this instinctively, though the lack of laundry scent confirms it. They’ve been waiting in this drawer all along, captives to Mulder’s fantasy that one day she would open it again.

Scully squeezes her eyes shut, slips the pile in next to the shirts, slams the drawer, and grabs her toiletries bag off the bed, striding into the bathroom. She can’t dwell...she can’t. She’s learned by now that regret is a state of mind that freezes her up, and there’s no being frozen, not any more.

Unzipping the bag, she lines her various products along the counter. Age-defying this, anti-aging that...sunscreen is really the only thing that’s done her any good. That, and hair dye. She keeps the others around for show.

Speaking of...she pokes at her roots, scouring the mirror for signs that yes, she could theoretically be a grandma--and she can’t say for certain that she isn’t--but to her knowledge, she’s not, and as long as no one calls her Grandma, she won’t accept the title.

She won’t accept the gray hairs, either. One day, sure, but not yet. Mulder’s not even gone gray yet, and he has years on her. She’s told him that he would look great, and that the silver fox nickname would be nothing short of perfection, but he swears that he just hasn’t lost his “natural luster” yet, that he’ll embrace the gray when (if!) it comes.

Scully’s not been so lucky, though it doesn’t show. She’s been coloring her hair every three weeks since she was twenty-eight to keep the ravishing red. She’ll never forget when Mulder realized it wasn’t her natural color...the way his eyes widened as he moved between her legs…

It’s not as if he didn’t know; her mousy auburn had been on full display when they first met, and yet he’d gotten so used to seeing her as she is that it slipped his mind that she hadn’t always been that way. And once they moved in together--in this very bathroom, actually--he loved to help her with the coloring process, was as fascinated by it as the prospect of alien-human hybrids.

She chooses the tube of Rock it Like a Redhead dye from her product line-up, looks at her reflection. It’s been five--no, six--nearing seven--years since she performed this ritual in this room. She glances down, and sure enough, the tile still bears a rust-colored stain from one of her sessions gone wrong. It makes her smile...she has a history here. They have a history here.

She sighs. For old time’s sake, she might as well...she’s found herself thinking that a lot lately.

Her old robe--her usual attire for the occasion--fell victim to the fire, but she’s got a good substitute in mind. She pads back into the bedroom and plucks the Wile E. Coyote shirt from the drawer. It’s black, hopefully that will hide any stains. Her slacks are too damn expensive to risk an accident, so she briefly considers stripping to her panties before settling on a pair of gym shorts.

Her get-up in place, she grabs a few clips from her bag and pins her hair up in four sections. This is one of the reasons she got her chop; her long hair was sexy, but it was a bitch trying to cover all those layers. Plus, Mulder is fond of “the Scully shag” as he calls it, though she corrects him every time (it’s not a shag Mulder, it’s a bob!). It reminds him of their firsts, she imagines. It’s almost as if the longer her hair got, the further apart they drifted. And once they were okay again, it was imperative that she bear her neck to him...show him the place where his lips should land.

She decides to stand in the shower (water off, of course) so any mess can be rinsed away. She wonders, suddenly, if the square mirror they used to keep is still suctioned to the glass interior. It’ll be hard to do this alone if it’s not.

She peeks in, and it’s not there, and that must be the only thing in this house Mulder has moved. Figures. She slips off her shoes and grabs the applicator and dye tube. She’ll do the best she can, then use the bathroom mirror to make any touch-ups.

Scully steps into the shower. Its characteristic lemon scent is gone, and that makes her sad. It used to be a welcome change from the antiseptic hospital smell she dealt with all day. Wielding her tools, she starts at her roots, spreading the dye along her scalp with expert precision. Surely this counts as a workout--it takes a lot of energy to hold your arms over your head for this long. Will her Fitbit calculate how many calories she’s burning, she wonders?

She’s just started a new strand when a gentle rap echoes through the wall.

“Scully?” Mulder’s voice rings from outside the bedroom. She pulled the door slightly shut when she entered.

“Come in!” she calls. “In the bathroom.”

She hears footsteps in the adjacent room, then a hesitant breath as Mulder pauses at the doorway. “Are you decent?”

Scully looks down at herself. What a picture. “I’m in a Wile E. Coyote t-shirt and gym shorts. Does that answer your question?”

Mulder shuffles in, smirking at the sight of her through the open shower door. “What are you doing?”

She points to the crown of her head--which is already well within his field of vision--so she’s not sure why he needed to ask the question.

“Well, I see that,” Mulder concedes, “but I mean, why are you hunched over in here like you’re hoping to grow a third arm?”

Scully shrugs. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“That’s just as lame as ‘boys will be boys,’ and you know it,” he counters, remembering a spirited lecture she once gave him on the misogynist undertones of the phrase. Scully smirks. They had that conversation years ago...post-William, pre-Bahamas. She’s surprised that it stuck with him.

She tilts her chin in a way that makes Mulder certain she’d have her hands on her hips if they weren’t occupied. “What do you suggest?” she challenges.

“Let me help you,” he proposes before she can launch a protest. His sneaker’s rubber sole meets the shower tile as he slips in beside her. The wall is cold against her elbow as she scoots back to make room for him.

“I’m fine. I’ve been doing this on my own for years, and I was long before you.”

“But now you have me,” he professes. “Here. Right now,” he clarifies, not meaning to label their as-yet undefined relationship status.

Their eyes meet, and Scully’s hit with the last time the two of them were in here--her legs around his waist, his hands sliding through her hair, droplets that couldn’t be placed as shower water, sweat, or tears. Her spine straightens against the very wall where she was pinned. Times change, yet they don’t. History repeats itself in a slightly different key.

“When I was younger, I did this because I liked the color,” she tells him, finishing a section and lowering her hands. “Now, I do it out of necessity. It’s sad, Mulder.” She juts her lower lip out in a faux pout. “We’re getting old.”

He would hug her, but he’d mess up her hair and it would be a whole thing. “Hey, I’ll be pushing your wheelchair with my wheelchair, remember?” he says, taking her slip into sentimentality as permission.

Scully nods, the delicate memories of years past bringing a slight frown to her face.

“Can you do me a favor?” she asks, raising to her tiptoes, then lowering again. Her eyes twinkle.

“Of course.”

She offers him the tube of dye, looks up at him with a smile.

“Can you get right here?” She points to a spot right above her temple, one she could definitely reach herself if she wanted to.

Mulder admires her. His woman, back in his old t-shirt and all. He plants his lips on her temple, breathing her in. No matter what she says about aging or being old, he’ll never believe her. She is as she was back then: the only semblance of peace he’s ever known.

He pulls away to meet her gaze, his voice warm and smooth. “Is that about where you want it?”

Scully grins. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

[baronessblixen]

Mulder watched in amusement as his son ran into the living room, pretending to kick and shoot at some invisible nemesis. He had tied a black sheet around his neck and was wearing a black mask over his eyes. Mulder couldn’t help but think he looked like an adorable raccoon. « What are you doing buddy ? » « I’m Batman » Will replied without stopping his game. « I thought you were Zorro. Batman has pointed ears on his mask. » Will stopped short, and now he was pouting in disappointment. « I wanna be Batman, but I don’t have his mask. » Mulder took his son in his arms. « You know, Zorro is great too, it means fox in Spanish. » now his son was looking at him, a finger on his dad’s chest : « It’s you Zorro then daddy. » Mulder stood up, taking his son’s hand. « Let’s take the Muldermobile and buy a real Batman mask, so Batman and Zorro can team up ? » The thought of also buying Scully a sexy Catwoman costume crossed his mind but he dismissed it. But he knew he would bring it up when they both are in bed later.

Will is an adorable raccoon! The Muldermobile! Mulder as Zorro! Anon, this is so damn adorable, I'm grinning from ear to ear 😍 I adore this. Thank you for sending this to me!

[enigmaticxbee]

✖️✖️✖️ 6x13 Agua Mala

The one where... Mulder & Scully battle a sea monster during a hurricane in Florida.

Best: Special Agent Medical Doctor Scully really saves the day - in a ridiculous scrounged up PPE outfit she delivers a baby at gunpoint while solving x-files mysteries and doing her best ‘pick up the gun and make it happen!’ yelling to save them all from a sea monster.

Worst: Who flies to Florida in the middle of a hurricane? And then expects to get back out?!

✔️ Flashlights

❌ Woods/Desert

❌ Slideshow

❌ Autopsy

❌ Evidence Disappears

❌ Scully Misses It

❌ Mulder Ditch

❌ Sunflower Seeds

❌ Voiceover

❌ Catch Phrase

✔️ Scully is a Medical Doctor

❌ Mulder is Spooky

✔️ Muullllderrrr!

❌ Fox/Dana

✔️ Inappropriate Touching (that I am here for)

✔️ Casual Scully

✔️ Casual Mulder

❌ Trench Coats

❌ Bad Tie Watch

✔️ Glasses Watch: Scully

50 States: Florida x6 (38/50)

Investigate: Together

Solve Rate: 59%

✔️ Bechdel Test

MSR: 🐝🐝

Goriness: 👽👽👽

Creepiness: 👽👽👽

Humor: 👽👽👽

Rewatch Thoughts:

Thank you to tumblr for pointing out that Scully is clutching Mulder’s arm so she doesn’t blow away when they first arrive at Dales’ trailer.

Hands in the air, flashlight in the mouth! The deputy is played by Joel McKinnon Miller who plays bumbling detective Scully on Brooklyn Nine-Nine!

All the nuts roll downhill to Florida. They’re not wrong 😆

Scully is UNAMUSED this episode and I’m here for it. Scully: No, it isn’t very smart is it? Scully: I don’t need my mettle tested. Scully going to wait in the car because it’s time to gtfo.

Scully’s makeshift bandana mask is very relatable now. The apron and rubber gloves really complete the ensemble.

Now I’m not a childbirth expert, but doesn’t it usually take hours not minutes to go from water breaking to congrats it’s a boy?

Episode-Related Fanfic Recs:

Bedside Manner by @darwin-xf - I read this fic awhile back and sadly didn’t save the link and was obsessing over finding it again. Was it just a fever dream I had where Scully had to medical doctor Mulder’s penis rash and Mulder had to help relieve Scully’s period cramps? In the aftermath of a hurricane? But tumblr helped me find it again! It’s delightful - funny and sexy and sweet.

Jellyfish by @freckleslikestars - post ep plane ride home where they’re in the middle of IVF treatments. I always struggle to place the IVF arc and I usually think of it as taking place over a relatively short period. But if it was more prolonged I could definitely imagine Scully asking him in late season 5 or early season 6 and that being one the tensions between them this season.

[danadeservesadrink]

Do You Believe in Fate?

Chapters 1 and 2 available on AO3 Do You Believe In Fate (2750 words) by Samwritess

Posting both chapters 1 and 2 together here! Hoping to make this a longer series with tons of fun prompts and cute fluff!

Words: 4k

Rating: T for now

Tagging @today-in-fic

“Dana Scully speaking”

“Hi, um, I think I have your pants”

“Excuse me”

“I’m sorry that came out wrong…”

“Who is this?”

“Um, sorry, this is Fox Mulder, I live in the Guardian apartment complex on Columbia St. I think I keep getting your mail”

“Oh. Are you in apartment 52? I used to live there.”

“Yes. That makes sense, actually, but um I’ve gotten some letters and today I got a package with some pants”

“You opened my mail?”

“I only opened it because I thought the shipping information would have a phone number.”

“I see. You know you probably could have looked me up before you rifled through my Loft purchases”

“Didn’t think of that. Anyway, I have your pants.”

“Thank you for letting me know. Are you planning on returning them or are you also a size 0?”

“No, no right, I’m sorry. Where would you like me to meet you?”

“I’m actually in D.C to pick up some supplies from my office on Tuesday. Would the coffee place on the corner of 11th work?”

“Yea that’s perfect actually. What time?”

“Let’s say noon?”

“Great. I’ll see you then Fox”

“See you then Dana”

He knew it was her before she even walked into the shop. He saw a glimpse of red hair about a block down and got to spend the entire block watching her small figure push through the pedestrians on the sidewalk and he felt like he knew her in seconds. She was wearing probably exactly the same pants he had in the box sitting next to him. Probably ordered them as backups for her backups. Navy goes with everything. She walked with her head down, and even with her small frame she seemed to get people to move out of her way with no effort. Dana Scully was a no fuss, no frills, independent woman. And god damn if that wasn’t his kind of woman.

When he figured out she had lived in his apartment, he knocked on the door next to him to get the inside scoop. The gunmen had lived in the apartment for a few years longer than he had, so maybe they had seen this woman around before. It took three seconds after he mentioned her name for Frohike to start gushing about her. “She’s got these blue eyes that stare right into your soul Mulder, red hair like fire, and God her voice...” he hadn’t shut up about her until Langley interrupted. It seems like Frohike’s adoration was more of the ‘we met in the laundry room once and I think I’m in love with her’ type. And with Frohike, you never really know if the woman will live up to his fantastical expectations. Apparently the last they saw of her was about two months before he moved in she packed up and left in quite the hurry. “God we were disappointed when you moved in after she moved out”. So far she fit the description.

She walked in the shop and before the twinkling of the bells had ceased to announce her presence she had spotted him and begun her march over to his table.

“How did you know it was me?” he smirked as she came to a halt next to his little table in the corner.

“How many other people sit in a coffee shop with a week's worth of letters and a Loft package?”

She takes off her sunglasses and he gets to take in all of her face for the first time and it almost knocks the wind out of him. Those blue eyes looked right through him. He had to tell Frohike he was right later. She wrinkled her brow when he spent too long staring so he started to shove the package in her face before she thought he was too much a creep.

“Can I buy you some coffee?” he tried to stand but it was awkward and he got way too close to her as he clamored his way up. He could smell her perfume and he swore he would never forget it. She stepped back.

“It’s no problem. I should be going anyway.” She started to back away from him and he felt a little piece of him move with her.

“No please I insist” He reached out to her and she backed up again, fumbling with the packages she was now holding. “At least let me help bring the packages to your car”  

She huffed and shifted to packages again, clearly fully capable of carrying them back herself.

“Listen, Fox. I’ve got an office to drag back to Annapolis and I really don't need your help. What I do need is to get going” She turned and walked back out of the shop and someone must have slipped something into his coffee that morning because he found himself slipping through the door behind her, abandoning his half finished decaf in the bin on the way out.

Maybe it was because Mulder had never felt as much connection as when she looked at him with those baby blue eyes. He had been with more women than he cared to admit, been in love with a fair few, but Miss Dana Scully with her navy blue Loft pants that she probably owned six pairs of had stolen his heart entirely. He felt this infatuation overtake him and every cell in him was screaming not to let her go. So he followed her out onto the busy street and walked next to her as she practically sprinted through the afternoon foot traffic.

“Why are you following me?” She huffed as she tried picking up the pace, but his long legs easily kept up with her tiny strides.

“Do you believe in fate Dana?” She turned to look at him as if he had grown a second head, and at that moment a passerby jostled her shoulder, causing her to trip forward, losing her balance and crossing her feet over, bumping right into his side. He grabbed her elbow to steady her and for the second time met those ice blue eyes. He thought time stood still. If the hard corner of the cardboard package hadn't been poking him in the ribs it would have been the most romantic moment of his life. Fuck, it was still the most romantic moment of his life, with her breathing heavy and the two of them staring at each other on a crowded sidewalk, pressed together by circumstance and fate.

“Logically I’d have to say no.” She breathed out, but the blush on her cheeks told him he wasn’t the only one who felt this.

It took another shoulder to hers from an old woman with an umbrella and too much perfume to knock her back into herself. She stepped back from him clutching the package into her chest like it was Kevlar.

“I have to go. Please don't follow me again.” He watched as she walked away into the crowd, her red hair enveloped into the mob of civilians like a balloon into the sky. Never to come back.

I’ll see her again, he thought. I have to.

---

“Dana Scully speaking”

“Hi, it's me again.”

“What do you want?”

“You got another package. I didn't open it this time”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“When would you like me to return it? I don’t know if you’ll be in town any time soon…”

“I have a friend’s wedding in a week on Tuesday in Alexandria. I can pick it up then.”

“Ok sure I should be home. What time should I expect you?”

“I’ll probably come earlier in the morning on my way to the ceremony if that's alright”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

---

He was sweating. This isn’t even a date and he was practically sweating through his shirt at the idea of Dana Scully showing up at his apartment door. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind and he’d seen her for maybe 20 minutes tops. He had come home that day and pounded a beer like his life depended on it. The gunmen called his apartment not long after to check on him because apparently Frohike thought “he might have suffered a stroke when he saw her”. He walked into their apartment and was handed a glass of whiskey and an invitation to spill it all about the girl he was now undoubtedly infatuated with. Maybe it was love or maybe just obsession but he was stuck with the image of only her in his head. And she was going to be at his door any minute forcing him to have to look into those beautiful eyes and not have an absolute breakdown.

He was busy deciding between continuing to stare at the clock waiting for her arrival and calling her again when the wrap of knuckles on his door sounded through the apartment. He sprinted to the door, took a second to compose himself and opened it to greet his fate.

“Wow”

She was in a little navy dress that hugged her hips and cut deep down her chest, revealing freckled collarbones to match freckled knees. Was it bad that those knees almost brought him to his? Of course Miss Dana Scully didn't wear little black dresses. She had a little navy dress that matched all of her navy pants and was just as sexy and somehow even more alluring. His eyes followed her freckles from her clavicle to her shoulder and up her neck like connect-the-dots and yet again he looked into the eyes of an angle, noting how the deep blue of her dress made them look even more piercing. She broke his gaze to stare down at herself with an embarrassed blush and smooth the front of her dress.

“Come in. Please.” He stepped aside and her strappy heels clicked into his apartment. He fought every brain cell telling him to drink in her figure from behind. He was a selfish bastard but later tonight he’ll remember her walking through his door in that little navy dress and dream that it was just for him, not for some high-school friend’s wedding 20 minutes away in Alexandria.  

“So…” She took a careful look at the room and he suddenly remembered she used to live here. She touched the counter top like she was familiar with the dust that had settled there. Something in her eyes looked almost sad, like she was reconnecting with an old friend. “I like what you've done with the place.”

“Thanks. It’s a great apartment. I was lucky to get it.” She grimaced and it dawned on him why he happened to be so lucky, her having moved out halfway through her lease with the landlord practically begging him to pick it up. He shoved his hands in his pockets like maybe that would stop him from saying something stupid. She hummed and looked up at him expectantly.

“Oh right. Package.” He almost forgot why she was actually in his apartment.

He heard her chuckle as he walked into the kitchen to grab the box from behind the counter. It was significantly heavier than the last time. If it was clothes it was some diamond studded platform boots by the weight of it. He found her staring at the fish when he returned.

“This is heavy. You want my help with taking it down to your car?” He couldn’t help himself.

“Actually, under normal circumstances I would say I can handle it, but these heels aren’t exactly made for transporting boxes of baby food.” She laughed again and he tried to hide his shocked expression.

“Baby food?” She recognized his confused gaze and explained.

“It’s for my sister. She likes to order her baby food in bulk because apparently they don’t sell it in non-organic grocery stores. She must have used my account by accident and they sent it here.”

He really was a lucky son of a bitch.

He gestured towards the door and she walked first, him following her with the package in his arms. They boarded the elevator together and it was just goddamn unfair how those heels made her the perfect height so that if he glanced over he could see straight down that little navy dress of hers. Unfair.

She clicked her way off the elevator and dutifully he followed her to the parking deck. She popped her trunk open and he plopped the case of organic baby food in.

“Well, I think I finally changed all my accounts to my new address, so hopefully this problem gets solved” She must have seen his face fall because she blushed again. “Thank you for all your help Fox.”

“Mulder. I even made my parents call me Mulder. Hated my first name. Hope that's not too strange” He doesn’t know why he was telling her, if she was going to exit his life after today. Maybe the dress had truth-inducing powers.

“Mulder.” She tasted his name like a cherry on top of a sunday, the way that would leave a red stain on her lips like the lipstick she had on now. The way that dress was cut made him think that she was the kind of girl that could secretly tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue. “It’s certainly not weird. Being a doctor I get called Scully most hours of the day.”

Dr. Dana Scully . It fit her perfectly.

“Well Dr. Scully, Dr. Mulder is always ready to be your personal mailman.” Her eyebrow quirked up, obviously impressed with the title.

“M.D?” she questioned like a judge running a trial.

“PhD in Psychology. Oxford University.” He stood up a little taller. She smirked.

“Impressive. Although I would be careful calling yourself a doctor unless you can complete a surgery with a Myers-Brigs test” Her eyes lit up when she challenged him. He was more than willing to submit to her.

“Nah I’ll leave the surgeries to your…” He grabbed her wrist and her eyes widened, “capable hands”. If pedestrians were not there to bump them together, he figured fate wouldn’t mind if he gave it a helping hand. The energy between them was palpable.  

Psychology may not complete surgeries, but it did give him the ability to peg Dr. Dana Scully down to a tee. If he had to guess, she went to undergrad somewhere close to home, but went far away for medical school, probably the best school she could get into. She gets the buttoned up look and her quick pace from a military background, probably her father. A gold cross like the moon in a sky of stars on her chest said she was religious, likely from childhood. But that low-cut dress and strappy heels made him think there were many many layers under the stiff exterior.

“Where did you go to school?” he released her hand and tried to inhale without giving away the fact that he’d barely taken a breath while she was in his grip.

“University of Maryland for my bachelors, then Stanford for medical school. Impressed?”

She licked her lips and he wanted to peel back every layer of her, including that tantalizing dress of hers.

“Very.”

“Well Dr. Mulder, I need to head to the ceremony.” It was goodbye again and he hated every second of it. Now or never.  

“Listen, Dr. Scully . If you're ever in D.C again, you should give me a call. I would really like to take you to dinner some time.”

He wanted to bottle the grin she shot back at him. The color of her blush should be sold on every makeup counter because it was the perfect shade. Everything about her made him fall harder and faster.

“I just might take you up on that. It’s been a while since I’ve gone to some of the good restaurants around here.”

“I’ll take you to your favorite” He’d take her to a dumpster behind a pizzeria if that's what she wanted. Just to get to see her again.

Her phone rang and she answered, a voice through the phone likely asking her where she was, as she responded with “I’m just leaving, I’ll be there in 20.” She sighed and hung up, then looked back up at him again with a small smile.

“Enjoy your wedding.”

“I will. Goodbye Mulder.”

“Bye Scully.”

He walked on air back to his apartment.

[storybycorey]

The Fox Mulder Phonetic Alphabet

(Full Version, A-Z)

author: @storybycorey

rating: R

word count: approx. 8000

summary: The ABC’s, as told by Fox Mulder.

For those of you looking only for part Z, just scroll a bit more than halfway down!  (or take a read back through the whole thing- there are references back to the first 25 letters in the final installment!)

A is for Apple

She brings her lunch from home most days.  Well-balanced, just as he’d expect— portions of protein, fruit, and grains—while he grazes a bit less elegantly on a plethora of offerings from the upstairs vending machine.

She packs an apple once, eats it right in front of him.  Red and juicy, but not nearly as red and juicy as her lips, or at least the way he’s imagined her lips to be after nearly seven years of imagining such things.  He wonders whether, if he ever works up the nerve to kiss her, he’ll taste her on his mouth afterwards, the way you taste an apple—tart and sweet and lingering there. 

He realizes he’s staring, goes quickly back to his bag of Funyuns (Onions, Scully! They’re vegetables!). Later, when she throws her apple core in the trash, he feels a sudden urge to retrieve it, as a reminder of things he wants but probably doesn’t deserve to have.

B is for Basketball

She beats him at basketball one day. Unbelievably.  Finds him in the gym one evening after an endless day of seminars. She knows how to find him the way a dog finds its bone—even when he’s buried, even when he’s mangled and chewed-upon and disgusting.  On this day though, he’s none of those things; instead he’s just plain bored.

In her black suit and heels, she stands out like a sharp smear of ink, poignantly distinct amidst the wooden floors and the bleachers. He doesn’t expect a response to his hey Scullz, wanna go one-on-one?, but she lifts her eyebrow in challenge and slips off her blazer.  The tank top hidden beneath is tight and it’s blue (and made of a soft, shiny material his fingers ache to touch). 

He could say he lets her win, but honestly, imagining that mystery material sandwiched between his palm and her skin leaves him much too distracted to pay attention to the game.

C is for Candles

He’ll forever associate candle-light with her pale and trembling back.  With a maroon satin robe and hair that curls up sweetly in the rain (she’d never allow that now). 

Before that night, the only candles he owned were a melted-down cluster from some birthday or another, remnants of a relationship he’d rather forget. He owns an assortment now though, scented and not, but all at the ready should the opportunity arise.  His greatest want is to see the rest of her body lit by that warm, amber glow, to trail his fingertips across more than just her back, to chase the soft shadows around her curves as her breath hitches with desire.

He and the candles are prepared; they’ve been prepared for seven years now. She and her curves and her shadows? He thinks they're getting there. He hopes anyway.

D is for Dana

Her first name is a secretive, foreign thing to him these days.  Scully is Scully—strong, competent, loyal.  But Dana is an enigma.  He catches glimpses of Dana sometimes—a woman, a girl—and he wonders whether she’s fighting to break free.  It saddens him to think he may have stolen that girlish part away from her, filed her inside a metal cabinet down in a basement office like everything else that crosses his path. 

Sometimes he whispers it and it gives him a small thrill, like there’s a hidden part of her he has yet to know.  He imagines saying it intimately, with his mouth pressed to her ear, but can’t decide whether it feels terribly wrong or perfectly, undeniably right. He only know that his lips are ready, should he ever earn the chance to try.

E is for Earrings

He almost buys her earrings once. Foolish, really.  But while waiting for a watch battery to be replaced, he can’t help but browse.  The sapphires would match her eyes so stunningly.  Has he ever seen her in anything but small diamond studs or pearls?  Anything but a business suit or hotel room pajamas?  He wonders whether she likes dressing up, whether she stands before her mirror and admires herself, deciding between this evening gown or that one, holding earrings up next to her cheek.  

He stands at the counter and looks at the earrings for ten minutes, picturing the delicate arc of her neck and the auburn of her hair and those earrings sparkling between.  He’d be lying if he doesn’t also admit to imagining his tongue tracing around them and his teeth scraping against them and the moan he’s sure would slip from her throat while he plays. 

A pushy saleswoman interrupts his thoughts, asks “For your wife?  Girlfriend?”  

He shakes his head, “Neither.”

He leaves with a hard-on and a working watch, but the earrings stay behind for someone with a little more courage.

F is for Friends

They use the term friends sometimes.  Usually it’s partners, occasionally colleagues, coworkers, but really, none of those words does their relationship the slightest bit of justice.  He couldn’t define it to a stranger (should one ask) if he tried.  Hell, he can’t even define it to himself.

How do you define someone so ingrained in your bones, you taste marrow at the back of your throat each time she walks away?  Webster would be hard-pressed to condense that into a single word, he’s sure. Even best friend feels trite and inadequate where Scully’s concerned. She’s not just a friend, not just a partner, not just a lover (even in his most daring of fantasies)—she’s not just anything. 

She’s Scully, and she’s everything.  

G is for Globe

He used to play a game with Samantha.  Spin the Globe it was called.  They played it when their parents were fighting, when they wanted nothing more than to be far, far away.  He tells Scully about it once, when he can tell she can’t get out of her head.  Luckily, amidst the files and slides and mess of the office, he happens to have a globe.

“Spin it, Scully.  Close your eyes and point, and I’ll take you on an adventure wherever your finger lands.”

She rolls her eyes, but plays along, extending her French-tipped fingernail to land upon the spinning globe.  Antarctica. 

“Spin again,” he murmurs quickly, “That one didn’t count,” but she stops him with a hand curled around his like a comma.

“You found me, Mulder.  That was more extraordinary than any adventure.”

H is for Hands

Once on a stakeout, he holds her hand. 

Hours in a darkened car breed strange and wonderful things sometimes—discussions and games that only boredom can inspire.  He tells her he can read palms (he’s lying, of course, but at least it’s something to do), and she scoffs, but then surprisingly offers her hand.  It’s really too dark to see, but he tickles her palm and bullshits his way through, blathering about wealth and fate until her giggle makes his heart stand still.

“According to your palm…,” he says softly, “…true love awaits…as soon as you’re ready.”

She’s silent at first, and he worries he’s ruined things— ruined seven years’ worth of things in the span of a minute. 

But then, in a quiet voice he’s never heard before, she responds, “I’ll be ready… soon.” 

He holds her hand until their shift is over.

I is for Ice Cream

Her favorite ice cream flavor is Mint Chocolate Chip.  He knows this (even though she doesn’t know he knows this), and once, during a rough case, he brings her some. He sneaks from his room after dinner, stops at three different gas stations before finding his prize. Sylvia’s Sundries and Smokes perhaps wouldn’t have been his first choice of establishments, but beggars can’t be choosers where ice cream’s concerned.

Surprise in hand, he knocks on Scully’s door and, with flourish, whips two plastic spoons from his pocket.  The nice thing about it?  She doesn’t even pretend not to want it.  She smiles a shy little smile and invites him in.  They climb up onto her bed where they scoop big whopping spoonfuls right out of the tub.  She’s full after only a few bites but sits with him while he finishes, lays her head on his shoulder. They watch the Late Late Show until it’s late late late, until it isn’t even the same day anymore.

J is for Jacket

Her suit jackets (he supposes they’re probably technically called blazers) have shrunk over the years.  Dana Scully of the plaid and boxy, of the oversized shoulder-pads, is now Dana Scully of the sleek and fitted, of the black and stylish and sexy.   He finds himself tugging his collar from his overheated neck sometimes. More than sometimes.

He wonders when things changed, because he can’t quite place a pin on it, when she went from a woman he loves to a woman he lusts after as well. Or maybe it’s unclear because he’s always done a little of both where Scully’s concerned. 

She left a jacket (blazer, whatever) at his apartment last year and he keeps forgetting to tell her he found it.  It hangs now in his closet next to pairs of pressed dress slacks.  He catches a glimpse of it sometimes, stands there wondering how soon ‘soon’ will come.

K is for Kiss

Back in the 60s, the 70s, when the turn of the millennium seemed ridiculously far away, Fox Mulder fantasized about the future. His comic books predicted: In the year 2000, there will be flying cars, teleportation devices, vacations on the moon and Mars... 

He imagined the party awaiting him on New Year’s Eve, complete with robot wait staff and space-age hors d’oeuvres.  Never would he have guessed he’d actually spend the evening in a hospital corridor, arm in a sling, nary a party nor robot in sight.

They were wrong about more than just the robots though, dead wrong, because not a single one of those comic books predicted this:  In the year 2000, there will be Dana Scully and her flame-red hair, Dana Scully and her skeptical sighs, Dana Scully and the world not ending while she presses her lips to his for the very first time. 

To think that at one time he wanted robots and jetpacks.  It’s laughable really, to have ever wanted anything on this earth (or on the moon, or on Mars) but Dana Katherine Scully.

L is for Lists

He arrives earlier than usual one morning, finds Scully’s open notebook lying flat on the desk. The beginnings of a list, he’s sure.  Scully loves lists. Books to Read, Articles to Write, Times Mulder Has Driven Me Crazy… He hasn’t physically seen that last one, but he’s sure it exists, somewhere in her purse or briefcase, or maybe just hidden away in her head.  

A quick glance confirms his suspicions. Personal Goals.  

He’s taken aback; he’d expected something trivial. Pros and Cons of Sunflower Seeds perhaps, but this…

He stalls, waits a minute, maybe two, but in the end is much too intrigued not to peek.  

1. Call Mom more often

2. Reach out to Bill

3. Volunteer at the church

They’re all so wonderfully Scully.  He’s not sure what else he expected.  Curiosity satisfied, he’s about to turn away when:

15. Stop being afraid of my feelings

and below that:

16. Mulder

He stands stunned. He’s joked about appearing on Scully’s lists, but never like this, never as #16, never as a personal goal.  

He makes a list himself that night, condenses every one of his own goals down into just six letters.

1. Scully

2. Scully

3. Scully…

372. Scully…

1049. Scully…

He types her name until dawn has broken, until the printed ‘S’ has all but disappeared off his keyboard.

M is for Maybe

Maybe tomorrow’s the day.  He’ll toss her an innuendo, and instead of just catching it, she’ll throw one back herself.

The sun’ll come out tomorrow, isn’t that how the song goes?  Good things happen in the darkness, too, though—cemetery downpours, X-marked stretches of highway where her hair grows wavy from the rain. He and Scully manage just fine with no sun at all; they thrive in the darkness, no matter what the song says.

He packs up his things on a Friday afternoon, grabs his coat and offers his usual weekend farewell. But instead of Have a nice weekend, Mulder, she stops him, hand to his forearm, “It’s supposed to be beautiful tomorrow… Do you wanna… Maybe...”

Her cheeks are pink as she ducks her chin to her chest, and it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Yeah,” he interrupts quickly, “Yeah, I do.”   He’s a bit too enthusiastic probably, but maybe tomorrows don’t actually happen that often for him on Friday afternoons.  

She smiles, cheeks still flushed, “Okay, then.  Tomorrow...”

On his way out the door he finds himself humming. Maybe the forecast for tomorrow is sunny after all, and not just because a little orphan girl told him so.

N is for No

He's scared of the word no, its finality. No, Mulder, it would never work. No, Mulder, we’re better as friends. No, Mulder, I don’t love… The word no could mean the end of everything. Of all he's seen, how absurd that two small letters could paralyze him like that. 

He walks through Violent Crimes once, overhears Scully talking to another agent from across the room. Rick Channing could be a television news anchor—hair coiffed and teeth so white they sparkle.

Mulder rolls his eyes. Scully doesn’t roll her eyes though; instead, she smiles as they talk.  She giggles.  Bile rises in his throat.

No, Mulder, I’ve fallen for someone else…

He should leave, but Channing’s next words stop him cold. “How about drinks, Dana? Maybe dinner?”  

She blushes, flustered, before scanning the room, eyes finding Mulder’s despite the way he hides halfway behind a partition.  

“Thank you, Rick, but no. I’m already…”  She smiles gently at him—him Mulder, not him Rick— “No,” she says again, then excuses herself down the hall.  

He stands there, rooted in place, decides no is the most beautiful word he’s ever heard.

O is for Opal

His birthstone is opal.  Not that he’d ever have cared, but one Christmas, he and Samantha received birthstone gifts—a topaz necklace for Sam and an opal-inlaid pocketknife for him. He still has that pocketknife, has rubbed his thumb across the smooth, cool handle countless times over the years.

Scully’s skin reminds him of that handle—the soft blue of her veins beneath translucent pink skin. She glows. He knows she’d scoff if he told her that, tell him human beings can’t glow, don’t be ridiculous. But she does—she glows just like an opal.

The pearly finish of his pocketknife is worn-down and soft by now, but her skin, he knows, is infinitely softer.  Her hand, her cheek—the safe parts of her body he’s been allowed to touch—they don’t even compare to the decades-old trinket.  He can’t imagine how much softer the more dangerous parts of her body must be.  The thought keeps him up at night, much more consistently than his nightmares do.

P is for Plum

Scully goes on kicks sometimes—bee pollen, yogurt, one month she sprinkled wheat germ into everything she got her hands on, his coffee included.

Fresh fruit is her latest. Oranges, nectarines, plums, oh, plums. There’s no neat way to eat a plum, though she tries, napkin laid out beneath her at the desk. The juice though. Drippy and sticky on her chin—his eyes try their best not to ogle, but usually fail.  

She walks around sometimes, cupping a hand to catch the drips, and once, as she reaches across his body for a book, a drop splashes directly onto his forearm.

“Sorry!” she exclaims, quickly swiping at his skin with her thumb.  How that same thumb winds up being sucked between his lips is a mystery, though probably has something to do with the way he acts sometimes before thinking. His tongue traces the sweetened ridges of her thumbprint as she chokes out a gasp, half-eaten plum forgotten.  

“No takebacks, Scully,” he mumbles as a joke, trying to laugh it off as he comes to his senses and releases her. Her cheeks stay pink for a good twenty minutes after that, and parts of him stay hard for an even better twenty beyond that.

Q is for Quest

This job of theirs, it’s more than a job.  More than a career path.  It’s a downright quest.  

He feels a bit like Don Quixote at times, Scully his faithful Sancho Panza, the two of them out there dreaming the impossible dream, fighting the unbeatable foe. There’s a sort of nobility to what they do, and he likes that.  

Sometimes though, he wonders whether the aliens are really windmills, whether the consortium is nothing but a barber’s basin balanced on his much too gullible head. Whether Scully is not Sancho, but Dulcinea— out-of-reach and much too beautiful for his files and his basement, his second-hand coffee table and his worn leather couch.  

He sometimes can’t believe she’s still here, chasing windmills, slaying bad guys, at times even taking the time to clean out his fridge. She deserves the most elegant of thrones, yet sits happily beside him on that old leather couch, Monday nights, Tuesday nights, sometimes even weekends.  It astounds him really.  

And when she nudges his knee with her own, smiles at him with that smile that makes him think soon isn’t so far away, that’s when he really believes—that being with her is not such an impossible dream after all.

R is for Rebel

Dana Scully is a rebel.  She tries to hide it, acts all prim and proper, but beneath her stern, pursed lips and buttoned-up suits, there’s a troublemaker lurking.  It’s what endeared him to her on their very first case, the way she laughed with him in the rain, the way, regardless of her orders, she listened to him and formed her own opinion.

He sees glimpses of that rebel from time to time, when she scarfs down pizza in a Motel 6 despite her no-carb diet, when she gets that gleam in her eye as they sneak onto restricted government property.

His favorite bit of rebelliousness though is her new stance on hotel-room consorting. They’ve fallen into a routine lately, of watching movies together on polyester bedspreads, of dropping off before the credits roll, of pretending I’m too tired to go back to my room is a perfectly reasonable and acceptable excuse to stay.  

Each time it happens, the morning sun finds them a bit closer together than the last— hands touching, next toes and shins, most recently her hair brushed his cheek as she snuggled against the pillow.

His rumpled, sleepy little rebel.  She’s a rebel on her own terms though, he knows this. And he’s being as patient as he can be.

S is for Sexy

She’s sexy, unbelievably so. It took him a while to admit that to himself.  For the longest time, he blamed his body’s reaction to her on their constant proximity, her perfume, the fact that he was suffering a longer-than-usual dry spell… But no, what it really comes down to is that Dana Katherine Scully is sexy as hell.

Even back in the beginning, when her suits hid her body and her hair did that swoop-y sort of thing up near the front.  Even in the middle, when she was thinner than she should’ve been, when cancer stole her color but didn’t steal her soul. And then there’s today. Today when there’s no mistaking the black lace of her lingerie each time she leans across the desk, not two but three buttons undone at her clavicle. Today when she murmurs thoughtfully, “I think you may be right, Mulder,” tongue wetting her lips as she reads aloud from his book on mystical apparitions.

What really gets him though, is that despite her hair or her lips or even her lingerie, the sexiest part of her isn’t on the outside at all; it’s what lies beneath—that intangible something that makes her Scully. That’s the part he fell in love with, shoulder pads and all.

T is for Toes

She’s got cute little toes.  She’s got cute little everything really, but her toes are especially cute, pale pink polish adorning each one.  She sits one night, curled on his couch, those cute little toes just inches from his leg.

“Wanna stretch out?” he asks, patting his thighs, and amazingly, within seconds, there are two small feet lying warm in his lap.

He gives them a tickle, but she kicks at his hand. He tries again, this time pressing a thumb to her arch. No kick, only an appreciative hum.  It’s all the encouragement he needs. He begins massaging in earnest.  

Her eyes slip shut, her head tilts back, a low groan rumbles from her throat. He massages her cute little toes for an hour, counts each contented sigh that slips from her lips (thirty-four to be exact). The movie they’d been watching fades slowly to black, and she ends things finally, with a shy, quiet chuckle and an I should probably get going.  

As she heads down the hall, he jokes from his doorway, “The masseuse is available every night, double sessions on weekends…”

She rewards him with an arched brow, murmuring, “Careful, I may just take you up on that…” before stepping onto the elevator.

U is for Umpteen

“Umpteen’s not a word, Mulder,” she tells him, eyes rolling, “It has no specified value.”  

She’s got a point of course.  They don’t have umpteen case summaries to submit; they have twelve.  But umpteen is most definitely a word.  

Umpteen’s how many times he’s forgotten his point because her lips are too distracting.  Umpteen’s how many fantasies he’s had about sliding his hands through her hair.  Umpteen’s how many times she’s walked out the door, how many times he’s kept from going after her, how many times he’s sat in his car beneath her window and longed for her with a ferocity that scares him shitless. Umpteen’s how many times he’s wanted to kiss her.  It’s also how many times he hasn’t…

He chuckles, dipping his chin, “You’re right, Scully. We’ve got twelve summaries to do, not umpteen...”

Umpteen is how many times he’s said her name, it’s how many times what he’s really wanted to say was I love you.

V is for Volume

They fight over the volume control in cars. He likes louder, she likes softer (I can’t think over the noise she says).  He usually lets her win. 

Their relationship has its own volume control, he’s realized.  There are times when it’s loud, blaring even, arguments at every turn.  Other times it’s low—murmurs in a conference room, end of the day farewells in a darkened parking garage. Mostly it’s somewhere between.  They talk and they banter and they discuss, in basements, in rental cars, in random police stations across America. 

Sometimes though, lately especially, she lowers the dial even further, turns it all the way over to the left.  Soft.  The very softest. His name on her lips those rare times he holds her. Her blush and shy murmured stop when he pays her a compliment. The slight gasp he feels more than hears when his fingertips brush over her arm, her cheek, the curve of her hip.

It makes him want to do away with loud altogether, to turn off the music and the voices and the noise and listen only to the sound of her breathing, to tell her "It's quiet now, Scully. I’m ready when you are."

W is for Wristwatch

This job has done a number on his wardrobe.  Jackets, slacks, shoes—all gone the way of the incinerator—either damaged beyond acceptable FBI standards or outright destroyed.  Scully’s hasn’t fared much better (she still pouts over a favorite pair of heels ruined two years ago). All part of the territory, he reasons.

His shattered wristwatch on a recent case was a blow though; he loved that watch.  

There’s a package on his desk the day after, wrapped so precisely, he needn’t even guess whom it’s from.  

“Scully,” he protests, but she stops him.

“Just open it, Mulder.”

It’s a watch—of course it’s a watch—a beautiful one, silver links and a detailed, intricate face. “You didn’t need—” he begins, but she interrupts him again.  

“It was my father’s,” she states matter-of-factly, but then her voice softens, “I’ve held onto it since… Here, let me.” She takes the watch, fastens it around his wrist. There are tears in her eyes.

“It looks good,” she whispers, “It brings out your… It looks nice—you’ve got nice forearms, Mulder, and this accentuates—”

He takes hold of her hand, gives it a squeeze until she meets his eyes.  “Thank you,” he tells her, “I love it.”  

There’s no way this watch lands in the incinerator. He’ll protect it with his life if he has to.

X is for XFiles

The basement office often feels more like home to him than home does.  It’s his secret hideaway, and despite the odds, he thinks it’s become hers, too.  They’ve created their own little world down here—a cozy, paranormal universe—and Scully’s as much a part of that universe as he is.

She shines like the sun, trails glittery stardust behind her like a comet. His beautiful, perplexing riddle of a partner.  It’s funny really, but despite the hundreds of files that surround them, Scully remains his biggest mystery.  She’s the very definition of an X-File.  It floors him that she chooses this life, that she’s willing to be his sun, his moon, his whole damn galaxy, day after day after day.

There was a time he couldn’t have imagined not seeking the truth.  These days though? These days he’s beginning to believe he’s been searching in all the wrong places.  

The truth can’t be found in Bellefleur, Oregon or in Kroner, Kansas, in forests or in sewers or in fields.  The truth—the real truth— exists in ink-blue eyes and rosebud lips, in the skeptical arch of an eyebrow and the soft, shy murmur of his name.

It exists right down here in the basement office, sitting not two feet across the desk from him.

Y is for Yawn

She yawns as he speaks, but it doesn’t bother him. Things feel sleepy—dreamy— tonight.

It’s been an odd few days apart from one another, he across the pond and she…He’s not even sure what she’s been doing, doesn’t know that he wants to.  All he knows is that she’s here, now, pressed to his side and yawning, proving to him once again how fate works.

It’s hard not to babble when he feels this good; he’s drunk on the smell of her, on the heaviness of her thigh pressed to his.

“And that says a lot… a lot, a lot, a lot…” Babbling, more babbling, until he feels the smallest, sweetest weight at his shoulder, sees lashes splayed softly against warm, flushed cheeks. The perfection of the moment strikes him, of her here on his couch instead of in a hospital room, instead of in a temple, instead of anywhere else she could be at this point in her life.  

He touches her hair—he can’t bear not to—covers her with a blanket to keep away the chill.  Allowing himself one last glance, he counts slowly to ten (slowly, so slowly), before making his own sleepy way to the bedroom.

Z is for Zipper

He’s awoken by the sound of her skirt zipper, the dip of the mattress as she sits on the bed.

“Scully?” He’s not sure how long he’s been out, but the stillness in the air and a new moon slanting through the blinds suggest hours.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, “I tried not to wake you...” He’s never heard her voice in his bedroom this late at night. It’s softer than he’d imagined. Younger. “It’s late.  I’m not sure I should drive.  Do you mind if I—” 

“Sure, yeah.” He props up on an elbow. “Do you want me to…” He motions toward the living room, still half-asleep but awake enough not to assume anything he shouldn’t. Hotel room sleepovers (which they’ve partaken in) are in a different category than apartment room sleepovers (which they haven’t), and he knows this.

“I don’t mind,” she answers in silhouette, slipping off her skirt, “…not if you don’t.”  She’s stolen her way beneath the sheets before he has the presence of mind to offer her something to wear. 

“Of course not.”  He can’t think of anything he’d mind less than Scully lying beside him in his bed, near enough he can smell this morning’s perfume still on her skin.

She settles, and is so close, her breaths tickle his bare shoulder. Once, twice, three times.  He shudders. 

They’re quiet.  He listens to her nighttime sounds—the swish of her hair against the pillow, the cadence of her breaths, the occasional wet slide of her tongue across her lips. He wishes he had his little recorder on the nightstand. He’d make a mixtape, label it Sounds of Scully and play it every night for the rest of his life.  

He longs to touch her.  A hand, a foot, even just the tip of a finger. 

They lie there long enough and silently enough he thinks she may have fallen asleep, but then she shifts. Or he shifts. Or maybe they both shift, but out of nowhere her still sweater-clad back spoons perfectly against his chest.

A quiet gasp leaves her lips, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t readjust. Neither of them breathes.

“Is this… okay?” he asks finally.

“Yeah, it’s…” The heel of her foot brushes his shin. “It’s nice.” 

Quiet again. His arm finds a place to rest wrapped around her waist.  His thighs nudge her bottom.  Her skirt is off, and possibly her nylons, too, but he thinks instead about her hair tickling his nose, her sweater against his belly.  He doesn’t think of other things—won’t let himself.

It’s nice was an understatement though. It’s so much more than nice.  He’s needed this, wanted this, for such a long time.  Even if this is all it is—the two of them spooned together in his bed until morning.

She snuggles a bit closer, slips a small, cold foot between his legs. He thinks about her pale pink toenails, he thinks about Dulcinea, he thinks about being number sixteen on a list he’s sure he was never meant to read.  He adds to his mixtape the sound of her hum when his thumb brushes the rose-petal skin of her arm.

“Foxtrot,” she murmurs sleepily.

“Hmmm?” He nudges the back of her head with his nose.

“Nothing,” she chuckles, “Just a passing thought...”

“Can’t have passing thoughts without sharing.  Bedroom rules.”  It’s strange how natural this feels, bantering with her in his bedroom, pretending this sort of thing happens often enough that rules have been made.

“Oh, in that case, maybe I’ll…” She makes to leave, pushing away covers and beginning to pull from his arms.

“Don’t you dare,” he threatens, tugging her back, wasting no time in snuggling her in even closer, wrapping himself around her like a question mark, which seems almost comically apropos on a night like this. She giggles, just barely, but it’s perfection, the sound of Scully giggling in his bed late at night.

“No, it was just…,” she continues, turned serious again.  “My father was obsessed with the military phonetic alphabet—Alpha, Bravo, etcetera...  He named my brother Charlie.  It just occurred to me that if your father had been the same, maybe you’d be Foxtrot instead of Fox.”

He chuckles. “Guess I should count myself lucky then.  Would’ve been a lot to live up to in the ballroom classes my mother made me take…”  She hums in amusement, and the vibration travels all the way through to his chest.  “Sounds like you’re a bit lucky, too.  Unless I’m mistaken, it was Dana, not Delta, who snuck into my bed tonight...”

“Hmm,” she ponders, “Maybe Delta's not as brave as Dana is....” He sometimes thinks nobody’s as brave as Dana Scully is, least of all himself. “Frankly,” she adds, “I always fancied Juliet anyway.”

“Juliet—I like it.”  He pictures her out on a balcony, cheeks flushed, eyes glowing, lover’s name tumbling from her lips.  “You’d need a Romeo…”  He doubts Wherefore art thou, Mulder is quite what Shakespeare had in mind.  

“Who says I haven’t got one?” she flirts.  Her hand rests just inches from his own, and he twines their fingers together, curls them against her abdomen. He sometimes wonders how his heart can possibly contain the amount of love he feels for her. People die of broken hearts; do they ever die of ones so full, they’re overflowing?  

“Hey,” he murmurs into her hair, “What’s got you thinking about all this at…,” he tilts back his head to squint at the clock, “…one o’clock AM?” Her body is warm and impossibly perfect against him.

“I guess…,” she says, a contemplative tone to her voice, “I don’t know. These last few days have been a lot.  I’ve been forced to consider things I haven’t thought about in years. My past, the way things used to be... What I used to assume my future looked like.”

“How’d it look?” They’re both nearing that point these days, where their paths can’t just keep continuing in the same straight line. They’re nearing a fork, he can feel it.  Question is, will they both continue in the same direction?

“When I was a little girl,” she begins, “I was surrounded by Navy men, Navy wives, Navy families.  We were taught call letters before learning our ABC’s.  I always felt that sort of life was expected of me, too.” His air conditioner kicks on, fills the room with a gentle whirr.  She burrows even closer. “It’s just funny how far we stray from what’s expected…”

“No more call letters, huh?” His lips catch on her hair as he talks.  It’s wonderful.

“No, I guess not…To be honest, I sort of miss them.  Things were simpler then.  There were right choices and wrong choices, or at least it seemed that way.”

He realizes as they lie there that this moment is the fork in his path.  That though the line between right and wrong choices may be blurred these days, there’s one choice he’s never once questioned.  Dana Scully is the rightest choice he’s ever made.  With her mouth full of questions and her head full of answers, her ever-arched eyebrow and her ever-open heart—she’s been his choice, his only choice, from the very beginning.  

Scully is the Juliet to his Romeo—hell, she’s the Delta to his Foxtrot.    

“Scully,” he murmurs, heart beating bravely in his chest, “Have I ever told you about the Fox Mulder alphabet?”

“Hmm, let me guess...” There’s humor in her voice, that wry Scully humor he adores. “A is for Alien, B is for Bounty Hunter, C is for….  Am I close?” Christ, but he loves this woman.

He pokes her gently in admonishment, answers, “Good try, smartypants, but no… No, you’re actually not close at all.”

“Tell me then, Mulder.” She pulls their hands up to rest beneath her cheek. “Tell me about your alphabet.”  

And so he does. He takes a deep breath and he does.

He begins at the beginning. A is for Apple.

He tells her how watching her eat an apple once made him ache for her, how he can’t bite into a Red Delicious, or a Fuji, or even a Grannysmith anymore without thinking about her lips.

It scares him, being this honest, but there’s something in the air tonight, something in her mood, in the way she slipped off her skirt and climbed into his bed after falling asleep on his couch.

She’s quiet while he speaks, still—eerily so. Her breaths fall quickly against his hand. He’s sure he can feel her heart beating, or maybe that’s just his own, pounding much too dramatically within his chest. There’s a lump in his throat as he finishes, the No that’s terrified him for close to seven years dangling above like an anvil from some misguided Loony Tunes short.  

He waits.  And he waits.  And is about to apologize for assumptions he shouldn’t have made when—

“More,” she breathes.

Not no.  More.

He burrows his nose in her hair, presses a kiss of relief to her ear.

He gives her more, he gives her everything—he pours his entire heart out into silly little stories about a basketball game, about candlelight illuminating the skin of her back. The words spill out more quickly than he intends them to, but the dam has been breached; he cannot stop it.

She’s quiet through the basketball game, quiet again through the candles. Her little body doesn’t move. He understands. He knows it’s a lot to take in—the flood-like musings of Fox Mulder’s mind.  Her ears are all he asks of her tonight.

By the time he’s reached D though, she gives him more than her ears. “D is for Dana,” he begins softly. And instead of more silence, she whispers his name.  

By E, there are tears at her cheek. He wonders for an instant whether that long-ago jewelry store could possibly still be open, whether she’d wait for him here while he makes a quick trip.  

By F, she’s pressing barely-there kisses to his knuckles. Friends don’t do that, he’s sure.  Their relationship may be uncertain, but friends don’t press kisses to knuckles, they don’t lie in beds at one in the morning, tell stories in hushed whispers with backs pressed to chests.

By G, she’s murmuring my God against his palm, Mulder against each of his fingertips. His basement globe spins and it spins. Never could it have predicted an adventure like this.

H… I… J... Her toes slide along his shins, they follow the curves of his arches. Her long-lost jacket hangs nestled in his closet not ten feet away.

K... “New Year’s Eve, Scully… That kiss…”  He tells her she’s all he could want from this millennium, or the next, or even the next (that’s illogical, Mulder, he expects her to say).  She doesn’t though. She doesn’t say that.  Instead, she turns in his arms, raises big, wet eyes up to his.

“Keep going…,” she urges him on when he pauses, “Please, Mulder, keep going.” Her fingers tremble as they move across his chest.

And so he keeps going. L... (“Scully, Scully, Scully, Scully, Scully,” he breathes)… M… N… With each new letter, her touches grow surer—small, gentle hands find his ribs, his shoulders, the wildly-beating pulse at his neck.  By O, those same hands are in his hair, they’re cradling his cheekbones, they’re fingering the soft, curved shells of his ears.

P... “That plum,” he whispers, “…the juice…your thumb...” Her thumb (the same one he sucked into his mouth so many months ago) skims over his stubbled chin, makes its tentative way to his lips. His tongue steals out for a taste, and she sucks in a breath, her eyes fluttering shut. She drags her hand away before he can swallow her whole.

Q... (“Dulcinayyy-uhhh,” he sings quietly)… R… The heat of her breath hits his neck, hovers beneath his jawline until he can barely speak. “Don’t stop,” she whispers when he falters.  Her mouth slides against his throat and he groans.

S… T...  By U, he can’t keep from touching her.  A hand tangles finally in her hair, the other slips beneath her sweater and molds to the warmth of her back. She whimpers, her body arching sharply against him.  Umpteen is the number of times this very scenario has played itself out in his dreams.

By V, his lips are at her temple, “V is for Volume” spoken directly against her skin. She turns the dial all the way to the left, sighs so softly he almost misses it.

W and X fall between kisses, his lips on her eyelids, at her jaw, wrapped around the lobes of her ears. Barely-there whimpers slip from the back of her throat, and he reaches for that imaginary recorder, adds them to his mixtape as well.  Her legs tangle with his and he pulls her even closer.

“Y is for Yawn,” he murmurs against her hairline, “Tonight, out there, while we sat on the couch…”

“I’m not…,” her voice is low and husky, so close to his ear that he shivers, “…m’not yawning now, Mulder…”

He shifts, rests his forehead against her own.  Hot, ragged breaths collect on the pillow between them.  He can hardly believe a few hours ago, they were out on his couch drinking tea, a few years ago, they were meeting in the basement for the very first time.

“What about…,” she breathes, the tip of her nose nudging his, “What about Z?”  Their hands roam freely now, sensuous and slow.  She angles her pelvis against his, presses softly.

“Z…,” he barely gets out, “…is for Zipper.” She’s trembling against him, and it’s the sexiest thing in the world.  “The zipper from your skirt that woke me half an hour ago, the zipper that—”

She swallows the rest of his words with a kiss, open-mouthed and desperate, body melting against his.

Her lips, her tongue, the flutter of her fingers at his cheek… He forgets about candles, about earrings, about Rick Channing and Don Quixote and even about the wristwatch lying just across the room on the dresser.  He forgets about everything in the world except Scully and her mouth, about the way she kisses him with her whole damn body, with hands in his hair and toes flexed at his shins and hips arched so divinely against his, he worries he’ll faint.

As her sweater slides over her head, he marvels at the way everything has fallen into place, how a crisp, juicy apple led to a basketball game, how sleepy, sexy yawns led to the undoing of zippers, how all of it combined led to them being here, now, discovering each other for the very first time.

Their lovemaking is slow, achingly so.  It’s the Standard English Alphabet, the Military Phonetic Alphabet, and the Fox Mulder Alphabet combined—whimpers and sighs and Romeo and Juliet and ice cream and globes and… Amazingly, in the end, it all makes perfect, wonderful sense.

As they move together, the beginnings of a new alphabet emerge in his head—A for the arc of her hips as they rise; B for her short, quickened breaths; C for her cries, for her moans, for her whines; D for the softest derriere he’s ever held in his palms; E for her elbows, laid either side of his ears; F for fuck, for oh holy fuck, Scully, sweetheart, I’m gonna, I’m gonna…

“It’s crazy really, isn’t it?” he murmurs afterwards, Scully tucked beneath his arm, her leg slung sweetly over his sweat-damp thigh.

“Hmm?”  Her fingers play at his lips, trace over and around and between.  

“That it took us seven years…,” he mumbles around a pinky, “…when in the end, it really was as easy as learning our ABC’s.”

She hums, presses a kiss to his chest right above a nipple. “You could have had me all the way back at C if you’d wanted to, Mulder...”

He smiles, pulling her impossibly closer.  Her breasts are soft against his chest and her chin rests at his shoulder, and for a moment, all is right in their windmill-riddled, impossible dream of a world.  

“I think Z was perfect,” he says, kissing the disheveled part of her hair, “Absolutely perfect.”

[mulderspice]

have you ever watched an episode of the Emmy award winning sci-fi drama, The X Files?  Maybe you’ve read my original post and yet you’re still wondering where the hell Fox Mulder got all those strands of hair on his jumbo gigantic head.  I am back and here to help you find the answers to some of your burning questions; as we celebrate the hard work and triumphs of the hair and makeup department on the Fox Lot and team up with my big huge brain and my New York State Cosmetology license to give the people what they want once again: another top ten guide to Mulder’s fucking hair..

upon making this post a second time (rip 😔), I realized that just about every episode (yes, every. single. one. even the ones without Mulder and the latest season where he has to share headspace with [redacted]) has its own important and iconic hair looks... You may recognize that some of these are slightly repeated from the last post but that’s ok! What I'm here to do is enforce! So lets get started..

#10 s6:e21 Field Trip: Here again we begin our journey into cosmetic superstardom with a personal favorite of mine.  Mulder rolling with the times by getting a haircut fresh off the FTF wave left our nation in fucking shambles. Can’t imagine going to see a major motion picture in theatres jam packed with Mulder’s most supreme hair looks only to come back to my tv screen to see it all gone away.  For students reading this post for educational purposes, this caused a worldwide walkout on popular salon franchise Supercuts in the year 1998.  However, a haircut didn’t necessarily mean Mulder forgot how to take care of his hair.  The precision and placement as each strand of hair perfectly outlines his jumbo head is revolutionary and inspiring.  Mushroom induced drug high? K. Lemme still grab my teasing comb and my hairspray and make sure I look presentable for when my partner walks into my apartment screaming abt “where's Mulder” and wanting “answers”.  The answer is this: this look is about giving people like myself with big heads rights and looking fuckable while doing so. 10/10 for inspiring hope.

#9 s1:e9 Space: Imagine you’re a few episodes into a show, the core plot is developing right before your eyes and you’re beginning to get to know The X Files three main characters; Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Mulder Hair Strands #1-3.  All is well except, you still have no clue how crucial, and critical Mulder Hair Strands 1-3 will become to the show and to your life and I am here to tell you that you are in for a very rude and bold awakening.  This message goes out to all the haters and all the people who didn’t believe Mulder’s hair was valid prior to season 4. He is here to tell you he DID know how to use dry shampoo and even the occasional blow dry oil and you can suck a dick abt it. Bold of you to assume he wouldn’t pull the round brush and the biosilk out the drawer to impress a visit to fucking NASA. 10/10 for involving science.

#8 s4:e6 Sanguinarium: I sit here writing to you today as the song ‘Handmade Heaven’ comes on shuffle; strikingly fitting for this raw and ethereal image of straight up beauty and wonder and magic and heaven in hair. This special, freshly washed and air dried smells like strawberries and sandalwood and fuckability. The look reaches through your TV and wraps its hands around your neck and sucks the life right out of you.  Are you gonna let it happen? You sure are.  Lucky for you, I just so happened to be there when the angels hand sewed each strand of hair onto his head and here’s what they had to say about it:  this is everything and more and the way Mulder has just washed his hair with fresh mountain water droplets hand collected like nothing else mattered. Put his clothes back on and went on his merry way. Can’t imagine being in Scully’s shoes ready to walk on in her partners room unannounced to go over serious case related matters and theories.  Woulda went bonkers. This truly is a handmade heaven.  Hand crafted by Mulder for Scully and for the good viewers of the globe. 10/10 for embracing me in its arms.

#7 s4:e3 Home: A look from one of primetime TV’s most notorious banned episodes.  Viewer discretion IS advised not only for the horrifying and cringeworthy content displayed in this episode, but for also making it painfully blunt to the viewer that Mulder’s hair follicles are happier and healthier than anybody else's will ever be in their lifetime.  In fact, I can feel my own hair falling out and being respawned onto HIS head as I type this and I’m sure you can too. The way the sun glistens off his golden brown strands makes me want to walk into oncoming traffic.  You might also notice how effortless this look was, as it probably only took a quick run thru with his fingers, and Mulder’s passion and need to look sexy at any time of the day at all times. It’s obvious that this kind of thing comes naturally to him, which just comes off as insulting to men everywhere. 11/10 for striking fear into men’s hearts.

#6 s4:e20 Small Potatoes: Genuinely took every bone and nerve ending in my body to not put this look in the top 5 even though it so clearly deserves it.  Here at mulderspice we believe in diversity, meaning it wouldn’t be right to make my top five greatest hairstyles ever produced on The X Files just of Mulder’s iconic and revolutionizing middle part (though really who is stopping me..). This screenshot in general has me up in arms at how perfectly the blue background matches his eyes, and how it accentuates his hydrated skin and lips.  But you’re not here for that. It’s the hair particularly that really pulls the shot together, as Mulder took the time that morning to spray it with some tinted dry shampoo that most defiantly and absolutely smells like chocolate.   This look feels like a warm hug on a frigid winter day. I feel EMBRACED and I feel CARED FOR thanks to the wonderful staff and team @ Mulder’s head and hair follicles. What the fuck could be better than this. 16/10 for making me feel some type of way.

#5 s4:e8 Tunguska: Currently you may not think anything of Krycek to the left of this image though ill have you know he plays an extremely vital part of this look and all the words I’m about to speak to you directly. So listen up: Krycek may have heroically slayed Mulder’s father in cold blooded and justifiable murder, but we thank him for this, as it caused Mulder to lash out in the best way possible: through looks. “Un-shun: Krycek do you think I’m good to bring my Redkin Rewind 6 styling paste with me or will the Russian TSA think of that as contraband? :Re-shun”.  A sweaty, manly and highly illegal treck through a Russian testing facility and a stint in a violent foreign PRISON surely was not going to stop Mulder from keeping his hair properly hydrated, styled and parted. That’ll really ruffle Krycek’s feathers and make him feel sorry for what he did…. The sexiest way to avenge the death of your deadbeat father. 24/10 for you know why.

#4 s1:e6 Shadows: In the year 1993, Mulder steps onto the scene, young, fresh faced, bright eyed and ready to give men around the globe what they (so desperately) needed: the encouragement to care about their hair.  Any backstreet boy you may know have this scene to thank directly, as this is what encouraged them to reproduce Mulder���s hair onto their own heads time and time again.  What I would give to see with my own eyes Mulder length times width times height his head to equal this perfectly proportionate look of volume and sexy. And who can I write a warrant out to for allowing this shot to take place.  Oh to be the various and expensive hair care products in Mulder’s bathroom …… 899/10 for starting a movement (-1 for making us do equations).

#3: s1:e10 Fallen Angel: The biggest regret I’ve ever had in my short little life was not adding this moment to the last post.  And tumblr deleted it in order to give me this opportunity to present this to you today.  By the way, that absolutely is in fact a choir of angels singing as you view this image. Go ahead and try to think of something on this earth that could be better than this tossled bed headed im-stressed-becos-my-partner-of-2-weeks-isn’t-seeing-the-big-picture-about-how-we’re-all-key-pawns-in-an-ongoing-government-conspiracy hairstyle hand crafted by Mulder all while holding his head in his hands hard at work trying to break through to the truth.  Scully [insert photo of Scully with her eyes popping out of her head here] and I both wanna rip our own hair out and throw it in the garbage. 2000/10 for making our hearts ache..

#2: s4:e10 Paper Hearts: Behold- the image I’m slamming down on the desk at full force when I finally get myself a therapist. I need a licensed professional doctor to help me understand the various angles that this purposeful shot affects my life health and well being. In a paranoia induced out of body experience Mulder took his pinky finger and parted his hair down the middle, took a protractor to perfectly round the tendrils falling ever so gracefully on his forehead and ran out of his apartment and through the woods of DC.  Doesn’t matter if he’s crazy? Doesn’t matter if its fuck all 4am? Who knows if the discoveries of this night is finally going to answer the heartbreaking questions regarding Mulder’s baby sister? Fuck it we’re just gonna make sure Scully has something to look forward to after being awoken yet again in the middle of the night and asked to come wrangle and control this stupid idiot.  This just makes me unhinged.  50000/10 for waking up in the middle of the night and doing the most for us all.  

#1 s4:e3 Teliko: This one will remain number one for as long as I shall live.  I’ve dedicated my life to this cause and I’m ready to make you painfully aware of it. Grab a pen and paper and get ready to do some heavy math with me because this look right in front of your eyes is the equation to happiness and sexiness. Can barely find the words to describe to you how this picture makes me feel. Each strand of hair is personally reaching down and wrapping his head in one big giant hug of protection and solitude.  Unbelievable that Scully didn’t head back to her hotel room and scream at the top of her lungs right after this. There’s no way she went about her day as normal without wanting to kick the shit out of him and then put him back together with soft feathery kisses.  What you are witnessing here is the very turning point of the show where Scully looked into into the very center point of that part and said “guess I have no choice but to fall in love with him 🚶🏽‍♂️”. Chris Carter’s idealistic version of Mulder and the one we actually ended ups seeing as viewers were so drastically different that it’s blatantly clear that he had absolutely no idea the cultural implications that were about to rock the world to its core and tip it on its axis when David Duchovny showed up on set looking like this. I could write a thesis about this. I could conduct research and studies about this.  I got kicked out of college because I cared more about this than I did actual schoolwork. I feel like I’m in a very sexy chokehold. Wish I could live forever in one little square pixel of this image.  Nothing means more to me than this.  1000000/10 no further comments.

and the honorable mentions go to....

s8:e16 Three Words: Dead? Did you die? Did you die and miraculously defy god by rising from the dead and coming back to life? Just got home from the morgue? Think nothing is the same? Left guessing if you’re a soon to be 5 minute father? Did you just fucking die? He’s lost his family and his job and the world just went on without him like it was nobody’s business.  Walked out of the morgue right to his apartment and what did he have left? His expensive array of hair styling and finishing products that’s what the fuck he had left.  Being an all around reject from society didn’t at all stop him from taking his fingers and dipping it into that Big Sexy styling pomade and fluffing his head to high heavens. As a personal fuck you to god and to John Doggett too.  He’ll never let you know the emotional hellstorm going on in his life in that moment but he WILL make it known to you that despite being 8 feet under ground for 6 months he’ll never give up on his hair. For the PEOPLE. Try and go through the nightmare of death and then rejected fatherhood and see if you come out of it with any hair at ALL.  An itty bitty glimpse into what would have been Untitled Mulder Abduction Story (2001)....

I Want To Believe (2008): Here you will see the sluttiest moment in major motion picture history.  Shh im not using this opportunity to show you this screenshot for the 800th time I’m trying to keep you educated.  BREAKING NEWS; Man hiding in home office for 6 years fully off the grid has FULL head of hair and is getting regular sex *not clickbait*. So what if Mulder has gone fully unhinged and off the walls bonkers he’s also gone FULL slut and it shows in that sexy thick voluminous head of slut hair.  If you ever for a second thought prior to seeing this movie for the first time that Mulder would show up a full on son-less wreck and a half think the fuck again babes.  He’s managed to hold on to every single little strand ever grown on his head even well into his middle aged madness and its about time we give him the credit he deserves.  (PS. Please know I wrote this entire spiel without even viewing the shot shown here. Its just permanently etched on the inside of my forehead so its there when my eyes roll back into my head.)  For this we say…..; Whore rights.

s11:e3 Plus One: Incase you were unaware, I have been going through a very slow and painful process of erasing Season 11 from my brain completely.  Its been a long road but its achievable and the end result will save me from a lot of future heartache and trauma.  This however, is a moment I will cherish forever and though you may think its for the hot sex (which is like maybe 30% the case) its actually because it puts together everything I’ve ever loved and believed about the show in only a few thousand pixels. How old is Mulder here? 30? 31? Still has hair and still has an unbelievable amount of love to shower Scully in for as long as they both shall live (which lets face it, she deserves one million times over.)  What this has taught me was to hang up my “Mulder deserved…” hat for good and just be thankful for what I’ve got. I ended up with no son or happy dreamy ending where Mulder gets to die with a family he’s never had in his life, but here we are left with the little things.. Like Mulder and Scully’s unconditional love and most importantly .. The hair on Mulder’s head. Its called growth and acceptance and I am learning it.  Also I just wanted to show you what it would look like if you were like 57 and sexy and still had all ur hair. That’s it :-)

[admiralty-xfd]

Each Charted Course

Mulder reflects on Christmases past, and considers some roads not travelled. 

This was my entry for the @xfilesfanficexchange​ this year. 

He sits on the back porch, the frigid air biting at his exposed skin. He should probably be wearing more than a T-shirt but the idea of going back inside is unappealing at the moment, for some reason. He likes it out here in the quiet, alone with his thoughts.

There are no sleigh bells echoing in the distance or even the sharp scent of pine but Christmas isn’t just a time of year; it’s a feeling. And he feels it tonight.

“Hey,” a voice comes from behind him, as the back door opens a bit. Even in the thick chill he can sense home as it escapes through the crack: the scent of Christmas ham and pumpkin pie, the snap and crackle of the fireplace, yuletide carols softly spilling out, all the things he’s so content to be part of.

Scully plunks down next to him, wraps her hand around the crook of his arm, and leans in against him. “Mom left.”

He nods, staring out into the woods. “Sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”

Scully nods. “She’s worried about you,” she says, hesitantly. “You were a little distant tonight.”

“Got a lot on my mind.”

She squeezes him tighter. “Merry Christmas, Mulder,” she says softly. “I love you.”

Her voice is soft as the moonlight, but warm. It’s really all he needs, and he knows it. He turns to face her, to return the sentiment.

“I love you, too.”

“What are you thinking so hard about?” she asks, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Regrets,” he says simply.

“That’s a bit sad, for Christmas,” she points out. “Doesn’t seem like the time for regrets.”

“Well, I’ve had a few.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, and from inside the house Frank Sinatra’s White Christmas comes on, as if their stereo had read his mind. His most immediate regret is feeling this way at all on Christmas. He doesn’t really want to think about all the things he’d have done differently over the years if he could.

“Pretend I don’t know,” she says. “About these regrets.”

He sighs, knowing she’s had plenty of her own. He hadn’t meant to make everything heavy. Maybe he can lighten the mood a bit. “Well, for one, that you and I didn’t allow ourselves to have this so much sooner.”

“I know that one all too well,” she says. “But I try not to see it as a regret, more like… the path we chose. And it did lead us here, eventually.”

“You’re right,” he agrees. “But there are a few things over the years I’d have done differently if I could.”

“Oh yeah?”

He shrugs. “Ghosts of Christmases past, I suppose.”

A steamy plume of breath escapes her lips from beside him, and he can feel her smiling, the way he always can. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me about these ghosts. Tell me what you would have done differently.”

He smiles, pulls her into his lap. His butt is freezing from the icy porch but she surrounds him with her warmth. It’s Antarctica. It’s trust. It’s everything he needs and more. He still finds it difficult to believe how long it took him to come around regarding this quiet, uneventful life they share together. But he’s here, now. Truly here with her. And happy.

“Well, Tiny Tim,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to her hair, “sit a spell with your old Scrooge and let me tell you a few.”

1 9 9 3

“It’s just dinner at my place,” Scully says hopefully as she puts on her coat to leave the office. “My parents were out of town visiting my brother for Christmas so it’s a little belated celebration.”

Mulder rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he says. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Please,” she rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t be. My mother has been bugging me to meet you for months.”

He stops pulling his own coat on, mid-sleeve. “She has?”

“Mm-hmm,” she says in that sly, kind of sexy way. He shakes away the errant thought. He can’t think of Scully like that.

“Why?”

Scully shrugs. “She’s my mother. It’s bad enough I go to work carrying a gun every day, she wants to know who it is I’m trusting with my life.”

He finishes pushing his arms through the sleeves, inexplicably flustered. Trusting one’s partner with one’s life comes with the territory. She’s required to trust him to effectively do her job. But something about the way she’d said it puts him off guard.  They’ve only been partners for a few months but he’s already put her in so much danger. Guilt creeps over him like a bad rash.

He’s nervous to meet Scully’s mother. He’s never really been in a position to think about it before but suddenly it could happen, and tonight. Right now. He isn’t prepared at all.

“Well, what do you say?” She looks at him expectantly.

He wants to tell her yes, even though he’s afraid to. He wavers. One answer will take him one way, a different answer will lead him another.

“Why not?” he grins. “I hope they’re prepared for me to regale them with conspiracy theories.”

She smiles, that really wide one he rarely gets to see. “Don’t worry about that,” she assures him. “They’ve heard plenty about you.”

When he arrives, he takes in his surroundings. Scully’s apartment is cozy and, just as he’d expected, pristine. There’s a distinct femininity he likes, but at the same time it unsettles him. Dana Scully is his partner, his friend. He’s not supposed to see her as a woman. This feels intensely private, but she’s allowed him into her space and he’s thrilled in spite of his reservations.

Mrs. Scully is all warmth and politeness, fawning over him like he imagines she does her own sons. Imagines, because he’s certainly never received such treatment from his own mother in all thirty two years of his life; not really. He lets her take his coat, lets her kiss his cheek, lets her call him “Fox.” He likes her already.

Scully hasn’t spoken much about Ahab, but he’s exactly as Mulder had pictured. He’s tall and serious, with the military manner he sees jump out of Scully every time he himself steps out of line. He has a firm handshake and looks Mulder in the eye, with the same familiar skepticism he sees in his daughter’s eyes practically daily. He has to stop himself from laughing, knowing he’d be unable to explain.

The four of them chat and laugh and eat a wonderful meal Scully had prepared; he’s impressed and delighted by this unexpected domestic talent he’d never had the occasion to wonder about before.

Ahab jokes about the fact that Scully’s Christmas tree still stands so close to New Year’s and a good natured argument ensues: a tiny portrait of their lives. He sits back and profiles, watches her interact with her family closely, sees how she yearns for her father’s approval and takes her mother’s for granted. He realizes he’s learned more about his partner in one evening than he’s allowed himself to since he met her.  

At the end of the night Mrs. Scully hugs him, and he hugs her back. Ahab grasps his hand firmly, pumping it a couple times, and looks him right in the eye again, thanking him for looking after his baby. Mulder says “you’re welcome” and is instantly compelled to do a much better job of that particular task from here on out.

Turns out Scully was right about her father; he asks for nothing less than the best you can give and you’re happy to give it.

He and Scully stand at her front door and wave goodbye, both weirdly cognizant of her parents’ strategic departure that’s enabled the two partners to be left alone. Suddenly this feels like a successful date; some kind of test he’s passed with flying colors. She looks at him and grins, and he grins back, the miraculous outcome of the evening giving them both a high. He’d charmed her parents, plain and simple. If there was a stamp of approval to be received, he’d earned it. There is pride on her face, as if she herself could somehow take credit.

They stand on her front stoop looking into each other’s eyes and there’s gazing, definite gazing happening. Maybe it’s just the environment; the proximity to home, to the personal, but his mind wanders to how pretty she looks right now, and as if to further accentuate this new knowledge, snow begins to fall around them like they’re stuck inside some terrible romantic comedy.

She laughs, however, a bit shyly, and turns to go back inside.

The spell is broken, for now, but he knows. He knows a lot sooner than reality will allow him.

“Well, what do you say?” She looks at him expectantly.

“I appreciate the invitation, Scully,” he says. “But… I promised my own mom I’d go see her tonight,” he lies. Save for a quick call on Christmas, he hasn’t talked to his mother in weeks.

“Oh, okay,” she says. He can tell she’s disappointed. “Next time, then.”

Mulder watches her leave the office, going back to her enigmatic personal life. The next day she calls him with the news of her father’s untimely death.

It doesn’t take him long to realize he should have said yes.

1 9 9 7

He isn’t sure how much he should tell her. What he’d said in the children’s center is the truth: that Emily is a miracle that was never meant to be.

What he hadn’t said is an entirely different story. What he hadn’t said is that he knows far more than he should: that her ova had been stored in a government lab. That he’d found them, kept them. That he’d actually had them tested for viability.

He never told her for one reason: he hadn’t wanted to see that look on her face: the one he sees right now, watching her mother holding her on the couch as she cries quietly.

Scully’s truly worried about the adoption, he realizes, and he hasn’t been helpful at all. He doesn’t mean to hurt her, ever. It’s just that he knows, he knows deep down the way Fox Mulder knows so many things instinctively, that this is not going to end well for her, or for Emily. There’s simply no way.

But he doesn’t want to be the one to tell her that. He doesn’t want to be the one to break her heart this way.

“It’s all right, honey,” Margaret Scully says as she holds her daughter, rubbing her shoulder. Mulder hangs back on the landing, looking down upon them, and despite the protective part of him that wants to keep her from knowing anything that would cause her harm, he wants to go to her. Tell her everything, and be the one who holds her instead.

He walks down the steps as silently, footsteps audible only to Mrs. Scully who spots him over Scully’s shoulder. She nods at him, and they share an unspoken understanding.

He comes around the couch and sits next to Scully on the other side, and Mrs. Scully gently releases her, rolling her into him as if she were gingerly handing an eager relative a fresh newborn. Scully doesn’t react, or if she does, he doesn’t notice. She grips his shirt and continues crying, her walls completely down for once.

Mrs. Scully stands up and leaves without another word. Mulder is grateful for her ability to read the situation so well and he continues to be impressed by her astuteness when it comes to him and Scully.

“What is it?” he asks when her mother is gone. “Scully, talk to me.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” she cries into his shoulder.

“It’s okay, you can tell me anything.” He laughs inwardly, ruefully, at the ridiculousness of the statement, considering everything he’s kept from her.

“This whole thing, it’s just… bringing up these fears and desires I never really knew I had before, Mulder.”

“Such as?”

She sniffs. “Such as, coming to the realization of how much I want to have children. And learning over and over that it just isn’t a possibility for me.”

Summoning his courage, he knows the right thing to do. “I need to tell you something,” he says.

She leans back to look him in the eye. “What, Mulder?”

He sighs. “I know what’s happened to you, why you can’t conceive. I’ve known for a few months now.”

She stares at him, stunned. “What are you talking about?” He was aware her oncologist had told her she was barren, and she’d known it was a direct result of her abduction, but had never really known what had occurred, exactly.

“When you were abducted, your ova were taken from you, all of them. It was a high application radiation procedure, the same thing that caused your cancer. That’s why you’re unable to conceive.”

She shakes her head. “How do you know this?”

“When I was looking into your illness, I found them. They were stored in a lab. ”

“You.. found them?” she asks, absolutely shocked.

“I had them tested immediately, Scully, as I knew you would.” He’d never discussed what he’d found with her, too afraid for her life at the time to consider her thoughts on having another. But now is the time to be honest.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asks carefully.

“You were deathly ill, Scully. I couldn’t bear to give you more bad news.”

She looks up at him, her eyes so, so sad. “And that’s what it was…? It was bad news?”

He shrugs, helpless. “The doctor said that the ova weren’t viable.”

Scully takes this in, still holding him by his forearms. “And you’re telling me now because…”

“The hearing, Scully. I think you should know what you’re getting yourself into. So you can be prepared.”

“...For them to tell me no,” she finishes.

“In case they do,” he nods. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he says.

She is quiet, still processing. He hopes she isn’t angry with him.

“Scully, whatever happens, I’ll be here for you, okay?” He knows it isn’t enough. He’s certainly not her consolation prize for the future she’s going to be denied. “I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.”

He realizes he’s recited Elton John lyrics without even meaning to and hopes she doesn’t notice. Luckily she doesn’t seem to, and he’s relieved. He’d meant it and he wouldn’t want her to think his response was artificial, canned.

“Thank you for telling me,” is all she says. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

Mulder stands on the landing, watching the scene beneath him. Mother and daughter, sobbing together on the couch.

“Same shit, different day, eh, Mr. Mulder?” a gruff voice comes from behind him, just soft enough not to draw attention from the women below. “I keep wondering when all this will end. I guess it doesn’t for you, does it?” Bill Jr. glares at him from the top of the stairs.

Mulder is exhausted and devastated on behalf of Scully. He wonders when it’s going to end, too. He wonders all the time.

He really doesn’t want to be dealing with her older brother, the dickwad, right now. Bill really has the wrong impression of him, especially when it comes to his feelings for his sister, but he can hardly blame the man.

“I know you don’t believe me, but I really wish it would, Bill.”

“Do you?” he challenges. “Seems like every time you turn up, I see my sister crying again.”

Mulder stares the other man in the face. He wants to punch him, but for what? Being absolutely, one-hundred percent correct? He bites his tongue.

Luckily, Bill Jr. is rarely interested in long, drawn out conversations. His specialty is a drive-by-slinging with the final word on top. So he scoffs, gives another glare and continues down the hallway.

Mulder glances once more at Scully, her shoulders hitching as she sobs quietly.

Bill’s an ass, but he’s right. The truth will only hurt her more. He’ll say what he needs to say in the hearing but only as much as he has to.

He can’t give her more bad news. He can’t bear to be the one who keeps making her cry.

1 9 9 8

Snow begins to fall gently outside his fourth-floor window as they sit on the couch and tear into their presents. He doesn’t really need to open his; seeing the grin on Scully's face when he handed his gift to her was good enough of a present for him. But he’s eager to see what she’s picked out.

He stops unwrapping to watch her, but then she stops too.

“You first, Mulder,” she says.

Her wish is his command. He opens the wrapping paper, snaps the ribbon. Pulls out a cassette tape.

XXX Alien Anal Probe. He nearly chokes on his own tongue.

“Scully!” he admonishes, and that mischievous smile of hers is back. “You got me porn for Christmas!”

She shrugs. “Figured you were missing some after the office fire. Just want to help you get your collection started again.”

He turns to look at her. “Scully, that’s so sweet,” he grins delightedly.

“Eh,” she shrugs. “It’s no trouble.”

“No, I mean it’s so sweet you think I haven’t got backup copies.”

She shoves him good naturedly. “Anyway, take it out.”

His jaw drops. “What?”

“I don’t mean… no!” He chuckles and now it’s her turn to be flustered. “Come on, Mulder.”

“I don’t know if this is something you really want to be here for, Scully,” he warns.

“Just open it already.”

He slides the video out of its sleeve and two Knicks tickets tumble into his lap. Next Thursday against the Wizards.

He smiles at her warmly. “Scully, thanks, this is really great.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiles, seeming genuinely pleased with her gift. She shifts uncomfortably. “I hope you have fun with… whoever you take.”

He looks at her. “Scully. I’m taking you.”

Scully blinks, looking genuinely stunned. “What?”

“Of course I’m taking you. Who else would I ask?” He regrets the question instantly as the thought completes itself, the tension of the past few weeks still lingering in the air. Diana.

Not a chance, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. He’s too much of a chicken shit.

“Okay,” Scully replies softly. “Thanks, I’d love to.” He can tell she’s relieved, even happy, and considering how little Scully cares about basketball the implication alone is enough for now.

“Open yours,” he says, eager to blow right past a potentially awkward moment.

She smiles again and finishes unwrapping her own present, pulling out the object, confused.

“It’s… a paper towel tube,” she says.

“Look inside, Einstein,” he says impatiently. She feels around inside the tube and slides out the rolled up gift, unrolling it, taking it in.

It’s a small, somewhat weathered photograph of a luxury liner, angled a bit away from the camera, headed out to sea. In the corner is a scrawled date- 1939.

“This is… is this what I think it is?” she asks.

Mulder nods. “It’s the last known photograph taken of the Queen Anne before it set sail, never to be heard from again,” he says. “I was going to frame it, but… I know you’re particular about that kind of thing.”

“How did you even find this?” she asks, awed.

“The boys helped me with that.” The Gunmen had actually done more work than he had in an effort to track it down. When he’d told them who it was for, they’d been on a mission. He was beginning to think they could find Jimmy Hoffa if he told them it was for Scully.

She just looks at it, and he isn’t sure what she’s thinking. “I know it wasn’t real to you, Scully, but everything about that experience was so real to me. And you saving my ass for the millionth time was real to me, too,” he chuckles. “I guess… I want you to have something from my experience that was real.” Since you couldn’t be there with me. Since I didn’t have the balls to ask you to be there with me.

“It’s beautiful, Mulder,” she breathes, and he doesn’t think she’s just being polite. She traces her finger across one of the smokestacks gently.

“Careful not to handle it too much, it’s an original,” Mulder points out. She pulls her hand away.

“Thank you, Mulder,” she says. “I love it.”

He looks at her intently and he wants to say it. He closes his eyes, summons up the courage.

“What I said to you was real, too, Scully.”

She looks up from the photograph, alarmed. “What do you mean?”

He takes a deep breath, soldiers forward. Like he should have done so many times. Like he should have done back in his hallway. “I mean.. what I told you in the hospital.”

She waits. He knows she wants him to say it and out of the thousand times he’s wanted to, the thousand times she’s deserved to hear it, there’s no time like the present.

“I love you, Scully.”

She looks at him for a long time, every second an eternity. For a moment he worries he’s completely misread everything, that maybe she doesn’t love him back, maybe this was a huge mistake. But then he sees a small tear forming in the corner of her eye, a familiar one. One he saw once before in a very similar scenario. Then a tiny smile. And before he realizes if he’s actually made an active decision or if his body is doing it for him, he reaches out to grasp the back of her head like he did on that ship, and pulls her into him as their lips meet for real, finally, without interruption.

The kiss is soft at first, chaste, even, but he isn’t interested in sending her mixed signals anymore. He places his other hand on the side of her jaw and ever so gently opens his mouth, inviting her in. The possibility of more; the inevitability of the two of them.

A quiet, almost inaudible sigh of relief escapes her lips as she opens her own mouth, allowing her tongue to enter his and there they find each other, at last, in the place where there is no more “platonic,” there is no more “professional.” They are no longer “just friends.”

She shifts her body until she is sitting up straight and he pulls her into him, close, and the kiss is endless, perfection, until they finally break away, both panting, eyes dilated, overcome with promise.

“I love you too, Mulder,” she says, her voice filled with emotion.

His eyes open and she is smiling. “You okay, Mulder?”

He sits back, Maurice’s words still echoing in his head. The audacity of the ghost’s assessment of his personality still staggers him. Mostly due to its deadly accuracy.

Do you know why you see the things you do? Because you’re a lonely man.

What if he is only seeing things? Maybe he’s only trying to convince himself she feels the same way. It’s been months since the bee incident and she hasn’t said a word about it. What if she doesn’t? What if, by doing this, he loses her forever?

He is lonely, pathetically so. She’s the only one who can fill that void and making that move right now is selfish, pure and simple.

“I’m fine,” he says, Scully’s signature disclaimer. “I’m happy you like it.”

And maybe if you hang it up where I can see it, it will remind me of a moment when I was actually brave.

None the wiser, Scully continues looking at her gift, a smile plastered across her face that’s really much more than he deserves.

1 9 9 9

“Scully, it’s me.”

There’s a crackle on the other end of the line and he can barely hear her. She sounds so far away. “What is it, Mulder?”

“You’ll never guess where I am right now.”

He hears a sigh, that excruciatingly familiar one. “I’m sure I couldn’t.”

“I’m investigating an old, open X-File. You don’t even want to try to guess?”

“Mulder, I’m stuck in family mode. I can’t talk about X-Files with you right now.”

“Okay, I get it. But this is one is Christmassy,” he says, hopefully. “Have you got a couple minutes?”

She sighs again, but this time he can tell she’s smiling. “I’m on my mother’s porch in my slippers. You have as long as it takes for my toes to start to freeze. Go.”

“Twenty one years past, Christmas Eve, Lexington, Kentucky. The twinkle and jingle of lights and bells sing...”

“The lights sing, Mulder?”

“Shh, I’m telling a story.”

“We did this last year, you remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. The scent of gingerbread wafts through the air but on one dark street a terrible, terrible accident occurred.”

“How festive.”

“An accident— or was it?”

There’s silence on the line. Then, “I’m listening.”

Mulder grins. “The victim was an old woman, found heavily intoxicated, in the middle of a snowy road.”

“Hit by a car?”

“Not quite. I don’t think this case would have drawn good old Spooky Mulder’s attention if she was.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Mulder?” he can hear the skepticism he’d expected as he begins his unraveling.

“Well, the manner in which she died was... unusual, to say the least.”

Scully is quiet. “How did she die, Mulder?”

“There were some interesting… markings… on her back. Some would say they were almost claw-like.”

“And…?”

“And,” he says pointedly, “on her forehead, too. Although those ones looked more like… hooves.”

The line is silent. “Mulder.”

“Scully.”

“No.”

“Looks like grandma got run over by a reindeer,” he says, barely containing his glee.

“I’m hanging up now.”

“No, wait!” he laughs. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. How’s the family?”

A sigh. “They’re great. Bill really wishes you were here.”

He chuckles, then lets out a deep sigh.

“Is this really what you called for, Mulder?” she asks, and he’s suddenly gripped with the realization that he’d actually called for a very important reason. He’s only delaying the inevitable.

He takes a deep breath. “Um, Scully… I actually called because I have something important to tell you.”

He can hear her voice turn serious. Even more serious. “What is it?”

He exhales. “A couple months ago, I was experiencing some pain... in my head. I didn’t want to worry you so I saw another doctor just to rule things out, you know?”

She’s quiet for a moment. He hopes she isn’t angry already.

“Anyway,” he continues, “They couldn’t rule anything out. Something is definitely not right.”

“Mulder…” she says quietly. “Is this to do with the D.O.D.? What happened to you there?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’m guessing so.”

He can hear her shaking her head. “But your scans were clean…” she sounds like she’s talking more to herself now, in that way she gets when she can’t believe something. In this case, her own eyes. “They were clean…”

“I don’t want to worry you, Scully,” he says. “That’s the last thing I want. I’m hoping this is nothing. But just in case it isn’t…” he trails off. “I want my doctor to know about it.”

He wonders why he picked up the phone tonight of all nights to tell her this, and in an instant it hits him: he’s so lonely it hurts. He looks around his quiet apartment, his sad little stocking hanging up next to his fish tank, its googly-eyed occupants his only company for the holiday. He’d been so desperate to just hear her voice that it seemed like a good excuse.

“Mulder, are you by yourself tonight?”

“No,” he answers, perhaps too quickly. “I mean, there’s a Twilight Zone marathon on the Sci-Fi channel, and I’ve got an entire half gallon of eggnog. I’m all set.” He grins. “I’m fine, Scully, okay? Have fun with your family. Be sure to catch Bill under the mistletoe for me.”

He hears a half-chuckle as she sighs, somewhat resigned. “Merry Christmas, Mulder,” she says quietly. “We’ll figure this out, okay?”

“I know, we always do,” he replies. “Merry Christmas.”

“Is this really what you called for, Mulder?” she asks.

“I just wanted to hear your voice on Christmas, Scully. Is that so terrible?”

Scully sighs on the other end of the line. He can hear her smiling again. “No, it isn’t.”

It’s a nice thought, he muses, that they’d somehow figure this out. That Scully might find the answer to this unanswerable question. Somehow find the cure he knows deep in his gut does not exist. But he knows the truth; there is no Christmas miracle that’s going to get him out of this one. And if he tells her, everything will change. Everything.

“Okay,” he replies. “My joke is done. You can go warm up, Scully. My best to the family.”

“Bye, Mulder,” she replies, and the line goes dead.

He realizes he forgot to wish her a Merry Christmas.

2 0 0 2

Scully is crying in the bathroom again.

Six months, more than twice as many motel rooms, their world in complete and utter upheaval. He sits on the edge of the disheveled bed, the sheets scattered to the floor. They haven’t left this particular room in over forty-eight hours and have certainly made good use of that time, in his estimation. No more than twenty minutes ago he’d made her scream in ecstasy so loud he worried the FBI would hear her, wherever they happen to be at the moment.

She’d gone to take a shower, and he thought everything was okay, great, even. But now she’s crying, quietly; retreated into her own space like she has a few times since they started this adventure.

Adventure. He shakes his head, pissed at himself for ever referring to it that way. He’s well aware what Scully has given up to be with him: her job, her family. Her identity. There are any number of reasons she could be tucked away behind her walls right now, and he’s responsible for every single one of them.

But maybe it isn’t one of those reasons. Maybe it’s something else; something they haven’t discussed, not really.

Something she feels responsible for.

He stands and walks the four steps to the bathroom door, knocking gently. “Scully? You okay in there?”

He hears nothing.

“Scully?”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says softly from the other side of the door.

But he knows she isn’t fine.

He pushes the door open gently, and sees her on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest, hair wet, eyes running. He kneels down next to her and reaches out, pulling her into his bare chest. Her bathrobe opens just enough so he can feel her skin against his when he holds her close, her heartbeat right next to his. She rests her head on his shoulder and he strokes her wet hair as she tries to calm down her breathing.

“It’s William, isn’t it?” he asks. They haven’t so much as mentioned their son’s name in months. After an attempt or two, she’d made it plain she had no interest in reopening that particular wound. The nature of their circumstances brought other, more pressing matters to the forefront and over the months it seemed the longer they went without talking about him the harder it was to bring him up at all.

He never wants to see her cry, ever. But maybe she needs to. Maybe they both need to.

“I’m so sorry, Mulder… I’m so sorry I wasn’t strong enough to protect him, for the both of us,” she sobs. He feels his own tears welling up and wonders if she’s been holding onto this pain for months, keeping it inside because both of their modus operandi seems to be perpetual denial of truth. He knows this, as ironic as it seems, because it’s been that way with them from the start.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Scully,” he tells her. He plans to tell her this every day for the rest of their lives if he must. “You did the right thing and you can’t keep beating yourself up about it. It won’t do either of us any good.”

She cries, really cries into his shoulder and he holds her close, and they talk about William, really talk about him: the things Scully remembers, the things Mulder missed. And the things they’ll both miss, together. They cry and hold on to each other tightly and come out the other side stronger, unified.

Unbreakable.

“Scully? You okay in there?”

He hears nothing.

“Scully?”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says softly from the other side of the door. He waits, wondering what to do. After a few moments, the door opens, and she comes out. Her eyes aren’t puffy, her body isn’t hunched.

She’s fine. It’s easier to believe it than to press her further.

“Well,” she says, walls back up, clearly attempting to put any unpleasantness behind her. “Should we order in? Watch A Christmas Story on TBS?”

Christmas. Right. It’s easy to lose track while stuck in this neverending limbo-type existence.

“Um. Yeah, anything you want, Scully,” he says, reaching out to touch her face, make her look him in the eye. She does, for a moment, then the moment is gone.

Everything is fine.

2 0 1 2

He sits on the back porch, the frigid air biting at his exposed skin. He should probably be wearing more than a T-shirt but the idea of going back inside is unappealing at the moment, for some reason. He likes it out here in the quiet, alone with his thoughts.

There are no sleigh bells echoing in the distance or even the sharp scent of pine but Christmas isn’t just a time of year; it’s a feeling. And he feels it tonight.

“Hey,” a voice comes from behind him, as the back door opens a bit. Even in the thick chill he can sense home as it escapes through the crack: the scent of Christmas ham and pumpkin pie, the snap and crackle of the fireplace, yuletide carols softly spilling out, all the things he should be thrilled to be part of.

She plunks down next to him, wraps her hand around the crook of his arm, and leans in against him. “Mom left.”

He nods, staring out into the woods.

Scully continues. “She’s worried about you,” she says, hesitantly. “You were a little distant tonight.”

He wants to tell her of course he was distant. He has a lot on his mind. The world was supposed to end and it didn’t. He feels restless and unhinged.

Now what, Scully? Now what?

She squeezes him tighter. “Merry Christmas, Mulder,” she says softly. “I love you.”

Her voice is soft as moonlight, but warm. He does not respond, though. He’s confused, distressed, untethered. He doesn’t know up from down, even with Scully sitting right next to him. His true north. He wishes he knew what to do to make this feeling go away.

She leans in to kiss his cheek, rubs his forearm a couple times like a habit, then gets up to go back inside. When she shuts the door the porch is silent and he sits alone in the cold chill.

He doesn’t know yet what will happen, if anything. He doesn’t know yet he’s going to become impossible to live with.

He doesn’t know she’s going to leave him.

If he’d known, he’d have done things differently.

End note: Part of this prompt was “If possible, there must be a surprising end at the story.” For me, surprising means gut punch. Happy Holidays, everyone!

[sigritandtheelves]

So you know how we got to watch Mulder be sweet and flirty with Scully by offering her a baseball lesson by Fox Mantle? Could you please write a follow up where Scully is sweet and flirty with Mulder in her own way? Thanks.

Fluff Break y’all! Thank you so much for this—I was very close to turning off my anons last night, but then your message came in and I needed some positivity. ❤️ Here is some very fluffy flirty silliness, please enjoy.

_+_

Mulder pressed the button on his answering machine again, his head tilted, squinting, trying to hear something in her voice that would help him understand.

Mr. Mulder, this is Dana Spengler and I’ve found something you might be interested in. I was hoping you might meet me out here. I’m headed to the Lorton Presbyterian Church, just off Route 643 near Donovan’s Corner. You won’t need your gun, but you should bring your flashlight. And your boots.

He looked at his watch: just after seven p.m. She’d been in the office with him a few hours earlier: sipping coffee, finishing paperwork. She’d given no sign that she’d had any kind of plan for the evening. He stuffed his hand into his pocket and chewed on his cheek, thought for a moment.

Then he shrugged, grabbed his keys, and went out to his car.

—

When the engine cut off, the world was silent but for bugs: a low hum of early-summer cicadas and crickets. The church huddled in darkness, its small windows black, but he’d pulled up beside her car in the gravel lot, so she must have been nearby. His boots crunched as he turned in the lot, looking for her.

“Psst,” he heard from the shadows. She was leaning, smiling, against the small building’s stones.

“Is that Dr. Dana Spengler?” He called to her.

She waved him over and held her forefinger to her lips. “You’ll kill the atmosphere.”

“A church, Scully?”

“Not just any church.” She was swallowing her smile, the moon glinting off still-visible mirth in her eyes.

“A spooky church.”

She nodded. “Haunted, some say.”

He couldn’t help the grin. “And me without my proton pack. Spengler, though?”

“What, did you have me pegged as Venkman?”

He laughed. She had him, she really did, with her baseball hat and black jeans and boots in this surely-not-haunted church on a Tuesday night. He was hers eternal. “Nah, you’re my sexy collector of spores, molds, and fungus. We going in?”

Scully ducked her head to hide her blush under the guise of digging through her pocket. She came up with a key.

“We’re not gonna pick the lock? What kind of ghost-hunting break-in is this?”

She shrugged. “I called the caretaker. Seemed easier.”

“Square,” he said, and she clicked on her flashlight, giving him a look.

Later, when they were tucked behind the altar of the abandoned church, when their lantern batteries had died and they’d finished the four beers she’d snuck in, when she was straddling his lap and sucking on his Adam’s apple, he’d revise that statement. She was no square, his thoughtful, beautiful ghost-busting Dr. Scully.

“Are you sad we didn’t find the ghost?”

He pulled her tighter against him, hands cupping the top of her ass, and grunted. “No.”

“Good,” she said. “Me either.”

And then he was kissing her and thinking how ghost hunting was maybe even better than baseball, and then he wasn’t thinking much of anything at all.

[serahsanguine]

19MSR AU: Young and very sexy Mulder and Scully meet in a club. After a few drinks and some dancing, they have a quickie in the club bathroom.

***************************************

Candy is dandy. But liquor is quicker.

Rating; Nc-17! Ao3

Notes;  Dear Bethany Thank you for this prompt I hope I did it justice.

Other Notes; this story is set in England were the Legal drinking age is 18. 

Mulder had just walked into club Spiral. The room smelled of alcohol and hormones, it was dark apart from the green illumination of the strobe lights flicking from corner to corner. He walked over the bar which sat in the far back of the room, it glowed red as the countertop and walls all spotted by that red neon bulb.

He sat down at the one and only empty barstool and ordered a Famous Grouse Whiskey on the rocks. It took a small sip feeling the burn of liquor flow down his throat. He had just finished his dissertation on the human mind of a serial killer and accepted a placement to go back to America to train as an FBI agent.  

He sat there for a few hours as the music flowed and vibrated through every surface, people came and went around him. He was at least three drinks down and turned his head when he heard a fellow American voice against all the British accents.  There was a beautiful woman next to him, she had fiery red hair and beautiful crystal blue eyes.

He sat there and studied her, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was wearing a black lace dress. It was elegant yet revealing at the same time. As if she knew his eyes were upon her, she turned her head and looked at him and smiled.

“Whiskey, is like a beautiful woman, it demands appreciation. You gaze first, then it’s time to drink.”  her voice like liquid silk to his ears.

She took a moment to look down at the man sitting on a stool beside her, she noticed that he was wearing blue Levi jeans, black v neck t-shirt and what looked like Doc Martens boots.

“Who said that?” he asked, curious to her answer.

“A wise man,” she took the last sip of her drink before placing the empty glass back down at the bar.

“Care to dance?” she asked

He gulped down the last of his glass before taking her hand in his and leading her to the dance floor. For the first time, he noticed she was younger than he but more mature than she looks portrayed. She was also smaller than he was, even in her heels but that did not stop her from pressing her body against his. She snaked and slithered down his body grinding and bumping into him. The atmosphere electric and his hormones raging.

“I never asked for your name?”

“Dana,” she replied sultrily. “And yours?”

“Fox.”

She looked up at him as smiled, never questioning the name he gave her, She slipped her hand under his t-shirt feeling the tense muscles beneath her nimble touch. He inhaled sharply and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“If you carry on, I will not be responsible for my actions”

He felt her shiver but her hand did not move from under his t-shirt. She instead decided to ignore his warning and stretched out her fingers and found his nipples and pinching them before scraping her nails down his torso.

That sent him wild with desire. His eyes turned feral, dark and lustful.

“I warned you, I would not be held responsible for my actions.”  

She giggled, he soon placed his hand around the back of her neck and crushed his mouth against hers. With their lips locked his tongue sought entrance to her mouth which she opened gladly. She tasted of the margarita she had earlier, he tasted of whiskey and rye.

Her hand entwining in his hair roughly pulling and tugging in a battle for who had the most desire and passion as a flood of desire pooled in between her legs. His hazel eyes opened to find her blue sapphire eyes staring back at him. She smiled seductively and took his hand in hers and lead them away from the dance floor and towards the exit.

They stopped short when she felt him kissing the crook of her neck, she turned back to face him in the dim light.

“I can’t wait,” she said simply.

She took him towards the club bathroom, entering first to check to see if it was clear. It seems luck was on their side as she tugged his hand to follow her inside. His mouth instantly found her again. They stayed like that for a few minutes then he lifted her placing her on the countertop between the two porcelain sinks. He proceeded to lift her skirt, bunching it around her hips. His fingers finding her moist and eager.

He moved his kisses from her lips to her neck his hand undoing her dress letting it fall around her stomach. He kissed and nibbled, the small growth of his beard scratching against her skin. He soon moved his mouth toward her breasts giving each one the love and attention they so rightfully deserved.

“Oh God it feels so good” she panted.

“I’m going to go down on you Dana,” he said in between kisses and stroking her over the thin material of her panties

She growled again at hearing him say those words and pictured his brown hair in between her legs.

“No” he looked confused, she moved her hand towards his belt “Enough foreplay, I want you in me now”

He took no more encouragement as he helped her undo the belt, his trousers and boxers dropping to the floor in a pile at his ankles.

She placed her hand around his girth stroking him up and down his length before spreading some of his precum on the tip and letting go. He grunted like an animal in heat.

One of his hands slid under her hip, bringing her to him and the other hand moved her panties out of the way. In one quick motion, he entered her deep depths.

“Oh, Christ you’re huge!”

He chuckled and pulled himself all the way out and plummeted back into her and held her there. He could not believe how tight she was, he could feel her muscles trying to adjust to the sudden onslaught of his girth and length.

“You’re so tight.”

She hummed, her heart beating faster than it ever had before, so much so she thought she might have a heart attack.

“Am I you’re first?” he asked sheepishly.

She laughed before simply answering “No” breathlessly.

He pulled back out of her and ploughed back in with such force. Her back arched, her nipples painfully erect scraping against his cotton t-shirt. She moaned in pleasure and pain.

With one hand on the countertop for balance, his other hand worked in between their bodies. He squeezed one of her swollen breasts and tweaked her nipple immediately feeling a response when she thrust her hips into his. He was holding back every ounce of control he had, trying to go as slow as possible, afraid he wouldn’t last long enough to make her climax. He wanted to feel her cum while he was still inside her.

He bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed as he thrust his cock deep inside her feeling his sensitive tip collide with her cervix. He was groaning, blinded by lust and the fact he had never felt such passion for another person.

“Oh, Dana you feel so good, so tight, so full”

His worries were unwarranted as he felt her walls clamp around him spasming out of control, her body rocking with its climax.

“Fox” she screamed, her voice mixing with the drum and bass of the clubs sound system.

He marvelled at his control.  His body was sweating profusely but she felt great, energized and wild.  He didn’t think he’d ever fucked anyone as hard as he was fucking Dana, but he couldn’t stop.  He couldn’t take her gently. She was as little and tight, he’d almost lost control several times when he felt her hand smack and grab his backside.

As her spasming continued he cautiously started plunging back into her, but this time he was pausing between strokes and he could tell it was driving her crazy, but the flip side was it was holding his orgasm at bay.

She was grunting softly with his every stroke. “Uhg, uhg, uhg.” She panted harshly, whimpering with the need for another release.  Her soft, strong hands were touching him everywhere she could reach which wasn’t much.

She forced herself to take a deep breath and shouted, “Pleeeeaassseee, FOX.  Oh God, I HAVE TO COME! Please let me come. I can’t stand it anymore! Fuck me.  HARD PLEASE!”

His head spun.  Even in his wildest dreams, he had never experienced anyone begging him to fuck her like this.  He felt euphoric and powerful and completely in control as he picked up the pace slightly. Their pelvises were crashing together. Skin again skin, bone against bone.  He slid his hand down from her breast and down her stomach to in between their joined legs to find her over her swollen flesh, soon finding her clit, flicking and pinching it.

She shrieked, “Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh, ffffuuuuuccccckkkk!”  Her orgasm tore through her with such force that she felt her consciousness might slip away. Her fingers clamped onto the back of his neck leaving small half-moon shapes in her wake.

He was rubbing her clitoris in hard jerking motions as he kept her impaled on his cock.  Her walls milked him with everything she had. he utterly lost control when she felt him bite down on his bicep. He removed his hand from the joining bodies placing both his hands on the corner of the countertop thrusting his hips wildly into her, feeling her climax around him. His body locked up and released and she fell into him utterly exhausted quivering softly against him.

When they both came back to reality, he helped her do her dress back up making sure there was no evidence of their quick get together. They both left the bathroom each saying goodbye. She went off to find another woman who looked oddly a lot like her, and he wandered off to finally break up with the women that broke his heart.

The End.

************************

Tagging. @skullsmuldon @xfpornbattle @today-in-fic @foxystarbucks @baronessblixen @storybycorey @peacenik0

[atths--twice]

An Unexpected Discovery

An alternate universe in which Mulder and Scully are college professors working in buildings across from one another. They have become close, but one day, he learns something about her he never would have expected.

A couple of days ago, @msgilliana posted a tweet about an AU involving Mulder and Scully which led to a mini story being created by both of us. People asked for a REAL story, but it wasn’t my baby, I had only added a bit to an adorable idea. I suggested she and I collaborate and we two women, who were “too busy right now,” cranked out a 7,700 word story in two days. 

Hope you all enjoy! 

Fox Mulder knew the start of the new academic year could be daunting for new faculty: Am I teaching this class correctly? Is my syllabus adequate? Where the hell do I park?

When he saw one person in particular however, he knew she meant business. They never technically met, but it was more of a ‘we parked next to each other and your building is right next to mine, so we might as well chat’ situation.

“Hi,” he’d said when he saw her, the first of them to speak. He had been drawn to her beauty, her red hair causing her to stand out.

“Hello,” she’d responded.

“Are you new?” he’d asked.

She pushed a stray piece of that beautiful red hair behind her ear. “Is it that obvious?”

“Oh no, I just have an eidetic memory and haven’t seen you before.” She was impressed, and her face revealed as much before he asked another question.

“What do you teach?”

“A mix. Some general physics, some intro to modern physics. You?”

“Wow, that’s quite impressive. I teach psych. Intro, abnormal, and social. Most people think it’s a ‘soft’ science, but I think it’s pretty important.”

“Psychology is interesting to be fair. Why do people do what they do, what determines our likes and dislikes, or even hyperfixations. And that’s just scratching the surface.”

“I have never met anyone from the science department who sees it that way. It’s quite refreshing, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Well, my sister’s very into feelings, the energy of the planets, all that kind of stuff. She and I are very close. Well… this is my building.” She pointed to the one right next to the one he would be entering.

“And this is mine. How convenient. I’ll see you around Dr…”

“Scully. Dana Scully.”

“Fox Mulder.” He offered his hand and she shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Mulder.”

“Oh please, no ‘Dr.’ That’s so boringly formal. ‘Mulder’ is fine,” he had joked with a mock shiver.

“Then you can call me ‘Scully.’” She chuckled and then smiled at him. As he stared at her, he couldn’t help but notice the presence of a beauty mark above her top lip. She had covered it with makeup and he didn’t understand why she would, it was adorable and also incredibly sexy.

Oh, maybe that’s why, he thought, knowing how men could behave.

Pushing aside those thoughts, he smiled as they reached their respective buildings and separated, walking to their offices.

Over time, they’d gotten to know more about each other. He knew she was twenty six and had received her doctorate two years prior. She was Catholic with two older siblings, a brother and a sister, the latter of whom had an interest in all things extraterrestrials, and she also had one younger brother.

Before the end of her first teaching year, they’d managed to park next to each other almost every day. They would chat for the few minutes their walk to the building afforded them, until they had to separate to their own offices. They both looked forward to that time together each day.

At the year's commencement, they had sat next to each other, and she looked extraordinarily extravagant in her doctoral robe and cap. She would say the same about him.

The following school year, they had gone from their morning chats to leaving at the same time as well. It quickly turned into one accompanying the other to their office and continuing their conversations. While almost polar opposites, they felt comfortable with each other and talked about any and everything.

Of all the little things he knew about her, the one thing Mulder knew Scully prided herself on most was punctuality. He knew she arrived in the parking lot at exactly 8:05 every Tuesday and Thursday before her first class began at 8:30. The other three days, she arrived at exactly 9:25 am for her 10 am class. His classes were all later in the day, but he came in early for office hours and to get work done before his classes.

A couple of months later, however, it was 9:27 on a Wednesday morning and she was nowhere to be found. In the nearly one and a half years since she’d been teaching, Scully had never been late. Though he was curious, he decided to head into his office and start his day.

His work, however, didn’t hold his attention. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. What was she doing? Was she sick? Was there a family emergency? She had mentioned that her siblings lived all across the country. Her older brother Bill was in California where he was stationed with his wife Tara. Melissa was traveling, “finding herself” Scully had stated with a slight eye roll, and Charlie was in New York with his girlfriend Elaine. Her parents were in Annapolis, about an hour's drive from the school.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he decided to email her, something he’d never done nor had any need to do.

Scully,

Are you okay?

Mulder

He forewent formalities because he felt they were on friendly enough terms, or at least he had assumed so. They hadn’t ever socialized outside of school events, but he had lost count of the high school and college friends he no longer spoke to or had only seen on campus.

He was about to get ready to teach his first class of the day when he checked his email one more time and saw a reply from her.

I’m fine.

Nothing further, not even her name, but at least he now knew she was okay. Or at least, Mulder hoped so. She would’ve said if something was wrong.

Right?

He didn’t sleep well that night, his brain unable to stop thinking and wondering if she was okay.

The next day, she still hadn’t arrived on time. He was in his office, about to send her another email, when he heard a car door slam around 8:15. The building was fairly soundproof, but the windows were not.

Curious, he got up from his desk and looked out the window. Seeing Scully’s car, he immediately smiled. She was a little late, but she was there. His brows then furrowed when she opened the door to the backseat. Bending inside, she was there for nearly a minute.

When she pulled back, he let out a gasp as she had reappeared with a small child in her arms. He could see the little girl was limp and appeared to be asleep. Observing Scully’s struggle to get her bags from the front seat while also carrying the child, he quickly left his office.

He tried to keep his pace slow, so as to not disrupt his colleagues, but his mind was racing with a million questions. Mulder made it outside, but didn’t see Scully. Assuming she must’ve gotten to her office already, he hurried up the stairs; he was out of breath when he reached the third floor.

Looking around, he heard a ding, announcing the arrival of the elevator down the hall. The doors opened and he spotted her shining red hair as she exited the elevator, and turned toward her office. Speed walking, he made it to her office at the same moment that she did.

“Oh, God. Mulder, you scared me,” she whispered when she saw him, breathing quickly as she reached for her keys.

“Sorry,” he whispered, matching her volume.

Scully took a minute to find her keys, only having one hand free for the action. She finally got her office unlocked, the little girl sleeping through it all. Propping the door open, she left the light off and set her bags down, a bright pink Dora the Explorer backpack standing out. She picked it up and held it out to him.

“Can you…” she asked him, nodding at the child in her arms.

“Oh. Um, sure. What…”

“Her blanket, please.”

He unzipped the bag and pulled out a small blue blanket with Thomas the Train across it. Versatile, I like it, thought Mulder. He couldn’t help but feel his heart grow as he watched the way she was with the little girl he assumed had to be her daughter.

“Mommy…” the toddler suddenly croaked.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay.” Scully’s voice was soothing and soft for the girl as she ran a hand across her daughter’s long loose curls. It was different from her no-nonsense, low-pitched professor voice, and it made his heart ache.

She mouthed a thank you to Mulder and took the blanket from him. The little girl whimpered as she was covered in the blanket and snuggled closer to her mother. Scully rocked her and smiled at Mulder.

“I’m sure you have some questions.”

“Just a few.”

She sighed and looked at her child. “Please, sit.”

He obeyed, watching as she carefully sat in her leather desk chair.

“How old is she?” Mulder asked.

“Almost three.”

“Wow, you’ve got your hands full. What’s her name?”

“Emily.” Scully smiled as she rubbed Emily’s back over the blanket.

Awkward silence washed over them as they both ignored the elephant in the room. Scully wasn’t married and didn’t wear a ring. She had never talked about her child before, let alone a partner that could be the child’s father.

“You’ve shared so much, why not her?”

She sighed again. “I don’t know. I guess I thought… that you would judge me. Everyone else sure does, except Missy and Charlie.”

“You know I’d never.”

“I do, but I was also worried. And I guess I wanted to keep her secret for as long as possible.” She avoided his gaze as she spoke.

“I don’t want to sound insensitive, but I do have one more burning question…”

“You want to know about her dad,” Scully guessed and he looked at her sadly and shrugged, not speaking the words, but obviously curious.

“His name’s Ethan and he had been my boyfriend since grad school. I found out I was pregnant the day I defended my dissertation. We broke up about halfway through my pregnancy. He hadn’t ever wanted children, but also didn’t want to use protection. I… well… now Em’s here. That’s the extremely simplified version.”

Mulder’s eyes were wide as he took in the information. He thought she was pretty badass to be able to raise a kid on her own. He could also hear how she may feel shame about it, because of others' comments and also how society tended to treat women who were single parents.

She sighed and he realized that he hadn’t said anything in response. Feeling like a bit of a jackass, he opened his mouth to speak, but she suddenly stood up and shook her head.

“Sorry to cut this short,” she said, glancing at her watch. “But my first class starts soon and I need to get her stuff to bring.”

He shook his head and stood as well. “I can watch her, if it would make it easier for you.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t-“

“I insist. Besides, I don’t think she’ll like listening to her mother talk about super smart science stuff.”

“It’ll probably bore her to death,” she agreed with a chuckle.

“Then it’s settled then.”

“Are you sure?” Her expression gave away her uncertainty, her eyes searching his face.

“Really, I’d love to. I promise we’ll just stay in here while you teach.”

“You need to be in your office, Mulder. I can’t do that to you.”

“Then we can go to mine. Look, Scully, I promise we’ll be okay, okay?”

She sighed for the third time. “Okay. I should wake her though, let her know I’m leaving and let her see you. I don’t want her waking up without me and crying. Hey, Em,” she said softly, gently patting her back, waking the child.

“Mama…”

“Hey honey, Mama has to teach her class now. You’re going to spend some time with Mulder today, okay? He’s mommy’s friend.”

The toddler lifted her head and looked at him fearfully, tears running down her cheeks.

“Hey, Emily,” Mulder greeted. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you like Dora? She’s pretty cool.” Emily didn’t answer, but embraced Scully tighter.

“I know baby, but Mommy really needs to get to class. Mulder is a very nice man and he will take care of you. He has fish in his office. Do you want to see them?” She nodded, her eyes still full of tears.

Emily was gently passed to Mulder, Scully making sure she was wrapped in her blanket. The little girl sniffed and whimpered as she watched her mom blow her a kiss and then leave the room, thanking him once again.

“Would you like to go on a trip, Emily?” he asked, hoping to ease the tension. She looked at him, her expression unsure and still slightly fearful. “Let’s go see the fish, okay?” She nodded and he beamed.

He grabbed her backpack and swung it onto his back, closing the door to Sculy’s office as they walked out. He locked the door with the keys he’d taken off her desk, knowing she would come to his before coming back to her own.

Emily was trembling slightly in his arms and he held her closer as they walked to the elevator.

“Would you like to go outside? It feels nice out today.”

Emily slowly nodded her head, her thumb on the tip of her bottom lip, as she put her head on his shoulder. He stepped out of the elevator and then the building. He walked into the little courtyard separating the science and education/psychology buildings. The little girl lifted her head just enough to look around.

“‘Nola,” Emily said quietly, as she pointed with her little finger.

“What was that, Em?” Mulder asked, at a loss of what she was trying to say.

“‘Nola,” she repeated louder.

He looked at the direction she was pointing and chuckled when he realized what she meant. “Oh, you like the magnolia tree?”

Mulder was impressed by her intelligence. Of course, her mother had gotten her doctorate at twenty-four, which was not common amongst the other faculty. Even he hadn’t received his until just before she had started teaching, and he was thirty, nearly thirty-one.

“You’re very smart, Emily,” Mulder praised, but the little girl was uninterested. She put her head back on his shoulder, falling asleep before they made it to the office.

As he arrived at the door, he realized he had left his door unlocked when he found it hanging open and one of his teaching assistants, Tyler, was grading papers.

“Oh, sorry Dr. M, but the door was unlocked and…” Tyler started, but was confused as he saw Emily in his arms.

“I’m watching her for a friend,” Mulder said simply, putting her backpack down on the desk. Tyler nodded and went back to grading papers.

Emily continued to sleep, Mulder holding her as he sat down at his desk. Even as he held her, he managed to send a slowly-typed email to a student about the midterm, enter the test grades Tyler had given him, and sent out an announcement to the class about their extra credit assignment.

Looking down at Emily, he smiled. Other than her blonde hair, she was a mirror image of Scully and he couldn’t imagine anyone but her having a sweeter child.

Tyler left soon after he was done grading, smiling and nodding silently as he walked out the door. Emily began to stir, her eyes slowly opening and taking in her surroundings.

“Hey there, Em,” he said softly, and the toddler mumbled, clutching her blanket closer.

“Do you want to see the fish now?” She nodded and he stood up, his back protesting at the position he had been in for the past forty five minutes. He shifted her to hold her better and walked across the room to show her the fish.

“Oh!” she said, watching the fancy guppies he had bought swimming around the tank. “Fishies!” She pointed at the tank and he grinned.

“Yup! Those are fancy guppies. Can you say guppy?”

“Guppy.”

“Good job,” he said, smiling again and rubbing her back. “See that one there? The blue one with the red spotted tail? That’s my favorite one. Watch how fast he swims.”

“Fish swim fast,” she agreed with a nod and he chuckled, shifting her again.

“They are fast. Good job, Em! Gimme five.” She laughed as she lifted her tiny hand and met Mulder’s large one.

“Having fun?” Scully asked and they turned to look at her, standing in the doorway with a smile.

“Mommy!” Emily said, trying to scramble out of Mulder’s arms. He laughed as he set her down and she ran to Scully, who lifted the squealing toddler in her arms.

“Hey, baby.” Scully kissed Emily’s cheek and looked at Mulder. “Were you good for Mulder?”

Emily vigorously nodded her head while Mulder laughed. “She was very good. She’s a smart kid.”

“She takes after her mother.” The two adults smiled and Emily wrapped her arms around Scully’s neck. “Thank you for looking after her. I only had the one class today, but she was sick yesterday and I had babysitter problems and-“

“I promise it was no trouble and completely my pleasure. She slept most of the time, but she liked the fish. The guppies, right Em?”

“Guppy,” she said with a nod, pointing at the tank. “Guppy fish, Mommy.”

“Yes, I know. I knew you would like them.” Scully smiled. “Hey, are you free tonight?”

“Umm. I… no, I mean yes I’m free.”

“Well, let me buy you a drink. It’s the least I can do to thank you for your help.”

His heart raced. This was the moment he’d been waiting for since he had first looked at her.

“Um, sure, I mean… yeah, I’d love to,” he stammered.

Great job, doofus, he admonished himself, inwardly rolling his eyes.

“Great. I’ll sort out a babysitter for tonight and I’ll see you at six? I’ll send you my address.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Scully was inviting him out on a date. Did she see it that way? They’d never spent time together outside of university functions, but he hoped she’d see it as a date, as he would love for it to be so.

He smiled as he nodded and she smiled back. She lifted Emily a little higher, telling her about her class as Emily continued staring at the fish. The way she doted on her daughter and how her red hair shone in the light, he could feel he was already falling for her.

Yeah… he was in big trouble.

[misslilli]

Whelp, with yesterday we're back at school. Teaching first grade is hard, man 😂 Thank you guys, again, for going on this adventure with me :)

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 17 - The Mulder Boys's Birthday Bash

[ DS ]

The Saturday of the Mulder Boys’s Birthday Bash, I find myself standing in front of my closet with the girls, frowning at my selection of dresses. “What about this one?” Holly fingers a yellow sundress.

“Nah, it’s pretty but she looks like she’s going to church in that one.” Sarah tugs on a dress with a daisy print on it.

“Are you joking? That one’s even more Virgin Mary than the yellow one!”

Alex reaches into my closet and pulls out a navy two-piece dress I bought on a whim a few years back, but have never worn since then. “How about this one?”

“A, that’s perfect! It’s classy, yet sexy, just what we’re going for!” Sarah shoves me towards my bathroom. “Go try it on, D! And wear those nude heels with it.” I take the dress out of Alex’s arms and the shoes from Sarah and change into the outfit quickly. The straps drape across my arms just below my shoulders and it’s low cut just enough for my comfort. My cross necklace gleams against my skin and I decide to keep it on for tonight. Since it’s a two-piece, there’s just a sliver of skin visible between the top and the skirt, which flares out and swishes around my knees.

Slipping on my heels I step outside and the girls gasp in unison. “Yes, that’s the one! How does it feel D?” Holly pulls me over and I twirl in front of the full-length mirror, smiling as the skirt billows out around my legs.

“It’s beautiful, I love it. Thanks, girls!”

“The Mulder boys won’t know what hit ‘em when you show up wearing that!” Sarah winks at me suggestively and I roll my eyes at her.

“You know exactly that that’s not why I’m wearing it!”

Now it’s Sarah’s turn to roll her eyes. “Yeah sure, just keep telling yourself that…”

“Come on guys, we’re already unfashionably late. I’ll just call us a cab, are you ready?”

I grab a shawl against the cold and my purse before we make our way downstairs to wait for the cab. When we arrive at the house, we can already hear faint party noises from the backyard and my heart’s beating hard against my chest when we walk up the front walkway to ring the doorbell. My gaze wanders around the front of the house, the glass veranda on the right catching my eye. It’s completely different from our beach house, but it’s beautiful all the same.

The door opens to reveal Principal Skinner with a glass of whiskey in his hand and he holds the door open for us. “Hello ladies, come on in! You look extraordinarily beautiful tonight! Follow me, the party’s out back in the yard.”

He leads us through the house and I notice that it’s got polished hardwood floors and is furnished with antiques, giving it a cozy feel. We walk past the glass veranda which houses the dining room on the right and the living room with a massive couch to the left, which opens into the kitchen. The wooden staircase to the first floor is tucked away in the back. Skinner points us to the bathroom as we walk past it before we step outside onto the back porch and my breath catches in my chest.

They really went all out on this party, there’s string lights twinkling all around the hedge and in the trees, catered food and a bar in one corner, round tables in the middle and a massive dancefloor with a DJ in the other corner. Holly whistles through her teeth. “Man, they sure know how to live it up. Why are our parties never this nice? Jesus, I think they invited half the town for this.”

“Well, that’s on me I guess, they don’t know many people around here yet so I figured it would be the perfect opportunity to make new acquaintances,” Principal Skinner admits but I’m only half listening because my eyes are too busy scanning the crowd. Sarah nudges my hip and tilts her head over to the bar and I’m embarrassed that she knows exactly who I was looking for. There he is, deep in conversation with Skinner’s wife, laughing at something she said.

He’s wearing a dark blue suit with a white dress shirt and a crimson tie and while the sight of him in a plain t-shirt with jeans are enough to make my heart skip a beat, him in that suit is going to give me a heart attack.

“Would you look at that D, you color coordinated, matchsiiiesss.” Holly whispers in my ear and I give her a pointed look.

“Shut up, Holly!” I hiss at her.

Just then, he looks over at us standing on the elevated porch and I can practically feel the slight burn his eyes leave as they travel up and down my body, giving me the once over. I hope he has a defibrillator. He flashes us a smile and raises his hand in a small wave, then continues his conversation with Arlene Skinner.

“Come on, girls, let’s put the presents on the gift table and get something to eat and drink.” ‘Eat, drink and be merry for today you may die.’

At the bar we sidestep the wine for now, since we haven’t eaten yet and I don’t want to embarrass myself by getting tipsy and stumbling over my heels. With my luck, I’ll just faceplant at a certain someone’s feet. ‘Huh, maybe he’ll catch me in those strong arms of his, though, if you’re really lucky…‘

When he spots our little circle, Felix comes over to us wearing a boy version of his dad’s suit, only with short dress pants and sneakers better suited for running around with the other kids. He’s tugging a tall woman along, with wavy brown hair and a kind face that seems somewhat familiar, but I’m not sure where to place her. His face is flushed and he beams at us happily.

“You came!”

“Of course we came, happy birthday Felix!” Sarah raises her glass to him and we all chime in with our Happy birthdays. The woman he came over with also raises her glass and ruffles his hair affectionately.

“This is my teacher Miss Anderson, and Miss Carter and Miss Spencer and Miss Scully,” he introduces us while the woman takes her turn shaking our hands. She regards me curiously and her lips curve into a smile.

“I’m Sam, Fox’s sister and Felix’s favorite aunt!” His sister, that’s why her face seemed so familiar. “So you’re the enigmatic Miss Scully I’ve heard so much about. It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She notices the surprised look on my face. “Only good things, I promise. Felix won’t shut up about you when we talk on the phone.” I laugh, mostly because of the exasperated look Felix gives his aunt at revealing his secret.

“Glad to hear it, we’re having a lot of fun with him during recess! Nice to meet you, Sam. I really like your dress, did you get it around here?”

“Thanks, but no, I got it back in LA, I’m only visiting for a couple of days, I just couldn’t miss my two handsome boys’s birthday bash!”

“Handsome, huh? You spoil me sis!” Her brother has snuck up behind her, throwing his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side and planting a kiss on her cheek. “Hi ladies, thanks for coming, you look very lovely today!” We raise our glasses to him as well, wishing him a happy birthday and my drink spills over a little in my shaky hand. I pray that no one notices.

“Sam I’m so sorry to drag you away, but can you help me out and check if everything’s alright with the caterers?” They excuse themselves and we decide it’s time for us to check out what said caterers have prepared, our stomachs already rumbling. Hopefully, the butterflies in my stomach will make room.

----------

[ Sam ]

After checking with the caterers inside, I return to the party, standing on the back porch to watch everyone have a good time and I’m secretly a little proud of myself. Planning the party from all the way across the country had been stressful to say the least, but it turned out great. My gaze wanders around the tables and it catches on the tiny red-head and her three friends, who seem to be having a great time, laughing and chatting at their table.

I’ve heard many stories from Felix over the last few weeks but what surprised me the most was the way my brother looks at her. When I saw the way his whole face lit up when she walked in, I realized that Felix was not the only one taken with Miss Scully. She’s not his usual type - not that she’s not pretty, she is, very much so - but she’s actually nice. A vast improvement from the piece of work that’s his ex-wife, let me tell you. I wonder if he’s thought about asking her out yet.

----------

[ DS ]

After dinner, we’re treated to another visit from the little Mulder, who’s breathless from the game of tag with his friends. “Hey Felix! Are you having a good time?” He nods enthusiastically, trying hard to catch his breath.

“Yeah, auntie Sam did a really good job! I can’t wait for my cake, she said it’s really huuuge! And the DJ is playing aaaall my favorite songs, too!”

Suddenly shy, he shuffles his feet a bit and then, gathering all his courage, he looks up at me and holds out a tiny hand. “Miss Scully, will you dance with me?”

“Of course, birthday boy, come on.”

----------

[ Sam ]

Once I’m finished making another round of checking that everything’s running smoothly, I spot my brother standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching the party. Stopping on the last step, I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my chin on his shoulder. “Great party, huh?”

“Yeah, you did a pretty good job sis. And Skinner’s managed to gather up quite a crowd. Almost everyone’s here tonight!”

“You know what I think? You’d be just as happy if it were only you and one other special guest here tonight.” He turns his head a little, frowning.

“What?” I motion my head to the woman who’s currently talking to Felix at her table. “Aah. Is it that obvious?” I snort derisively

“Are you kidding me, bro? I’ve known you all my life, I can see the hearts in your eyes from a mile down the road. Have you asked her out yet?”

“No… I’m so nervous around her I can barely string more than a few coherent words together. She probably thinks I’m a huge idiot. I asked her if she believes in aliens, Sam!” We watch as Felix holds his hand out to her, asking her to dance with him. He’s so cute I can barely stand it.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You should take a page out of your son’s book though, boy’s got game!” My brother laughs as the somewhat mismatched pair sways on the dancefloor.

I release him from my embrace, an idea popping into my head. “You should go and cut in.” Now he fully turns to me and looks at me like I’m crazy.

“What? No…” He’s making his panic face.

“What yes! Carpe diem, right now!” I give him a gentle shove in the direction of the dancefloor. “Go! I’ll handle the music.”

----------

[ DS ]

Of course, I can’t say no to the little charmer and we make our way to the dancefloor and I sway with Felix in time to the music, twirling him around until he giggles.

“You look really handsome tonight, Felix!”

He smiles shyly and narrowly avoids stepping on my shoes. “Thank you! You look really beautiful too.”

“You’re absolutely right, son. Mind if I cut in?” A tingle shoots up my spine at the sound of his voice and Felix nods, stepping back. His dad holds out his hand to me. “A dance for the other birthday boy?”

“Well technically, it’s not your birthday for a few days.” I tease him, but I slip my hand into his and he spins me against him, wrapping his right arm around my waist, clasping my left hand in his tightly. The DJ fades into a new song and I groan inwardly as Sonny and Cher’s “I got you babe!” starts droning from the speakers. We sway for a few beats before he whips me across the dancefloor in a quick waltz. Over his shoulder I can see countless pairs of eyes following us but for once, tonight, I don’t care because all I can feel is the burn of his fingers resting on the sliver of exposed skin of my waist and the tickle of the hair at the back of his neck against my hand. God, this guy can waltz.

On the last few notes, he twirls me out with a grin on his face, tugging on my hand to bring me back in and then he dips me back for the grand finale. Dips me. The move takes me by surprise and I laugh, breathless when he brings me upright again.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to dip your lady in a waltz!” I realize my Freudian slip a fraction of a second too late. ‘Your lady? What the heck, Dana.’

He just shrugs nonchalantly, still grinning. “If I fancy to dip my lady, I will dip my lady! Thank you for this dance, Miss Scully!” He bows his head and I chuckle, curtsying. “The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Mulder!” ‘Who ARE you?’

We step off the dancefloor and I return to our table, sitting down still a little bit out of breath, only to be met with three incredulous stares. ‘Here we go, 3, 2, 1…’

“What was that, D?” Holly.

“Oh my God, the two of you on the dancefloor!” Sarah.

“That was incredible!” Alex.

I shrug, picking up my glass, but I can’t hide the blush on my face and smile around my straw. “Mr. Mulder can waltz.” I’ll never live this down.

Sometime after the birthday cakes came out, Felix appears at my side again and leans against me heavily. I can tell he’s coming down from his sugar-high. “Miss Scully, remember how I told you about the encyclopedia on butterflies?”

“Yeah I do, what about it?”

“Would you like to see it?” He looks up at me hopefully and I agree, glad to get away from the action for a while.

“Okay, come on!” Together we climb the steps to the back porch and he tugs me inside into the living room where we sit down on the couch. I can finally slip off my heels while Felix runs to get the encyclopedia and after returning, places it on my lap curling up into my side. He opens the heavy book and shows me his favorite butterflies, explaining in great detail what’s so special about it.

His voice gets more and more quiet with each new butterfly until he stops talking altogether and looking down I realize that he fell asleep, completely wiped. Coming off my own sugar high, I scoot down lower into the cushions and lean my head back against the back, closing my eyes. Just for a second.