#god mulder can be a prick

[actual-changeling]

partly inspired by my own meta post that i wrote about it a while ago. i thought about the love confession at the end of triangle for too long and somehow managed to uh. make it hurt even worse. sure, i could have fixed it BUT i can also write the equivalent of making us all chew glass so that's what i did.

800-something words of bittersweet angsty hurt/comfort

———

"Hey, Scully."

Her feet are aching and her body is screaming for rest, and yet she returns to his bedside when he calls, exactly like she always does. The day is heavy on her bones, eating away at her composure and leaving her raw, with her nerves exposed. It feels like she hasn't slept in a week, and all she wants is to go home, have a hot bath, and probably cry for a good hour or two. 

Mulder pushes himself upright, and with her hands grasping the railing, she leans in closer than she probably should; she can still see him floating in the water, no matter how hard she tries to expel the memory.

"Yes?"

Scully can't say what she expected—a 'good night', maybe, or a 'thank you for saving my ass again'. 

But when Mulder looks at her with an unflinching gaze and says, "I love you,"  she breaks. Easily and all at once, a dry twig snapping underneath her heel, a ripe peach bruising as it rolls from the kitchen counter. Her eyes flutter close, her next inhale shakes almost violently, and she falters. The white-knuckled grip she has on the plastic railing is the only thing keeping her upright.

Scully cannot look at him, can't face the determination, the hope she knows she'll find. After a minute of tense silence, she speaks with a quiet, tortured voice, and clings to the last remnants of her self control.

"Don't—don't do that to me, please. Not today."

Mulder's hand lands next to hers, and she stares at the inch of distance between them as hers begins to tremble.

"It's not drugs talking, Scully, I mean it."

I know you mean it, she doesn't say. That's the problem.

God, she's tired. She just wants to go home and forget about all of it, and now he cannot even give her that one last respite. The tears pricking in the corner of her eyes are born of overwhelmed exhaustion, and her strength fizzles and burns out as she attempts to hold them back. She does not want to cry in front of him, never has, and the hot trail running down her cheek feels like a dagger pointed at her chest.

When Mulder sits up and leans in, she squeezes her eyes shut and is about to turn away when his fingertips brush along her jaw. He slowly, hesitantly, traces the lines of her face until he cups her face with his right hand and wipes at the tears with his thumb. 

It's everything she wants at the wrong time, and yet she helplessly sinks into the touch. After a few moments of her allowing the gesture, his other hand comes up, too. Mulder is close enough for her to feel his warmth against her skin and his breath ghosting over her lips.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and she doubts either of them knows what exactly he's apologising for. 

Saying it. Not saying it earlier. Saying too many things he shouldn't have. Almost getting himself killed again. All of it and more.

"I can't do this, Mulder. Not when—when you could change your mind and take it back."

She can sense him scrambling to respond, and she finally opens her eyes to stop him in his tracks. Not unkindly, she softly shakes her head.

"You will promise not to, but it already happened. You meant what you said until you didn't. You wanted me around until—well." The laugh bursting out of her throat is weak and humourless.

In a flash of panic, Mulder's grip on her face tightens, not uncomfortably so, just enough to cause her hands to shoot up and wrap around his wrists in return. Keeping him in place, pulling him away, she doesn't know. Both. Neither. He does not want her to walk away, and, deep down, she wants to stay despite knowing she can't. 

"Never again," he pleads, an edge of desperation to his voice she heard once before; another missed chance hidden badly from view. "Never again, Scully, I swear."

She's shaking her head before he finishes his sentence, squeezes his wrists once, and then slowly leads his hands away from her face. Immediately missing the warmth, she lingers and keeps them in her grasp. After everything they went through, he's still Mulder, the one person in the world she knows would never willingly hurt her despite having done so before. She still trusts him, no matter how hard she tries not to.

Regret is dripping from her words, and she smiles, if only to soften the blow. She doesn't want to make the situation worse than it already is, but she can't do this. She can't. Not now. Not like this.

"I want to believe that, I really do, but it's not enough. Words aren't enough."

She slowly slides her hands upwards until she can unfurl his fists and press a kiss to his palms. Then she lets go and steps back.

"Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow." 

Scully feels his eyes on her for days, no matter how many miles stretch between them. He does not say it again. She didn't expect him to—somehow, it still hurts.

[caffeinosis]

S: I believe in the idea that god's hand can be witnessed. I believe he can create miracles, yes

M: Even if science can't explain them?

S: Maybe that's just what faith is

Omfg, I'd give her so much shit for this. i would be such a smug prick. I mean, he's pretty dickish in this episode, but I'd be even more of a dick

Eh, very clumsily written role reversal episode. Well, no, Scully's parts were good and made sense after her recent experiences, but Mulder's arbitrary scepticism is very Because the Script Said So. He didn't seem to have any problems with religious explanations before.

[admiralty-xfd]

Culmination

This is chapter 14. To start at the beginning click here.

I had to address “Skinner told me,” my all time biggest pet peeve on the show, because god forbid they actually write a scene where Scully gets to tell Mulder the most important thing she’s ever had to tell him. Especially since I believe this particular moment had so much weight and affected their relationship down the road.

Also, Mulder still has a lot of garbage to make up for. Thank god for S11 Mulder, is all I'm saying.

INFORMATION

(The Truth)

MULDER

All roads have led here.

In the end, all he’s left with is this dank, dark jail cell and the knowledge that no matter what he does, the world is going to end, and soon. He knows the timetable and the method. He knows the truth. And what’s worse, he believes it utterly and completely.

As he lies half naked on the cold pavement of the cell, he thinks of Scully, and baby William. He thinks of a future they will not get to have, a future she will be robbed of. Time they all will be robbed of.

They’ve already wasted so much time.

He hated having to act distant with her yesterday. He hopes she understood why he did what he did. He tries to focus on something good, like how incredible she’d looked; she’d let her hair grow out and he was reminded of how she looked the day he met her. But the length of her hair only brought to the painful forefront how long it’s been since they’ve actually laid eyes on each other. Every inch further proof of time passing, wasting away.

It’s been even longer than it had been while he was abducted and dead, and somehow this has been worse because he could feel the time passing, slowly, tediously.

More time spent alone.

He aches to see her again and it’s the first time he knows for sure he will very soon. He wishes it were under better circumstances but if he’s being honest with himself, he’s glad he got caught. He’s relieved he’s been forced to give himself up. He couldn’t take the solitude any longer. If it means facing the music, he will, even if he hates this particular tune. He wants to see his family.

What are you thinking?

About my son. About his mother.

The guard is relentless. He knows they are trying to brainwash him into forgetting what he’s learned. He wishes they could. Now that he knows, he wishes he could un-know it. The irony of learning the truth he’s sought for so long and now wishing he hadn’t learned it at all isn’t lost on him.

His thoughts drift to Clyde Bruckman from all those years ago, and his ability to see the deaths of others. Bruckman couldn’t live with that knowledge and ended his own life. Can Mulder live with knowing exactly when and how every human being on the planet will die?

What will he tell Scully? Will she believe it too? She’s been through so much, he doesn’t want to take away any any more of her happiness. Maybe they’ll make it ten years without her having to know. Maybe he’s just kidding himself.

Will he even get out of his current predicament alive?

He knows the military is responsible for all of this. The secrets they hold are worth killing for, and taking him out wouldn’t be difficult. So why this ridiculous charade? He wonders why they’re bothering to put him through this, why they don’t just kill him. It’s a miracle he’s lasted this long at all.

The government has used him to help them bury the truth before, and they’re doing it again. Spooky Fox Mulder, ranting and raving about apocalyptic alien colonizations would only help their cause, not harm it.

He won’t give them the satisfaction.

The doors to his cell slide open, and the asshole with the nightstick comes back in. He flings an orange jumpsuit at him. “Put that on, you have visitors.”

Please… please let it be her.

He doesn’t know who he’s praying to, but he hopes the prayer is answered. A few minutes pass. And then:

“...Mulder?” Her voice is barely a whisper this time.

He turns around and notices the guard has left them alone, thank god. He does his best Hannibal Lecter.

“I smelled you coming, Clarice.”

Her face is priceless and he wishes he could bottle it but instead he decides to put her out of her misery and laughs.

She exhales, the relief palpable. “Dammit, Mulder, it’s not funny seeing you put on that act.”

“No, that is funny,” he explains. “What’s not funny is what they do to you in here when you don’t put on that act.”

He’s waited too long already, and suddenly it doesn’t matter that they’re in a jail cell, or that Skinner is standing right there, or even that the world is coming to an end. If anything, that knowledge is all Mulder needs to cross over to Scully and kiss her for all she’s worth. He feels her knees go weak as she grabs his head for support. He never wants to stop kissing her again, but eventually they have to. Goddamn Skinner. They shift to a hug, and he envelops her with his arms.

When they finally detach, he goes for Skinner. “C’mere, you big, bald, beautiful man.”

“The only thing you’re gonna be kissing is your sweet ass goodbye, with the trouble you’re in, Mulder,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, I kind of gathered that right around the fiftieth brainwashing session.”

He takes Scully’s hand, kisses it. Holds it close to his heart. The way she’s looking at him now is something he’s never felt worthy of, but it’s there just the same.

Soon Agents Doggett and Reyes show up and the whirlwind of Mulder’s farcical trial begins in earnest.

***

After they discuss his options, the cell clears out but Skinner remains.

“You know none of this really matters, right?” Mulder sighs. “This is only going to end one way.”

“How, Mulder? With you on death row? That’s not gonna happen, not on my watch. I’m not letting Scully go through that again.”

Mulder doesn’t want her to go through that again, either. But his options are pretty limited at the moment.

Skinner leans against the wall and crosses his arms. “Tell me what you need from me.”

Mulder shrugs. “Make our work mean something, Skinner. Anything. Everything Scully and I have uncovered sits in the basement, none of it brought to light because no one will believe it. Maybe someone in that room will hear it.”

Skinner looks uncomfortable. “Why would they listen to me? They already think you’re a joke.”

Mulder sighs and rubs his temples. “Now you’re catching on.”

“Well, what’s their angle then? To discredit you? You’ve already done that for them, year after year. No offense,” he adds.

“None taken.”

“If they wanted to kill you, they’d just kill you. I still don’t understand why you’re standing here at all.”

“This is a perfect opportunity for them. They want me to help them bury their own secrets because they know I’m not going to out them.”

“Why? What do you know, Mulder?”

“Trust me, it’s not something I can put on the official record.”

“So what, you just plan to die with the truth? You’ll only be furthering their own agenda.”

“You don’t get it, Skinner. Nothing you or I can do matters. None of this matters. We hold none of the cards. All we can do is go down fighting.”

Skinner removes his glasses, wipes them on his shirt, puts them back on. “I can’t be a party to you allowing yourself to get put to death, Mulder. I won’t just do nothing.”

“Try my case, then, sir.”

“Maybe something, anything we’ve got would be enough to save your life. Right now that’s all I want to do. The rest of this government conspiracy crap is secondary. I owe it to you, and to Scully.”

Mulder closes his eyes, leans back against the wall. “I don’t know what to do about Scully. I know she won’t give up on me, even though that’s exactly what she should do.”

Skinner doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.

“I know all this seems really important right now. But don’t lose sight of the big picture, of your life. You’ve got an important choice to make, Mulder. Don’t make the wrong one. Trust me.”

He starts to head toward the cell door and Mulder takes that in. He wishes he had a choice. He wishes he knew a way out of this. He can’t think of a good plan because he can’t see an endgame that isn’t tragedy. It’s impossible for him to think about any kind of future right now; with Scully, with William. For him. For anyone. All he can think about is the present.

“Sir? Can you do me another favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Can you ask Scully to bring William?”

Skinner stops, is silent. Silent for a long time. Mulder doesn’t know why but the dread that lurches up inside him is very real and immediate.

“Sir….?”

“I think... you need to talk to Scully about that.”

He starts to panic. “No, Skinner, what happened?” He walks to Skinner and grabs the back of his jacket. “Tell me right now! Is it William? Did something happen to him?”

Oh god, that baby. Scully’s whole world. If something happened to him…

“What is it?!” The terror in Mulder’s voice is enough to get Skinner to turn around. “Tell me!”

Skinner can’t look him in the eye. He shakes his head. “William… is gone.”

Mulder’s heart sinks. His breath stops. Suddenly, everything they have been discussing seems utterly unimportant.

“William is... dead?”

“No, not dead,” Skinner quickly corrects. “But it felt like a death to Scully. Everything just… became too much, it was too dangerous for him. She gave him up anonymously for adoption.”

Mulder stares at Skinner. “When?”

“Couple months ago.”

Mulder’s legs give out and he sinks to the floor, his head in his hands. Everything they’ve gone through, how much Scully wanted that child, all of it gone. He left for nothing. He’s been separated from his family for no reason at all, and even though leaving was meant to protect them all, he failed.

She must have felt so desperate, so alone to make such a decision. Why did he ever leave? The dangers they feared seem so insignificant now.

He didn’t think things could get any worse. He’s never been more wrong in his life.

“I’m sorry, Mulder. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this.” Mulder can’t look at him. He just wants Skinner to leave before he breaks down completely. “I’m… I’m going to leave you alone, okay? Scully will be back tomorrow. You should talk then.”

Skinner quietly exits the cell.

After the door closes, Mulder bursts into tears. His body is so wracked with uncontrollable sobs he falls to his side and pulls his knees to his chest. He grieves for William, but his grief soon turns to Scully. He loved their child, of course, but the entire time he’s been gone he felt his love for William through his love for her. Every day that passed, every moment he missed, every milestone she must have witnessed, he imagined it through her eyes.

He thinks of her broken heart, again, and feels completely numb.

He doesn’t sleep that night, tormented by desperate cries and fits of wakefulness. He thinks of a night back in Bellefleur, Oregon, where he held Scully in comfort and security and regrets all the choices he subsequently made.

***

She comes to him soon, as he knew she would. Her hand softly touches his shoulder and he wakes.

“Mulder, it’s me.”

He wonders how many more times he’ll get to hear her say that. It can’t be many. He slowly gets up, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Her face comes into focus and it gives him hope, if only for a moment.

“I need you to talk to me, confide in me, or we’ll lose.”

He doesn’t want to talk about any of this. “We can’t win, Scully. We can only hope to go down fighting.”

“You’re scaring me,” she says, eyes glistening. “Mulder, I’m so scared I’ve just got you back and now I’m going to lose you again.”

“I know what I’m doing.” All he can say is something he knows she won’t accept or appreciate. His eyes are begging her to tell him what he already knows.

“Well, whatever you’re doing… you have no idea how much has already been lost… what I’ve had to do.”

She looks so devastated, so defeated, he can’t make her say the words.

“I do know. Skinner told me.”

She doesn’t look terribly surprised that Skinner told him something she really should have. Maybe she’s relieved that she doesn’t have to see him react. Maybe he’s also relieved she didn’t have to see it. She slowly looks up at him, ashamed.

“Our son, Mulder...” she says, breaking down. It’s as if she hasn’t been able to talk to anyone properly about this decision and maybe she hasn’t. She falls into him, nothing else to do, and the tears come. “I gave him up.”

Mulder holds her, shellshocked. This is an eventuality he never even considered and now here they are. He’s not angry, or disappointed. He’s just overwhelmingly numb about the whole thing.

It feels oddly inevitable that this happened to them. How could it ever have gone differently? Why can’t anything good ever stay that way for them?

“I’m so afraid you could never forgive me,” she whispers into his ear as she cries.  

He can’t bear how much responsibility she’s accepting for this turn of events. She made the decision, yes, but if it weren’t for him and the cloud of trouble surrounding him wherever he goes none of this would have happened. Yet again, he feels responsible for her unhappiness and he can’t believe they are back here once again.

“I know you had no choice,” he says. It’s the only thing he can think of to say. He doesn’t know the particulars but he doesn’t have to; he knows Scully had no choice. William meant everything to her, and even though he was only with them for a couple short days, seeing her that happy was enough for Mulder to understand her utter desolation.

This misery is too much to take. All he wants to do is make her feel better and he doesn’t think he can even do that for her.

“I just missed you both so much.”

She hugs him tighter. “God, where have you been? Where have you been hiding?”

“In New Mexico.”

“Doing what?”

His face is buried in her shoulder. “Looking for the truth,” he mumbles. He sounds so dejected but is still trying to make her laugh, and she does. It’s a tiny thing, but it’s something to hold onto in this dark moment.

She pulls away and they look at each other tenderly. He can’t believe how much time they wasted not looking at each other this way, and now the world is ending and everything is complete shit. The only good, pure thing is her face, so he takes it in as long as he possibly can.

“You found something, didn’t you? What did you find?” Scully reverts back into investigative mode, and as much as he wants to tell her something, give her anything she could possibly ask of him, he can’t.

He’s probably going to be put to death. Their child is gone forever. He can’t give her more bad news.

“I can’t tell you.”

“You found something in that facility. That’s what you were doing, right? Mulder, what did you find out there?”

“Scully, I can’t tell you.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” She looks so confused and hurt, he doesn’t want to make her feel that way but if it’s between that and decimating her completely he has to take the former.

“You’ve got to trust me, Scully. I know things it’s better you don’t.”

She looks at him sadly. “I trust you, Mulder. I’ll always trust you. But look around. I don’t know what could possibly be worse than where we already are.”

“I’m trying to protect you the only way I know how.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t need you to do that, Mulder. It’s me. It’s you and me, together. Always. Remember? I want to know what you know.”

“I’m sorry, Scully.” He shakes his head. “I can’t. You are the only person left in the world that I love. I’m never going to do or say anything I know will cause you pain. I just can’t. I won’t. I need you to hear me.”

She looks into his eyes. “I do hear you. But what you’re saying right now is causing me pain, too.”

He has two choices and they’re both impossible. He chooses the one that won’t mean telling her the world is ending and none of this even matters. All he can do is shake his head.

She takes his face in her hands and presses her lips to his, not happy with his decision but accepting it. He covers her hands with his own. When they part again, he wipes a tear from her eye with his thumb.

“I really like your hair.”

She smiles, looks down. “Thanks.”

It seems so trivial, so trite to compliment her hair at a time like this, that he knows how significant the gesture actually is. She kisses him one more time, then takes his hand.

“Try to get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She slowly stands up, and he doesn’t release her hand until she’s started walking away. She lets his hand drop, and the cell door slides open, then closed.

He’s never felt more hopeless in his life. He doesn’t have a plan anymore. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. There is no endgame.

If he dies with the truth, maybe she can live with hope.

SCULLY

“I’d rather die.”

I’d rather die.

Words have always been a powerful tool for them. In their work, connecting their minds to each other in a private language, almost a secret shorthand they’d refined. So many words had been uttered between them over the years they almost didn’t need them anymore. One look could floor her in any given circumstance. When words failed them, they’d find a way back to each other. They always have.

But these words have torn her apart.

How could he have said that, to her? How could he not know how those words would make her feel?

Maybe he did know. Maybe he’s given up, on everything. Can she really blame him? His life’s work is on trial, he’s probably getting put to death, and she gave up his only chance at fatherhood. She’s the only thing left he has to live for, and maybe she’s not enough for him.

Maybe she will never be enough for him.

She’s done everything she could to bring him back to her, to keep him alive, and it’s as if he doesn’t even care. He doesn't even want to try. Being alive isn’t worth it to him; not without his quest.

She’s so tired of the quest. All she can think of now are the days and nights she spent missing him, wondering where he was, what he was doing. Watching William get older every day without him. Cursing this fucking quest for taking him away from her, yet again.

She’s always respected the work, always understood the magnitude of the forces against them. She’s always understood the unique position they’ve been in all these years. More than anything, she’s always understood her devotion to him, and she’s never questioned his devotion to her.

What she doesn’t understand, what she may never understand, is this obsession; what it does to him. It takes him far away from her, somewhere she can’t go, somewhere he will not take her. It takes him to a place where he tells her to her face he’d rather die.

He’s never lied to her about who he is, ever. She should have seen something like this coming. The idea he would choose to die for his quest rather than live for her is something she hasn’t had to think about before. She tells herself this isn’t Mulder, this part isn’t him. This is the obsession talking. She hates the obsession now.

Back when they first met it was something about Mulder that drew her to him, something she admired. She was so young then, so eager.

She was so stupid.

After so much sacrifice, so much loss, all she’s been left with is him. All he has is her. What she needs is to be enough for him, and it seems that he’s telling her she isn’t.

I’d rather die.

It breaks her heart. All she needs is him, but he needs more.

You say this is greater than us and maybe it is. But this is us fighting this fight, Mulder, not you. It’s you and me. That’s what I’m fighting for, Mulder. You and me.

The way their relationship progressed has been so unusual, she has no map, no compass to tell her how they should be feeling, and how they should be sharing their pain. And she doesn’t know what to think about how he feels about William. Ever since she made the decision it has weighed on her heart in a way she could never explain to anyone, not even Mulder. The guilt she feels for making Mulder a father and tearing it away from him is only compounded by her own pain and loss. He said what he needed to say, and she could tell he didn’t want her to hurt, but she can’t quite shake the feeling there are things left unsaid between them. It’s much too painful right now to think about.

If he ever gets out of this cell, what will happen next? She will go with him, because she will always go with him. She doesn’t doubt his love for her. She doesn’t think she ever could. But she often wonders when this will all be over; when they can escape this darkness that follows them once and for all. When they can finally be free.

Does he even want to be free?

Maybe falling in love with her threw a wrench into his plans. She may be the hindrance she’s always feared she was after all, just in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Will she ever really know for sure?

Maybe it would have been better if they’d never met. She wonders for the first time in a long time what her life would be like without him, without all of this. She tries, she really tries to picture it.

She can’t. She can’t because she knows the truth: she loves him more than that life. She loves him more than anything in the world.

This is her truth. She hopes it will be enough to set them free.

***

The phone rings, and rings, and rings.

Please answer, Mom. Please.

Scully stands outdoors in the cold, Gibson Praise asleep inside the car. It’s so late, or rather so early, she hopes her mother will answer the phone. They haven’t spoken since she gave William up for adoption. Scully expected the distance to last for some time, and she felt she deserved it. The pain William’s sudden disappearance caused in her mother’s life wasn’t so easily healed.

But she needs to speak to her, now. Or she may never again.

“...Hello?”

“Mom?” Scully’s voice is soft, tentative. “Please don’t hang up, please.”

There is a long silence on the other end of the line. But she doesn’t hang up.

“You don’t have to talk, Mom, and I completely understand if you don’t want to. But I need you to listen, please. This is very important.”

The silence continues. Taking this as a sign of acquiescence, Scully continues.

“I’m… going to be out of touch for awhile, probably a long time. I don’t know how long. Mulder is in trouble. I mean… we both are. So I just need you to know we’re going to have to disappear for awhile.”

She stops for a moment, catches her breath. Even with everything she and Mulder have been through, this is a phone call she never expected to make.

“Are you still there?”

She hears a soft sob, and knows she’s there.

Scully breaks down. “I’m so sorry, Mom… I’m so sorry about everything. I hope you know that. I’d never want to do anything to hurt you, and when I gave up William I did that. And I’ll never stop being sorry for how that hurt you. But you have to understand it hurt me too, more than I can possibly explain.”

After a brief silence, Maggie speaks. “Is Fox all right?”

Scully sniffles, but a smile crosses her face at last. “He’s okay, we both are. It’s just… it’s complicated. Our lives are in danger. The less you know, the better. I need you to trust me.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“They’ll be asking you if I’ve contacted you. Just tell them we haven’t spoken for weeks, that shouldn’t be too hard to do… considering.”

For a moment she hears nothing on the other end.

“Mom? Are you there?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how dangerous this job has become for you, Dana. And I know why you did what you did. You never asked for any of this. But it’s the challenge that God has chosen to give to you both. And I’m relieved that you at least have each other. Please take care of yourselves, sweetheart. And call me when you can. Send my love to Fox.”

Scully waits.

“I love you, Dana.”

Scully grips the phone with both hands and squeezes her eyes shut. She’s just now coming to terms with everything she’s choosing to give up for Mulder.

“I love you too, Mom.”

As she ends the call, she stares at the phone in her hand. She won’t be calling her mother again for a long, long time. She doesn’t know when she will get used to that idea. She removes the SIM card and crushes it with her foot, then throws the cell phone over the guardrail.

Just a few minutes later, another car pulls up and he gets out. In this moment she knows it’s the end of the road. She’s making a choice, to give up everything in her life to be with him.

She knows in her heart she would make this choice every single time.

***

The rain pounds on the windows outside the motel room. It feels chaotic, apocalyptic.

Appropriate.

They lay in bed, holding each other. Their clothes are scattered around them on the floor. They’d both been exhausted, physically spent by the day’s events, but ultimately they were unable to hold back any longer. It had been too long. The aliens may be coming, but they’re both only human, after all.

She knew she’d made the right decision to stay with him; for her there wasn’t really an alternative. The words he’d said in that jail cell hurt, but now she knows why he’d said them. She should have known he was only trying to protect her, as usual. She should have trusted him, like he’d asked. She doesn’t like that she doubted him, but she also doesn’t like how he’d made her feel: powerless, alone. She can’t stand feeling that way, not with him. She hopes he won’t do it again.

Maybe there’s hope.

She’s sure of one thing… she hopes this will all be over soon. She wants nothing more than to slow down, to stop. To get out of the damn car like she told him years ago. She can only hope he wants to do the same.

At least right now they are calm, just for now. Her eyes glance to the window and the rain against the glass reminds her of another night, an important step they’d taken that feels much longer ago than it actually was.

“What are we going to do, Mulder?” she asks him quietly.

“Can we just stay right here? I think I could live with that.” He’s flat on his back, her head resting on his chest.

“The good news is, right now I don’t think we have any other choice.”

“That is good news. Finally.”

They lay quietly and Scully listens to his heart beating.

“Scully, I hope you know that I understand how hard it must have been for you to make this choice. To stay with me. I know what you’re giving up.”

She closes her eyes, holds him tighter. “You don’t know, Mulder. If you did, you’d know it wasn’t a difficult choice for me to make at all.”

He kisses the top of her head. “I don’t deserve you, you know that?”

She knows he’s joking but she reassures him all the same. “Don’t say that. I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

“I’m not joking, Scully. You probably think I am but I’m not.”

“Shut up, Mulder.”

“I’m serious.” He lets the sentiment hang in the air for a moment. “I mean it. I love you more than I think I could ever adequately express.”

“You do a pretty good job trying,” she replies playfully.

“I’ll try again tomorrow. And then again. And then again. It’s not like we have anything else to do.”

“I’ve never been so excited to be so bored.”

The rain patters on the windows. She lazily trails her fingers along his chest. “But…really, what are we going to do?”

“What, you mean about the end of the world as we know it?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I don’t know. We live our lives, I guess?”

A thought occurs to her that she hasn’t yet articulated to him. “Back during my cancer I thought about this a lot. The idea of knowing you have a shelf life is scary, but in a way there’s some comfort to be taken.” She folds her arms across his chest and rests her chin to better face him. “Knowing your time is so limited makes you think about things differently. Makes you appreciate what you have more.”

“I get that, Scully. Not quite in the same way you could, but I get that.” He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“You do get it in the same way, though. When you thought you were dying, and you never told me. It’s the same thing. 2012 might be the end of the world, but knowing I would lose you would have been the end of my world.”

He’s quiet. She’s not trying to make him feel bad, she doesn’t want him to think she is.

“I was afraid of dying,” she continues, “but I was more afraid of the things I wouldn’t get to do before I did. The regret I had in those moments, that I wasn’t strong enough to even tell you how much you meant to me.”

“But you did. You told me. You were always telling me, Scully. I just couldn’t see it. I refused to see it.”

“And then I got better.”

“And I still didn’t see it.”

She shuts her eyes thoughtfully. “No, you didn’t. But I should have made you see. I should have taken my experience to mean something. Instead I continued to be afraid.”

“I’m afraid now, Scully. I’m afraid the world may actually be headed straight to hell and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.”

“Maybe we can. Even when all hope seemed lost for me, you never gave up. Because of that, you saved my life. Like you said… maybe there’s hope, Mulder.”

He wraps his arms around her and she shifts her body to lay on his. Even though they have so little, they have each other and right now it feels like enough.

She leans down and kisses him deeply. It doesn’t feel possible to be happy knowing everything they’ve lost but she is. In this decidedly abnormal scenario, it’s the most normal she’s felt; the two of them against the world. It always comes back to the two of them, no matter what.

You and me, always.

“Maybe we don’t think about that right now. At least for right now,” he says softly.

She tucks her head underneath his neck and enjoys the warmth of his body underneath hers.

“Okay. How about for a long right now?”

“As long as you want, Scully. Promise.”

He’s slowly running his fingers through her hair, staring at the ceiling. They are quiet for a couple minutes.

“I’m sorry about William,” he suddenly says. “I wish I could have been there for you.”

She bites her lip. This isn’t something she wants to talk about right now. It’s just too hard. The name is painful to even hear. She just holds him and remains silent. He seems to take her cue, and stops talking, dragging his fingers along her back.

“I love you, Mulder. Thanks for not dying today.”

“You’re welcome, Scully. I know this isn’t the life you pictured. I’m sorry I can’t give you that.”

“Well, you’re wrong about that. I always assumed we’d end up busting you out of prison and going on the lam.”

He chuckles. “Me too, actually.”

“This part I did picture, though. You and me, just like this.”

“Well, I’m glad I came through in some way.”

“You always come through. For me, you do.”

As the rain continues to fall outside, she thinks again of their first night together, when everything changed. When they made a decision to move forward without fear, and take a chance.

They’re doing the same now, choosing to live, to fight another day. Of all the ways she’d imagined her life, and even with all the concerns she has about the future, she knows what matters is that they are in this together.

Thanks for reading! Back with more tomorrow.

[frogsmulder]

How about prompt #13 “I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.” ? 💕

Coming Home

scully comforts a baby william and mulder conforts a not so baby jackson; about 1.8k words; rated g; tagging @today-in-fic

Part 1: Angst

The sound of her baby's crying had clawed like talons through her fitful dreams; ones where Mulder was there to cradle their son and wipe away her tears. Heart heavy with love and loneliness, she clears the dampness at the corner of her eyes herself and sits up. Across the room, William is gasping for lungfuls of air, weeping his little heart out. It's the same cry every night, she recognises it as her own: she weeps for his father too. Pulling on her dressing gown, Scully ties the knot around her waist and peers over the side of his crib. She ignores the twitch of mobile. 

"Sh, sh, sh, sh. It's okay, Mommy's here." She places a steadying hand on his tummy, easing his restless wiggling. Gently, she tickles his ribs, watching his balled fists slowly relax, and his wails turn to little whimpers. William sticks out his bottom lip, the one his father gave to him, and it trembles. The little pout and the puppy eyes are what win her over. "Okay, up you come." 

"Hey, baby!" She smiles at him and boops his nose, finally–finally provoking a gurgling laugh. Will goes to grab her nose too, but in his uncoordinated charm hits her in the eye instead. "Come on now, Mommy is too tired for that." And as if in agreement, William lays his heavy head on his mother’s chest, sighing. Brushing down William’s tuft of soft, fiery hair, Scully hoists him up for a sniff test. Satisfied, she walks them through to the kitchen, murmuring to him as she makes herself a cup of hot chocolate. She laughs at the faces he pulls for her, and asks him "Really?" whenever he babbles. He is babbling now; it won’t be long until his first word. She begs with God to bring Mulder home safely to her soon: he is already missing so much and she can’t do it all on her own.

Settling into the couch, she kisses the top of his head and turns the TV on quietly to reruns of Star Trek. In the dim light, she chuckles at how captivated William is by the lights and the sounds. Before he had left–before she had made him leave– Mulder used to sit with Will cuddled up on his chest, whilst she took a long relaxing bath. Now, she finds it’s the only thing that calms him down. "Daddy, will be home soon and then you can watch this terrible show with him instead," she mumbles the words into his hair, pressing another kiss to his delicate crown. At the sound of his name, she feels him begin to tremble again. "I know, Will, he misses you too and he loves you very much…

"I miss him too…

"Some day, he will be home and we will be a family again. And we can get a proper house where you can have your own room, and when you grow up you can decorate it however you like." She laughs a little. "And in the garden, Daddy will teach you how to play baseball, and in the summer we will have barbecues and watch the fireworks light up the sky on the 4th. And when you grow up and one scary day become an adult, we’ll still be here for you. You’ll always be my baby."

William’s tiny mouth opens wider than should be possible for any baby, and he sucks in a great yawn, his eyes fluttering wearily. He looks so peaceful, and Scully wonders how long she’ll be able to keep him like this: safe and protected, peaceful and away from harm. The nightmares of the other night flash through her mind, when she couldn’t keep him safe from Spender. 

"And the scary people, the ones that tried to hurt you…" Scully takes a tiny gasp, tears pricking at her eyes, remembering the recent horrors. "I won’t let them. I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me. I promise."

But she knows a mother’s love can only do so much to protect her son.

William reaches out to grab her hair and try and eat it–one of his favourite challenges–and she laughs through her tears, catching the sleepy sparkle of mischief in his eyes. Detangling his paw from her hair, she turns the TV off, the twitch of his leg telling her he is tired enough to be put down again. She stays by his crib for a while, sitting on the floor and watching him through the bars. "Goodnight, my little bunny, I love you very much," she whispers.

Part 2: Fluff

Mulder hears the short gasps of breath coming from Jackson’s bedroom door as he walks past, ready to go to bed himself. He stops outside, wondering if he should see if he is alright, or if it would be interfering for him to do so. He is so unsure of himself nowadays. Being an overnight parent to a nearly adult son has changed him in ways he could never have expected. It makes him think twice and second guess himself about everything. Sometimes, it absolutely terrifies him. Still hearing the pants and the quiet sobs, he decides to knock softly on his door. He knows those sounds; he is all too familiar with those sounds. He used to cry to himself like that when nightmares plagued him after Scully left. It’s not something anybody should have to go through alone. 

A muffled "Yeah?" comes through the other side of the door. 

"Jackson, it’s me," Mulder says quietly, his head pressed against the door, eyes shut, hoping he doesn’t shut him out: he takes after his mother like that. "Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah." 

"Do you need anything?" Mulder hears the pattering of bare feet against the hardwood floor and then the door is creaking open. A pale face greets him, eyes dark, and skin slick with sweat. He swallows, heart going out to the boy. He doesn’t often tell them about his nightmares, but they seem to be a regular occurrence. 

"Uh, I– uh need to change the sheets." He looks down with embarrassment, and all Mulder can think to do without overstepping is place a hand on his shoulder.

"I can do that. Why don’t you find some fresh ones out of the airing cupboard?" To his credit, Jackson smiles gratefully, his floppy hair falling away from his eyes, revealing their matching grey colour to his own. Mulder smiles and ruffles his hair, damp though it is with sweat. "And take a shower while you're at it.

"Thanks," he mumbles, stepping past Mulder to grab the sheets first. 

"Jackson," he calls back after him. Jackson turns around anxious eyes slightly wider than normal. "After your shower, meet me downstairs." His brows furrow as he considers what could be downstairs, Mulder notes, the same way that Scully’s do when she is about to tell him that his theory has no scientific merit. Before the boy can ask him why, Mulder has disappeared into his bedroom, flicking on the light to inspect the situation. 

Stripping the bed, Mulder chucks the sweat-soaked ones in the wash and puts on the new bedding: dark navy with constellations. He smiles, they are the ones that Jackson had picked out when they had gone shopping to decorate his room a couple of months ago, to give him his own space that he feels comfortable in. Mulder still remembers the evening that he turned up on their doorstep, thin and gaunt, too tired to explain what was going on. Scully hadn’t let him out of her arms for half an hour, although he looked slightly uncomfortable with the affection from practically a stranger. They were strangers to him but he had nowhere else to go. Initially, Mulder had been unsure where he fit into all of this, as he was sure Jackson felt as well, but now, he was starting to get the hang of it. 

Downstairs, Mulder fishes out the old VHS and turns on the TV. In the kitchen, he puts some milk in a pan, enough for two cups, and adds the chocolate powder. By the time that Jackson comes down, wet hair all spiky with fresh pyjamas on, there is a cup of hot chocolate waiting for him on the table and an episode of star trek on the TV. He sits down with an unceremonious huff, falling into the cushions. Quickly picking up the drink, he takes a sip and nods. "It’s good, thanks."

Mulder smiles and hits play on the remote. "When I was a bit younger than you, I used to get nightmares too. And my mom used to make me a cup of hot cocoa and sit with me while I watched one of my favourite shows." 

Jackson gives him a cautionary side glance. "She seems nice." 

"Yeah," he says quietly, taking a sip of his own drink. "We didn’t always get along but she tried.

"When you were a baby, I used to do this too: put on Star Trek or The Twilight Zone to get you to settle down." Mulder gives him a shrug. "I thought maybe it might help."

Jackson takes a deep breath, his eyes fixing on the TV. "I used to watch Doctor Who with mom and dad–my my old mom and dad–"

"–It’s okay, Jackson, they’ll always be your parents. We aren’t trying to replace them."

"I know– I just–" he runs his fingers through his hair– "It was the only thing we used to do as a family in the end…I miss that sometimes."

Mulder nods, not knowing quite what to say. They fall into an easy silence, watching the plot unfold. Mulder cringes when he sees the alien dog, forgetting that the show hadn’t aged quite as well as he seemed to remember. Jackson only chuckles and Mulder is glad that Daggoo is already upstairs with Scully and not able to bark at the fellow canine friend on the screen. 

When the episode is over, Jackson turns to him, biting his lip as if he has something to say. "My nightmares before– I used to dream that I wasn’t normal, that my parents would be killed, and they’d come looking for me. And it all came true… And now my nightmares: I’m scared they are going to come true again."

Mulder notices that he doesn’t say what his nightmares are and he doesn't push him to tell either, but from the look in his eye and the look he sometimes gives Scully’s bump, he is smart enough to have a vague idea. It strikes him down every time he realises that Jackson cares for them all, despite not really knowing them. He has a big heart, his son, as big as his mother’s. 

He swallows. "I can’t promise you that the world isn’t full of monsters–both human and not– but we will do our best to protect you, Scully and me both. We won’t let anyone hurt you, you're safe with us."

Jackson nods as if he has heard the same promise before, but offers a meek smile. "Thanks for this, Mulder… Thanks." He sets his empty cup down and heads up the stairs. 

Mulder grins, shaking his head. That kid, he thinks to himself.

[scullyverse]

Day 19: Silent In Their Grief

Prompt: Period Sex Pairing: Mulder/Scully Rating: Explicit Words: 1,769 AO3 List || Masterlist

🖤 Content warnings; mulder/scully, smut, angst, hurt/comfort, anger, blood, period sex, rough sex, vaginal sex, shower sex, ivf arc, failed ivf 🖤

A child was one step too far.

Trigger Warnings: - Grief from failed IVF - Depictions of blood - Rough Sex

It hadn’t worked.

It hadn’t fucking worked.

Scully’s last chance of being a mother was rapidly spiraling down the drain, blood diluted in scalding water.

Her period had decided to rip her heart out of her chest — just barely beating in her hand — and wake her up in the middle of the night with cramps and a wet stickiness between her legs.

Of course, she should have known.

A pregnancy was just too much to hope for; too much to pray for. Maybe God had forsaken her. Maybe it’s a horrible cosmic karma for her wavering sense of faith or maybe, simply, after all her battles — she’d used up all her chances.

A child was one step too far.

Scully was glad for the water that pricked at her skin in an attempt to cleanse her body — like washing a pig after its senseless slaughter.

Closing her eyes, she tilts her head back and lets the water wash over her face, erasing her treacherous tears into nothingness.

“Scully…”

She can vaguely hear her name. It sounds so muffled, so far away, like she was hearing it from miles under the sea, water pressure pulsing against her eardrums.

“Scully…”

There it is again, clearer now it’s accompanied by a touch to her elbow. It brings her back to earth suddenly, like a stinging slap to the face.

“Jesus, Scully, the waters’ too hot!” Mulder’s gasps, concern lacing his voice as he quickly adjusts the shower taps.

She both loves and hates him for it.

Opening her eyes, she looks down at the shower floor, her toes gripping onto porcelain. The tinge of red no longer stains the water. Good, she didn’t want to be reminded of it.

“I don’t have another chance,” Scully whispers, repeating her earlier words, just barely audible over the static of the shower. “I’ve got nothing left.”

Mulder stands on the opposite side of the shower — though he may as well be on the other end of the planet. Even as his thumb caresses the soft skin inside her elbow, she can’t feel it. He’s both too close and too far away.

There’s nothing for him to say.

No words of comfort could he give that he hasn’t already struggled to voice. 

Of course, the first thing she’d done when she awoke, stained in her own blood, was call him. He must have broken the law with how quickly he had arrived at her door, where he found her; still in her stained satin pajamas with a negative pregnancy test barely gripped in shaky fingers.

Scully can feel her pain pushing at her throat, clawing viciously and leaving a searing heat in her eyes. Angrily, she swallows down the lump and refuses to let her tears fall.

How could she mourn what she was never allowed to even hope for?

It had been stupid to think she could defy the laws of science. It had been stupid to lean on the side of hopes and prayers.

It had been so stupid. She had been so stupid.

Her gaze falls on Mulder, who stands there, unwavering in her grief; shouldering a burden in his eyes that reflect an image of her own. Suddenly, she needs him. More than she needs to breathe.

She needs to be selfish in her desperation for him to shoulder just a little bit more of burdens…of their burdens.

Even though he’s still dressed, he doesn’t hesitate in getting under the spray when she beckons that of him. Doesn’t hesitate to wrap himself around her as she clings so desperately onto his shirt, burying her head into the rapidly moistening material.

Her shoulders shake as she struggles to wrestle down her tears.

“Dana…” His voice is gentle, ushering her into a comfort that she doesn’t feel she deserves. She doesn’t want to be seen like broken glass — not when she loathes herself for feeling exactly like she could break at any moment.

“Shut up,” Scully snaps, voice lacking all sense of venom — just grappling with getting the words out of her constricted throat. “I don’t want to talk.”

He doesn’t reply, just squeezes her tighter.

The tighter he holds her, the more she feels broken.

The tighter he holds her, the more she hates it.

The more that defiant brat inside her head screams for her to spit in the face of her pain; a caged, petrified animal left with no other alternative.

Her lips are on his before he can even comprehend what’s happening, her fingers shaky as she claws at his leather belt. It’s wrong — there’s a part of her that knows it — but she hungers for something, anything, that can dull her pain…even if it’s only for a brief time.

Mulder barely kisses her back, his fingers tight around her own as he stops her frantic struggles at his jeans.

“Scully,” Mulder’s voice is shaking. “We can’t do this…”

“Why the fuck not?” Scully flares up at him with a boiling anger to her eyes.

Her fury visibly takes his breath away.

Maybe he’s expecting her to be overcome with sadness, crippled wholeheartedly by her grief — but she will fight tooth and nail to protect those vulnerabilities with all the anger she has raging beneath the surface.

All the anger at the men who did this to her. All the anger of her precious, treasured, respected science abandoning her. All her anger at a God who’s denied her.

All the anger at him.

All the anger at herself.

“I don’t know,” Mulder swallows so tightly that she can see the bulge move in his throat.

His pure uncertainty makes her waver; a crumbling in her eyes as she wiggles out of his grip.

“I need you, I don’t-“ Trailing off, Scully feels the sadness welling up in her chest; a compression so severe that’s almost suffocating. “I want you to take it away. I don’t want to feel it anymore.”

She’s never been this candid with him, never allowed herself to be this transparent and when his lips crash against hers, the saltiness of his tears teasing her tongue, she quietens. 

It’s like he’s stopping her grief from over flowering; attempting to block the flood with his own forthcomings.

He knows what she needs. He always knows.

Even if they know it’s wrong — they both know it, it’s a sharp niggle at the back of their brains — who are they to deny each other.

He tries to shoulder her pain.

She tried to bear him a child.

Her fingers are like talons as they dig into his back, his hands working deftly to unbuckle his jeans. They pool on the floor. Pooling amongst the seeping of red that now flows from under his fingers to mingle with the water.

The calloused pads of his fingertips are rough against her clit and the sting of pain soothes.

She needs more.

He’ll tell her later how ashamed he was with how hard he was in her hand as she strokes him. 

Mulder hikes her leg high onto his waist; opening her up for him in a way that’s just as raw as the gaping wound in her chest.

The evidence of her punishment is diluted on her thighs, matted in her pubic hair and he acknowledges it with a hesitation.

No, no, no, no.

Scully’s desperate tongue laps at his own, teeth clashing together as she chokes back a sob.

He understands.

The pain is sharp and breathtaking as he slams into her; her back hitting the wall hard enough for her shampoo bottle to topple off the shelf. She’s incredibly tight around him, lubricated only by her misfortune — but it’s enough.

He grunts heavily into her mouth as his fingers gauge bruises into her ass, hips unrelenting when he thrusts. When he pounds.

Every thrust is painfully exquisite.

Her shower doors rattle in their hinges as he holds her weight against the wall, the leg around his waist swinging helplessly and the other; toes struggling to find purchase on the slippery shower floor.

She doesn’t speak, there’s no need.

The only sounds leaving her lips are gasps; air forcefully ejected from her lungs. Scully buries her head into the solid mass of his shoulder, teeth latching on as her mouth fills with the suffocation of cotton.

He grunts again.

This time she’s sure it’s out of pain as he lets her take her grief out on him, ready to suck her dry of it. Her nails indent his shoulder blades with blunted half moon crescents.

Her climax happens suddenly and without warning.

Like a bullet exploding from a cocked gun, she cries out into his shoulder, eyes unavoidably rolling into the back of her head as she spasms around him, almost painfully. 

Her orgasm isn’t pleasurable. No sparks or tingles…just a pulsing of guilt as she milks him, her bloodied arousal slick on his cock.

He doesn’t slow until she comes again.

A pitiful howl rips from her lips as a more powerful climax overtakes her — rendering her breathless, tears rolling down her cheeks.

She’s sobbing — silently wailing — when he finally comes, thrusting one last time before spilling his own guarded grief into her. He pulses gently through his orgasm as he holds her, sheltering her from her outside world as she shatters.

Silence turns to cries.

In their raw, primal state; his cock spurting inside her as she opens herself to him — she’s utterly helpless to suppress her tears. To suppress the rising level of suffering she feels could drown her in a heartbeat.

She’s helpless in how she still sends up a prayer.

Praying, begging, pleading, that maybe God will forgive her…That maybe this time…

Mulder holds himself inside her with a desperation of his own; burying himself to the hilt, that makes her wonder if he’s praying too.

She struggles to breathe.

Mulder pulls out of her and she wobbles on unsteady legs, watching as he cleans the deep red blood off his cock. She can’t even contemplate touching herself to rid the evidence of their coupling, just steps out of the shower and grabs her towel. Little splashes of water mark her path to the bedroom as she lets the water pool under her feet.

They’re silent as they dry themselves.

They’re silent as Scully re-emerges from the bathroom later with a tampon secured inside  — absorbing her failings.

They’re silent as they get into bed, Scully instinctively reaching for Mulder — who has already wrapped his arms around her to hold her close.

They’re silent in their grief.

Until they’re not.

“I’m sorry, Dana.”

[baronessblixen]

Could you please write a story about that attempted strangulation My Struggle scene and how Mulder took care of Scully later that night?

Hurt/comfort set after MSIII. Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2021

Wc: 1021

Fictober Day 7

Tomorrow Isn't Promised

There's no question as to where he's taking her; they're going home. Scully leaves against doctor's order claiming her own status as a medical doctor and is released into the care of Mulder.

His hands are unsteady on the wheel and he leaves the radio off to listen to her breathing in the passenger seat. To prove she's there, she's alive and relatively healthy. How did she do this year after year when it was him in the hospital?

He's too old for this. They both are. They should be sitting on their porch, tend to their garden, and go to bed early. But they've never been these people, have they? They tried. God knows they tried. Like sharks, they have to keep swimming. Like moths, they will go look for the light, in hope of finding the truth.

And their son.

Mulder doesn't know what to make of Scully's visions. All he knows is that he trusts her. If she says to wait for William to contact them, in whichever way he chooses, he will wait right alongside her.

She's sleepy when he turns to check on her halfway to their home. He could have taken her to the place she's living - he refuses to call it her home, or even her place - and stay there with her. Taking her home might be a bit selfish, but it's where she belongs. It's the place where he knows how to keep her safe.

It's pitch-dark when they arrive and Mulder goes to help Scully out of the car and into the house but she does it on her own, like a sleepwalker. He follows her and opens the door for them. It's like she's never been gone. The realization is a needle prick to his heart.

"I want a shower," she says and he nods. She stands there watching him. "I can't do it alone."

Oh. Of course not.

"I'll be right with you." He hears the shower spring on as he collects towels and a fresh pair of pajamas for her. She only took the essentials when she left, leaving him with all her things. He hasn't touched them, hasn't moved them or thrown them away. Like him, they're ready for her to return.

Scully stands in the bathroom, completely nude, waiting for the water to turn hot. There are bruises on her body that he wishes he could take away. He can't live her life, feel her pain. But he hopes he can share it, make it easier on her. She must have felt him there because she turns around and smiles at him when she sees the pajamas and the towels.

"You want me here or-"

"In the shower," she says, stepping in. "Please," she adds. He undresses quickly and joins her.

"Hi," he says, sputtering water. "How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted."

"That all?" She nods. "It's quiet," she says over the rushing water. "In my head. William- he's quiet." The smile on her face takes him back to earlier times when she was pregnant with their child. She'd put her hand on her stomach, smile, sometimes whisper soft words to the baby. He'd watch, jealousy like a fine film over his eyes, until she'd take his hand and put it with hers. He wishes she could do that now. Wishes he too could see what their son is showing her.

Back in the here and now, under the hot spray of water, she takes his hand and puts it on her chest, right where her heart is.

"I'm okay," she says. "I'm still shaken but I'm okay. We both are."

He nods. "I should be taking care of you."

"We've always taken care of each other, Mulder. Open your hands." She pours shower gel into his palms, then her own. She starts washing his chest, his arms, and he mirrors her. Like reuniting lovers, their fingertips discover new scars and old stories on their bodies.

"I wish it didn't always have to be like this," he says.

"Like what?"

"One of us almost dying."

She looks up at him, her eyes swimming between blue and green.

"We always save each other."

"When did you become the optimist?"

"When did you become the pessimist?" She counters.

"As long as we always have both," he says, "we'll be safe. We're Yin and Yang, night and day-"

"Mulder and Scully," she interrupts him, smiling softly. "Let's get out of here. The water is getting cold." They towel each other off, needing the contact, needing to feel each other. In their bedroom, when Scully gets into her side of the bed, Mulder stops.

"Should I sleep on the couch or-"

She stares at him. They haven't shared a bed in so long. He wishes it were because she chose to come back, not because of fear and desperation.

"I want you here. If that's what you want too."

"Can I hold you?"

The question seems to surprise her as it takes her a moment to reply.

"I'd love that." He gets into bed with her, scoots close, and holds her. She smells like his shampoo and he's transported back a whole decade, maybe even two. He tightens his arm around her, reveling in the fact that he gets to hold her and feel her against him. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

"I might have nightmares," she admits quietly.

"I might too. I could have been too late and-"

"You weren't," she says, putting her hand on his arm that's encircling her. "You weren't, Mulder. You were there."

"And you're here."

"We need to sleep."

"Close our eyes on the count of four?" He always adds another one to give them more time, one more moment.

"One," she says, relaxing in his arms.

"Two," he counts, whispering the word against her cheek.

"Three," she sighs sleepily.

"Four." He closes his eyes but stays awake until he's sure that Scully is asleep. Only then does he allow himself to sleep too. There are no nightmares and when they wake again in the morning, still entangled, they smile at each other.

[mulderist]

Great Unknown

One Shot | MSR, RST | 3k+ words | Rated: M | ao3 Written for the @xfilesfanficexchange Dialogue Exchange for @msrafterdark also tagging the fantastic @today-in-fic

Summary: Scully’s feelings leading up to the FTF Hallway Scene

The ping from the elevator chime caused her to flinch. The doors shuddered as they slid open and Scully stepped inside, gripping her car keys against her palm. A torrent swirled in her chest. She felt adrift in an angry sea, searching for a lighthouse to guide her to shore. She leaned back against the worn paneling in the elevator car and shook her head sharply. With a deep inhale and a shaky exhale she allowed herself to briefly fall apart. 

Scully thought about other moments, just like this, where she hid herself to lose composure in the back corner of the office or silently cry in a bathroom stall. Purge it from her system, wipe her cheeks, and soldier on. The past year was marked by so much pain and loss. A confusing array of emotions that she was forced to compartmentalize. The return of her illness and miraculous recovery, strange memories from the night on the bridge, finding and losing Emily in the blink of an eye. The list was becoming insurmountable. She never wanted to appear vulnerable nor did she allow herself complete release or acceptance. He tried to remind her that she wasn’t alone and that gave her some comfort. He could be fiercely protective with an overbearing concern at times -- but he was there. 

Scully told herself all this turmoil was from the exhaustion of their return trip to Texas. Dragged out to the desert on a hunch to pursue phantom tanker trucks. Chased through a cornfield by black helicopters only to escape unscathed. They argued on the drive to the airport and she was too tired to speak to him after they nearly missed a connecting flight back to D.C. 

She was late getting to the Hoover Building for her awkward meeting with OPR. Feeling unprofessional and flustered she endured an hour of questioning. Skinner met her in the hallway, trying to offer words of encouragement. Instead she only heard the words from a senior agent echo in her head about disciplinary action. How was she going to tell Mulder?

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she thought about the consequence of bringing this journey to its end. She pressed her lips together stifling a sob. The impression of her keys grew deeper in her hand. Another chime and the elevator doors opened. It was then she realized she neglected to press the button for the fourth floor.

——-

So many times down this hallway, finding herself at his door. She knocked first then turned the knob, surprised to find it was unlocked. Mulder was seated at his cluttered desk and didn’t get up from his chair as she stood at the threshold. He tilted his head with a quizzical look; not at the fact she was standing in his foyer, but more concerned about her uncharacteristic disheveled appearance. Jacket undone, white shirt hastily untucked. This time she couldn’t hide the fact that something was wrong.

“Salt Lake City. Transfer effective immediately.” It tasted sour in her mouth. Her throat felt dry. His eyes closed and he shut the book that was balanced on his lap.

“You can’t quit, Scully.”

“I debated whether or not to tell you in person,” she continued, nails pressing into her palm. He told her they were so close to finding answers, that they were on the verge of something. She painfully disagreed saying he was the only one who was making that leap. He rose from his chair and approached her. 

“After all you saw last night, after all you’ve seen you can just walk away?” 

“I have. I did - it’s done.”

“I need you on this,” he stressed as he leaned in closer. She could feel her heart breaking. This man, who would follow his beliefs to the ends of the earth; who was already sinking in the deep end of unwanted cases before she came along. She figured he’d be better off without her to continue his pursuit of the truth.

“You don’t need me Mulder, you never have. I’ve just held you back,” she paused long enough to catch her breath and stifle another wave of tears. “I gotta go.”

She was four steps out the door before she heard his heavy boot heels follow. She whirled around and witnessed his frustration boil over. He confronted her and fought to get the last word before she walked out of his life. She stood her ground, not letting him win this time. Scully told him she had only been a pawn, a small player in the grand game to shut down and debunk his work. Then he cut her off.

“But you saved me.” 

His honesty hit her like a bullet. Hearing him say those four words with a rawness and a vulnerability to his voice caused a pang in her chest. He continued, telling her that she kept him honest and made him a whole person. 

“I owe you everything. And Scully, you owe me nothing.” 

It was an unconventional declaration of love. Simply put, he loved her and in that moment she truly felt it. Her lips parted as she tried to think of something to say but nothing came. She could feel her pulse pound in her ears. His voice lowered as he stood dangerously close.

“I don’t know if I want to do this alone. I don’t even know if I can.”

The powers that be had made the decision for them. She knew it was a forced short-term re-assignment, six months at best maybe a year. Where would things stand when she returned. His plea hung in the air; thick and heavy. There was nothing she could say. The harsh yellow lighting in the hallway was an unkind compliment. He appeared exhausted, desperate, and defeated. She swallowed hard and walked forward into an embrace, burying her head in his chest. She tightened her arms around him and closed her eyes. He held her close with a strong arm draped across her upper back, his head resting in the delicate space between her neck and shoulder. She pulled away and reached for the back of his neck to bring him down, allowing her lips to sweetly kiss his forehead.  A tear slipped down her cheek.

“God, what are we doing, Mulder?” she whispered, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. He exhaled slowly, leaning his forehead against hers. She sniffed with a soft gaze at the floor. She was still questioning herself and he could sense it.

“I can’t lose you now, Scully. Not after all this,” he said softly as he smoothed her hair. She had been here before, melting into his palm as tears pooled in her eyes. Her chin lifted. She could feel her cheeks flush and her pulse quicken as he brought his other hand to frame her face. His touch felt more like a lover than a friend, five years of unspoken desire in a gentle caress. He was turning the key to her heart, unlocking it without saying a word. She searched his face and suddenly desire invaded her thoughts. She was overcome with a need to be with him, even if it was only for tonight. 

A shared bated breath. Lips parted just so. He leaned in and time stood still; they could have been the only two people in the city with the world falling down around them. A celestial thread pulled them together, slowing their orbit. He pressed his lips to hers; soft and warm. Her head drifted back as she took his kiss. Hunger dared her tongue to explore further. His fingers traced down her jawline and trailed along her supple neck. Her head tilted ever so slightly allowing the tip of his tongue to slip past her lips. Her hands moved to hold the sides of his neck, fingers stretched up towards his cheeks. Suddenly, she felt his embrace tighten around her and he lifted her up with ease. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and he turned, carrying her back down the hallway. As he stumbled inside his apartment they parted long enough to catch a breath.

“Mulder…” she purred as her feet found the floor. He released her then placed a free hand on the door and firmly closed it behind them, flipping the deadbolt. She paced further into the room and shed her jacket, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. As she turned around he met her at the espresso stained door frame with another passionate embrace. She leaned back against the solid wood, feeling his weight comfortably envelop her. He then dipped his head to meet hers as her fingers nimbly toyed with the hem of his dark grey t-shirt.

“Scully,” he began with heavy breath, “If you’re giving me this chance, I want to make sure I do things right,” he said carefully. “I want -- you. Only you.” 

His thumb caressed the skin of her cheek as fingertips gently threaded into her fiery locks. She lifted her chin and red-rimmed eyes met his gaze. Her hand connected to his chest like a magnet, the rhythm of his heart pounded beneath her fingertips. 

“I’ve learned that there has never been a clearly defined right or wrong with us. This thing that we have is complicated.” her voice faded to a whisper. She searched his face noting a shine in his hazel eyes.

“Is that a bad thing?” Mulder asked tentatively, knitting his fingers with hers over his heart. She could no longer deny what she truly felt; he was hers and she was his. Despite higher forces trying to tear them apart, together they would walk side by side into the unknown.

“No,” the response was quiet but firm, “because I want this, too,” Scully said. Her lip trembled and he calmed it with another slow kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. A sigh escaped her mouth as he peppered kisses along her neck, tasting her pulse. Roaming hands connected to her waist following the natural curve to her hips, mouths met again and again. She tugged at his shirt, twisting soft cotton around her finger, lifting the material over taut lower abdominals. He parted for a breath and watched the rise and fall of her chest, a flash of gold resting on her sternum. He lightly grazed her rib cage forging a path northward. Warmth bloomed around her heart, flowed through her veins and plunged down to her center. She was aroused in the purest definition of the word. His thumb brushed across her breast and suddenly froze when she quickly covered his hand.

“I’m sorry, we can just…” he stammered.

“Don’t stop,” she said breathlessly as she undid the buttons on her shirt, slowly parting the curtain of silk revealing herself to him. She wanted him to see her, take her, love her for just one night. Things might change but it was a risk they both were willing to take.

He stared for a moment, hesitant to accept the offering in front of him. It was her turn to frame his face, an unspoken cue to proceed. A content grin crossed his lips. He cupped her perfect breast with one hand and noticed how she fit easily in his palm. Each squeeze and knead perking her nipple even more against the smooth fabric of her bra. He nipped at her clavicle, moving her shirt to expose the skin of her shoulder. He tasted Texas dust, salt, and the summer wind. 

She licked her top lip and needed him more than ever. The flint was struck and a flame was growing. He pulled away for a moment to remove his shirt then flung it to the side. She was no stranger to his form; capable of seeing him strictly from a doctor’s perspective but this was vastly different. The details were smoother, softer, begging to be touched. Her fingertips ran a featherweight trail from defined pectorals to abs. He hummed with each caress. She felt a surge in her center and gently directed him further into his living room.   

——-

The afternoon sunlight cast an array of jagged shadows along the walls of the apartment, but Mulder could only focus on the way the golden glow illuminated her. A guiding light to each new curve, each line, each angle. Worn leather the color of dark chocolate provided the altar. She, a goddess draped in white silk astride his lap, breasts rocking slightly against fabric and lace; he, a devout disciple eager to follow her guidance and show her boundless pleasure. His thumb worked a spiral with precision focus on damp black cotton that separated them. He could feel the small hairs on his bare thighs stand on end with each flutter of the hem of her shirt. Her petite frame worked in unison with his digit, punctuated vowels escaped her lips. She reached for him, unfurling tented boxer-briefs. A moist tip graced her palm, her languid strokes caused him to pause and loll his head back against the cushion. 

He shifted suddenly and laid her down, noticing her cross fall into the pit of her throat. Light shone on perfect skin, enhancing the array of freckles across her chest. Clothing tugged aside allowing him entry. His finger traced her seam and ventured further into the dewy folds. Her back arched a perfect curve, hands stretched overhead reaching for the arm of the couch. Her breath came in short bursts as she gave in to his touch; it was so different from her own. He paused to reach down and lubricate himself with her arousal. She blinked lust-laden eyelids and licked her lip. Gently he slid inside, feeling the heat of her center. His first thrust caused a shudder, her grip tightened on the couch. She mewled when he found the deepest part of her. 

“Yes Mulder,” she uttered through a moan, sucking on her lower lip. He drove deeper and deeper. His slick piston motored in and out, his breath ragged. She could feel herself tighten around him. One hand clasped the back of his neck, her thighs twitched, abdominals burned, she was so close now.

“Harder,” she begged, fingertips digging into his skin.

“Mm...Scully,” he said breathlessly. Her staccato exhale grew louder with each thrust. She never wanted him to stop. 

“Oh god I’m..” she warned as a euphoric high traveled up her spine. She gasped and suddenly came hard against him. A cry escaped her lips, hips bucked fiercely. A thousand points of ecstasy lit up inside causing tears to well in her eyes. She let the wave wash over, drowned in the ultimate release. Every inch of her twitched and quivered and it felt right. God it felt so right.

------

The last rays of rosy sunlight had dipped behind the building across the way. A serene silence filled the room. He traced a line along her forehead then down her cheek. She closed her eyes and could feel a glow surround her. He pushed back with a shaky bicep and she caught her breath. He carefully rose from the couch, tucking himself back in and went to the kitchen. She righted herself then heard the rush of water from the faucet. A deep exhale and she swallowed back tears. Joyful tears. Her fingertips tapped against her cheeks then ran through her hair. Mulder soon returned with a towel and a full glass. He sat next to her and she let him dab the terrycloth on her abdomen. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She stood slowly to find the bathroom, he caught her hand with a signature caress of his thumb over her knuckles.

“I’ll be right back,” she said as she caught one more glimpse of his nearly naked frame sitting on the couch. A few minutes later she emerged, finishing the last button on her shirt.  

“Are you alright?” Mulder asked as he leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. Scully took a sip of water from the glass on the table.

“I’m fine,” she said with a nod of her head, “And I truly mean that. For the first time in a while I’m actually fine.” He got up from his seat, bending down to grab his jeans. After pulling them on she moved closer and wrapped her arms around his waist. A tear tracked down and absorbed into his skin.     

“I’m sorry,” she said sheepishly, pulling away with her palm resting on her jawline.

“Hey hey,” he soothed. 

“I know I just said I was fine but that um, that—was a lot for me,” she continued, wiping away tears, “A lot of good but...a lot.”

Her eyes lifted and she saw the smile on his face. He kissed her once again, tender and slow. They didn’t need to say much more. Not yet. She knew they still had to talk about re-assignment but that was a conversation for a later time. Once she got home and processed everything she would reach out to him. For now she just wanted to remember this moment exactly as it was.

Scully stepped away and collected her shoes, pulling them on as he finished getting dressed. She walked towards the door, crouching down to pick up her jacket but was startled when something fell from it. She folded the layer across her arm then bent lower and saw a fluff of yellow frantically kicking its legs. Her eyes widened.

“Mulder,” she called.

“What is it?” He asked, finishing off the glass of water. She rose with the insect pinched in between her fingertips and showed him. He held her hand closer to get a better look. “Wow. A stowaway.”

“Do you think it was from that facility?”

“Almost certain,” he said squinting, “Did it sting you?” 

“No, I don’t think so. I found it on the floor when I got my jacket.”

“Wait a sec.” 

He dashed to his desk and rummaged through the drawers looking for a container to house the bee. She met him halfway and placed the offender in its new holding cell. He took it from her and she went to wash her hands. When she came back in the room he was dialing the phone.

“Who are you calling?” she asked.

“Frohike. I want to have this thing analyzed.”

Scully thought for a moment as she shook her jacket then flipped the collar. Her hand went to the back of her neck, feeling nothing but the clasp of her necklace. Mulder was quick with the details and hung up just as fast. He noticed her fidgeting. 

“I can’t believe that it was in my collar for that long,” she stated running her hand along her upper back, feeling a phantom itch.

“Hopefully we can get some more info about it. I have a theory and I’d really like to be wrong,” Mulder said, adjusting his shirt. “I’m just glad you weren’t stung.”

“Well, even if I was I don’t have an allergy.” She pulled on her jacket, fluffing it before tying it at the waist. Mulder finished fixing his shoes and grabbed his black leather jacket, pocketing his cell phone.

“Yeah, I don’t know if that would make a difference,” he said somewhat to himself while retrieving the bee. She followed him out the door. 

As they waited for the elevator she shook her head.

“We can never catch a break, can we?”

He squeezed her hand, holding on to it as the chime sounded and the doors slid open. 

Unspoken communication. 

Side by side into the unknown.

[atths--twice]

Blissful Early Mornings

I recently saw a collection of pictures of Scully in different sets of pajamas. In one of them, the one below, she looks like she’s wearing Mulder’s dress shirt. I mean, I know she’s not, but hey, we can dream, right? 

She stretches languidly with a sigh, not quite ready to wake up, the bed warm and comfortable. Her eyes closed, she breathes deeply and she smiles; the smell of fresh laundry and the unmistakable scent of the man who sleeps in the bed, filling her senses.

She reaches out and finds that the other side of the bed is rather cool to the touch, signaling it has been unoccupied for quite some time. Her fingertips tracing up where his chest should be, she grabs his pillow, holding it close and breathing deeply again.

Her legs slide across to his side, the coolness of the sheets shockingly different than the warmth of her own. With a soft intake of breath, she smiles as she thinks of the feel of his legs entwined with hers last night, the way the hair on his contrasted to the smoothness of her own.

“Softer than anything I’ve ever touched,” he had whispered in her ear from behind, as her leg slid across his again, and he trailed the backs of his fingers over her stomach and around her navel. Her muscles had quivered as she moaned softly. “So goddamn soft, Scully.”

He had been hard against her and she shifted, allowing him to slip inside of her, her leg moving to lay across his, high on his hip.

“And wet,” he had breathed. “Soft and wet.”

“Mmm… Mulder,” she had moaned as he pulled nearly all the way out, before pushing back in as she thrust with him.

“No. Slow…” he had whispered, his mouth on her ear, his teeth scraping across her lobe. “I wanna go slow. Make it good for you.”

“It’s… ohhh… it’s always good for me. You… Mm… Mulder… yes, like that.”

And he had obliged. Making her moan and gasp his name as his fingers danced and teased, setting a tandem rhythm with his thrusts. She had fallen over the edge, twice, his desire to go slow adding to her pleasure, the anticipation of release causing her heart to feel as though it might burst from her chest.

He was an incredibly attentive lover, but of course she had known he would be. He could bounce quickly from subject to subject, but when he was truly focused on something, his attention remained rapt and intense. And his center of attention of late, resided between her legs.

Everywhere on her body really, but sweet Jesus, that man made her legs weak when his fingers touched or his tongue licked, drawing out cries from her as though collecting them in a mental glass jar; keeping them safe and able to call back on later. His smile, when she was able to once again focus on his face, could almost be described as a smirk, if his utter happiness did not bleed through.

Rolling over, now feeling slightly aroused, she sighs as she opens her eyes and lets go of his pillow. Cotton and down are a poor substitute for the real thing, which must be somewhere in the apartment.

Maybe he’s making me breakfast, she thinks with a small chuckle, along with a roll of her eyes, as she stretches and sits up, completely naked. With a smile, she stands up and stretches further, her muscles deliciously sore.

Feeling her hair, she shakes her head, knowing there is no point in attempting to fix it as it does not matter to either of them. With other men, she had taken the time in the mornings after lovemaking, to touch up her hair or makeup, but now she does not care. He has seen her at her worst. But, tousle haired and warm from his bed, that is the best look she feels she has ever had.

Deciding to not simply walk out in her naked glory, she bends down and picks up her underwear from the floor; the lacy lilac ones that had dropped him to his knees last night. Seeing his white dress shirt lying a couple of steps away and knowing her shirt is somewhere in the living room, she picks it up and slides it on along with her underwear. Buttoning only two buttons, the shirttails hitting the backs of her thighs, she rolls up the sleeves and inhales his scent.

God, he smells so good.

Walking into the bathroom, she picks up her toothbrush, the pink one he presented her with two days ago, after they had watched a movie. Well, not so much watched, as listened while they had discussed their recent case. Her hand had been in his, his thumb rubbing circles along the top of hers, driving her crazy with desire.

He had left the room to use the bathroom and she followed him a minute later, turning off the television as she left, no longer feeling the need to pretend that she had been paying attention to the movie. Or was it a show he had recorded? She had not known and did not care.

Walking to the threshold of the bathroom, he eyes had locked onto hers as he looked in the mirror, his toothbrush in hand. She had smiled at him as he had stared at her.

“You’re staying?” he had asked, hopeful but not expectant. She had nodded, as the craving she had for him, settled like a blazing fire low in her belly.

He had smiled with a nod and glanced down and to the side before raising his eyes again. Her eyes had followed his glance as she stepped closer to him. There, in the cup where he kept his own toothbrush, was another one- a pink one, the same brand she always chose. Smiling slowly, she had looked at him and he shrugged with an adorably awkward smile. I just thought… so you don’t need to bring a bag up every time.”

“Hmm…” she had hummed, reaching for the toothbrush and licking her lips. She bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath. The simple act of him buying her a toothbrush made her heart race.

God, she loved him so much.

“Thank you,” she had whispered, blinking her eyes quickly, as sudden tears pricked at the backs of them.

“It’s just a toothbrush,” he had said with a shrug and she raised her eyes to his in the mirror.

She could have easily turned her head to look at him, her shoulder brushing his arm as they stood so close. But looking at him in the mirror felt more intimate in an odd way, as though she was truly seeing him. Silently, she had told him that it was not just a toothbrush. He had nodded and smiled softly, reaching for the toothpaste and handing it to her first.

“It’s a nice toothbrush,” she had said as she placed the toothpaste on it and then handed it back to him. Turning on the water, she wet her toothbrush before beginning to brush her teeth.

“Well, I was going to buy blue, not wanting to assign gender to anything, even a simple toothbrush,” he explained, placing the toothpaste on his own toothbrush. “But as I stood there, I couldn't remember if my toothbrush was blue. Not wanting to take a chance of them getting mixed up and accidentally using the others, I decided on the only other available color choice: pink.”

He had grinned before brushing his own teeth and she had taken a deep breath, finishing her brushing and staring at him.

As soon as the cup had once again held their two toothbrushes, she had wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly on the lips; his kiss tasting of mint. His hands had slid under her shirt, his fingertips on the skin of her back, adding fuel to that constant fire that seemed to constantly burn within her.

Her shirt had come off and landed somewhere on the floor as he had hummed out a chuckle. He had lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist, as he walked them into the bedroom, where they had fallen onto the bed.

Humming out a breath, she shakes her head and takes a deep breath, smiling at the memory before she brushes her teeth and rinses her face. Patting her face dry, she looks at herself in the mirror and smiles. Fluffing her hair just a little, she steps out of the bathroom and crosses his room to search for him.

Opening the door, she finds him sitting forward on the couch in a pair of plaid pajama pants and one of the dark grey shirts she loves so much. A cup of steaming coffee sits on the coffee table in front of him along with an open case file. He looks up at her with a happy smile and she sighs as she steps over to him.

She bumps his legs, silently asking him to move them and make some space. He sits back and she stands in front of him, the case file blocked by her body. He hums as he runs his hands up her thighs and moans softly when he hits her ass, coming up to her waist and bringing her closer. His dress shirt opens a little and he kisses her bare stomach and it is her turn to moan.

“I like seeing you in my shirt,” he says in a gravelly voice as he rubs his slightly stubbly cheek across her skin, causing her to draw in a sharp breath.

“Hmm… well as I was not one hundred percent sure of the whereabouts of my own shirt, I figured this was better than appearing completely in the nude,” she teases, running her fingers slowly through his hair.

“I wouldn’t say I like seeing you in it that much,” he mumbles against her navel and she chuckles, before gasping as he softly nibbles at her flesh, his thumbs rubbing at her hip bones.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks softly, her fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp.

“No. And I didn’t want to wake you, too. You looked so peaceful.”

“Well, I slept really well. I suppose good lovin’ will do that to a person,” she teases, tugging at his hair gently. He smiles as he leans his head back and looks up at her. She smiles back, telling him that while said in a teasing tone, her words are quite sincere.

“Hmm,” he hums, wrapping his arms around her waist, his hands locking together. “I feel the same and slept very well myself… well, for a while anyway.”

“As you should have,” she states with a smirk and he nods, his hazel eyes searching her face. Raising her eyebrows, she asks him a silent question.

“It’s just something about this case was niggling at me when I woke up and, like I said, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Hmm...” She brushes his hair back, his eyes closing as she does. “Perhaps the questions that seem to be niggling at you will keep and we could look at it together… later.”

“Later?” he asks, opening his eyes and staring up at her, a smile tugging at his lips.  

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, her fingernails running lightly down his face as he begins to stroke her back and the top of her ass. “I woke up naked and alone in your bed. Alone, Mulder. And did I mention I was completely naked?”

“Scully,” he groans, his eyes closing briefly, as his hands move to the backs of her thighs, bringing her even closer to him, his lips once more kissing her stomach.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, her fingers moving to the top of his head, closing her eyes as his tongue runs across the top of her underwear. “Mulder.” She squeezes his head as she pitches forward with a shaky moan and he grips her thighs.

“So… it seems I made a mistake,” he says softly as he raises his head, his eyes shining and his mouth curving into a smile. She smiles back, her hands moving to his face and running her thumbs across his lips. “Leaving such a beautiful woman alone… and naked… it should be a crime.”

“I agree.”

“Hmm…” he hums with a smile, softly kissing her thumbs. “What can I possibly do to rectify such a heinous crime?”

She smiles as she raises her eyebrows, knowing exactly what she wants from him. He grins slowly, as though reading her mind, his hands stroking up and down the backs of her thighs once more, goosebumps of anticipation rising in their wake.

“Oh, I know you know I’ve already thought of something.”

He grins with a slight nod as she bends her head, her lips landing on his as her heart races and that constant fire within her, begins to rise.

[cauldronoflove]

“Do you want to talk about it?” + msr 🥺

A lilac duvet and navy blue pillowcases, a plot of bronze lamplight. Scully laid her jacket out over them both, itself petal-crushed violet. Her shoes crawled under the bed one by one, and her phone clattered on the nightstand--in the dark room of her mind prints hung out to dry of squat hotel room nightstands of yore, black-and-red light on cedar and ash; spruce and pine and fir.

Tucking one leg underneath herself, she eased onto the edge of the bed. The springs coughed up phlegm and final breaths, pinched her shins in crustaceous retaliation suited for the sand still collected in the soles of her shoes. She batted at the quilt uselessly with the tips of her fingers as if to press the springs back in line, and succeeded only in advancing the timeline on her next tetanus shot. Her arms already pricked with phantom needles.

From the nightstand--catalogued as B-1D-4, for the material and the drawers and the commonality--she retrieved her phone to tuck to her ear.

"Two FBI agents walk into a restaurant," she started as soon as the line clicked.

"Oh, I've heard this one."

"Really? I was thinking about going into prognostication, but in that case you beat me to it."

"Give yourself some credit; in mine it was one agent and he was already standing outside his partner's room with dinner."

She smiled with half her face, the corner of her mouth raising overhead hands in righteous awe. There truly were no bounds to Mulder's whims, nor to the pleasant surprise that she still felt, even now at six months in the field with him under her belt.

She looked to the door, thinking of each grain that separated her from him, cutting his outline in life-size. She'd have left him out there if she wasn't so damn hungry.

"One FBI agent opens the door for another," she amended, pacing across the room on legs pulled taught from her earlier sprint. Her stockings slid unfortunately over the coarse carpet, making her toes curl.

On the other side, his hair was still wet from the shower, a water drop sliding down past his ear and steadily marking for the worn collar of his t-shirt of which he had a jacket tossed off-set over. He raised a greasy bag of something god-sent with a sheepish smile. Oil and fat and salt pollinated the air, leaving her off-kilter at how deep her hunger ran.

"Can I come in?"

"Depends."

He showed his other hand, carefully cradling two drinks--white plastic with a purple cuff that made the carbonation burn all the way up into your nose. One stretched his palm to full width and the other chapped the soft skin on the inside of his elbow, each showing dark cola through the foggy lid.

Her mouth curled up silently at the other end, an apple peeled in one long strip and scattered for divining on the floor. She pushed out of the way to let him through.

Before she could get too far away he put a burger wrapped in slippery-thin paper blotted in grease marks between her hands. It was lopsided, leaking processed cheese slice and juices from browned onion, but it was a welcome sight. She could barely get it undone through her shaking hands. Hunger overtakes--and it takes and it takes and it takes.

He kept to his side of the room, propping up in the squat chair shoved under the window like a fire hazard. He had his burger, had the bag rolled up at his feet and the drinks on the table between the chair and the door. First was the main course, then the entree. She scarfed down half of hers before he ever even got his up to his chin for inspection.

They worked through their burgers in meantime, chewing quietly to accommodate the volume and length of thought balling up their brows. When it was done, she crumpled the already wrinkled wrapper and tossed it underhanded to him, where it bounced harmlessly off his stomach and rolled right off his lap and between his splayed legs. He batted it between his boots, a fast-food, fast-tracked game of Pong that petered out once he had a wrapper to add to the mix.

Scully eyed the rest of the food with intent, waiting, childishly, for Mulder to realize what she was doing and remedy it. Instead, he pulled the bag up and sat it on his thigh where it tilted toward the door like a man on the run.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked quietly, teeth and lips and stubble on his chin all separate parts she couldn't piece together. Her eyes ached, trying to make Monet into Renoir.

Her eyes ached, because she had a concussion. His face, every long line and press of skin, snapped into focus, and she took a seat on the edge of the bed to rid herself of his earnestness.

"No, I want my fries."

He was good at bartering with her already, understood that she didn't take well to flat out denial, but if he tried he could get her to give a little slack on the line. His offer then, paddle to the air and blazing black number, was to carefully roll the sides of the bag down so as not to rip and drop it between them when he sat on the bed too.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see golden-crisp fries obscured only by fat ketchup packets ready to be torn between her teeth. She could see, too, him making himself comfortable, shoving a drink toward her so her could clasp his hands over his middle.

The ice was melted a little, just the way she liked it. She framed her teeth around it and sipped through the impossibly thin straw, each bit of syrup and chipped ice rejuvenating down to her blood.

He never repeated the question, and she didn't offer an answer. Jaw set, eyes tracing the push and pull in the carpet, she reached for a handful of fries. She ate them all, one by one; every fleck of salt and sash of tomato, down past the core and then deeper. Until the pounding eased in her head and her stomach felt like it was on this side of alive.

"Better?" he asked, his tight smile smug and his eyes searching her profile for confirmation.

She thought about leaning back across the end of the bed and focusing on the ceiling, turning the white ridges in stars and the lumpy mattress into a ship's deck. The nausea would be the waves lapping against starboard and she would be somewhere else instead of in her burning coat of shame. But that, something in her grated, would be inappropriate with him still propped against the headboard, looking at her from underneath hair flat on his forehead and eyelashes still damp from rain.

"Thank you for dinner," she said instead, which answered his question quite nicely.

"Okay, one last party trick, but then I'm out." From the inside pocket of his jacket he pulled an oblong cardboard box that was cinnamon and consolation made. He tossed it over and even through the packaging it burned her fingers, but it was perfectly intact. On the side was scribbled peach in hard black letters.

She shot him a look, quickly head on, before prying it open, already scrabbling at the flaky crust and rushing steam with a smile. It was only in the second before she bit down that she thought to offer him some, but he shook her off.

"I'm more of an apple pie man myself."

[scullysexual]

hunger games au (with mulder and scully)

Just a little self-indulgence fic and an idea that wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m sorta proud of it rn and decided to post it. This is pretty much for myself and I’m not gonna much in terms of making sure everyone reads it. If you like it, feel free to let me know if not bye. Not much is gonna be changed in terms of plot, this is literally going to be fanfiction in it’s finest form. It might have elements of a crossover if I can’t find the appropriate xf character to play the hunger games character but we’ll see. Words: 2809.

- - - 

There’s nothing there except a swirling black void, harsh waves crashing, screams of men, and a father drowning in the sea.

Dana wakes just before her father goes under. Her stomach tightly coiled with a realisation that her consciousness has yet to remember.

It’s chilly, the tips of Dana’s fingers red raw from the cold night. She tucks them beneath the blankets and rolls over to the other side. Adjacent to her lies her sister, buried beneath three blankets. Only the tip of her noise is really visible, the rest of her obscured by blankets or vibrant red hair.

Not too far away is her younger brother spread out in the space left by their elder. And finally, on the double bed near the corner, her mother sleeps.

Dana rises, pulling off the covers and bracing the chill. She dresses quickly and quietly, careful not to wake her remaining family members. She pulls on yesterday’s clothes, her boots, clips her hair back in its familiar style and heads towards the kitchen.

“Morning.”

Bill Jr. sits at the table, lacing up his shoes, his miner’s hat beside him.

His presence startles Dana.

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” Dana says. She makes her way towards the jug of water.

“I’m going now,” he tells her.

Bill stands almost immediately after and picks up his hat.

“There’s not a lot of bread left. Make sure you leave enough for Mom, Missy, and Charlie.”

Dana’s eyes move to the basket holding the bread. Bill was right, there’s barely any left. She adds trading with the baker onto her mental list of things to do today.

Bill hasn’t gotten far down the street before Dana’s following him but he doesn’t slow down to walk with her or even take note that she’s behind him. It’s no bother to Dana anyway, as he turns left, she turns right, headed towards the woods.

Technically, entering this area of the District is illegal. Hunting and trading is high on the list of crimes and the punishment for it is death. At least it should be. Most turn a blind-eye to it. The Peacekeepers that guard the city are just as poor and hungry as many of the other residents and while only a few will venture into the woods themselves to procure food and plants, they won’t say anything if they catch you trading.

It’s the Capitol you really need to look out for and their cameras. While it’s not been confirmed, it’s rumoured that they hide cameras so as to spy on the Districts. Dana has yet to find any cameras walking around town and with the fence meant to keep wild animals out, she doubts there would be any cameras in the woods.

But still, she bares it in mind when she enters.

There was a time when she didn’t need to hunt. There was a time she didn’t live in the Seam. Most residents of District 12 are miners however her father was one of the fortunate ones not to have that profession. He was a sailor, in charge of carting coal in a ship back and forth to the Capitol. He was also one of the rare ones to be allowed to leave.

He used to say the Scullys were for fit for District 4- the fishing district. There was even some speculation that the family was from there originally and somehow ended up in this district.

She can still the remember the house they lived in, caught between the Merchant Town and the Seam. Her only problem back then was having a sense that she didn’t belong anywhere. Too poor for the Merchant Town residents, too rich for the Seam residents. Even when they had to move, the Seam residents still viewed her as one of the more fortunate ones.

The move had been caused by the death of her father. Caught in a storm just off District 4, his ship had capsized, killing all members onboard. The family had been notified of his death via an eviction notice. Her mother had crumbled, becoming just a shell of her former self. Billy had tried to become the man of the house and, in theory, he was but he was too much of a rule abider and even when things began to take a sharper turn for the worse, he still wouldn’t venture into the woods to hunt. Melissa was just too soft to hunt. Dana had tried to teach her but Missy had started crying at the sight of the wounded creature. Charlie, the youngest, was just too young at the time. He was seven- too scared and confused to really do it anything. So it had all fallen down to Dana, at eleven years old, her stomach grumbling, it came down to her to get the food on the table and it had been that way ever since.

Dana follows the path of stamped grass and weeds all the way to the entrance to the woods. Not a real entrance, just heavy-duty netting that’s been ripped and nobody’s bothered to fix. The fence is supposed to be electrified all day, every day but there’s barely enough electricity to power the important buildings, nobody wants to waste it on this. Still though, Dana listens for the faint buzzing and if there isn’t one, it’s safe and she sneaks through.

The woods don’t scare her anymore. There are still the wild animals lurking about but as soon as she’s armed with her dagger and spear she feels practically invincible against them.

She reaches for her weapons now, hidden behind a fallen tree, deep down in a hole. It’s nothing fancy, metal is hard to come by so the spear is just pieces of wood stuck together but it’s effective and sharp and does the job.

Her dagger, however, is the real treasure. On one of her father’s trips a man had given it to him and when her father returned he kept it hidden from the rest of his family, presenting it to her the first time they came out here.

While they had no reason to hunt when her father was alive, her dad had still taught her to. That had surprised her, he always appeared much like Bill Jr., always following the laws. Until Bill, however, William Scully was smart. He knew his profession made him stand out against the miners, knew the Capitol would see him as a looming problem, knew that one of these days his time would be up, his family would finally suffer the consequences and they would need every help they could get.

The dagger was expensive. A green and gold handle with real sharp steel at the end of it. They would have a lot of anything they wished for if Dana sold it but none of her family members knew about it and it was the last gift her father ever gave her.

“What took you so long?”

Dana turns to see Ethan standing behind her, already prepared with his bow on his back and his own wooden spear at his side. He was the closest thing she had to a friend, having found each other the first time Dana fully ventured into the woods without her father. She had been scared when she saw him, tried to run for it but fell over instead. Ethan had been furious, screaming at her that she had scared his dinner away. Dana felt tears prick her eyes but she would not cry even as he called her stupid and useless. Finally he asked what she was here for.

“To hunt,” Dana said meekly.

Ethan had laughed, shaking his head and walked away.

A few days past since at incident and she hadn’t seen him again, not until she was trying to kill a rabbit. Leaning against a tree, watching her struggle. He hadn’t announced himself, for the longest time Dana didn’t even know he was behind her but an arrow had pierced the rabbits head and that’s when she spun around and saw him.

After that they became hunting partners. He would shoot the smaller animals with his arrows, her the bigger animals with her spear. Eventually, Dana had mastered stealth. She knew how to sneak up on the animals without startling it and kill it with her dagger.

She also looked for plants, too. Some for eating, some for healing. There were no hospitals here, most replied solely on homecare or you could pay a visit to the Scullys where they would stitch you up and allow you to live a little longer.

And that was her day. Hunting animals and trading in the early mornings, school till three o’clock, and a healer in the evenings.

All except today.

“How are you feeling?” Ethan asks as they begin their usual route through the woods.

Dana thinks back to the way her stomach coiled when she woke. The worry for herself, for her family. For Ethan and his family.

“How everyone feels on this day,” she answers.

This day. By law, written as a holiday but in reality it is as far away from one as possible. School is shut, businesses close early, everyone meets at the Square by 2pm, dressed in their best preparing themselves to cry themselves to sleep or sigh in relief that they have survived another year.

“We’ve been lucky this far,” says Ethan with a shrug.

It’s all bravado, she knows. He’s just as worried as she is. But she has gotten lucky. Three siblings and herself and not once since becoming of age has any of them got chosen. Still, each year becomes more nerve-wrecking. Melissa’s eighteen, her name is in that box eight times. Bill’s aged out, thank god. Dana lost count how many times her name has been entered (taking tesserae means your name is added each time as a trade but there’s only enough for one person so Dana’s had to take out one for each member of her family already making her name being entered four times more. The tesserae given out isn’t enough to last which means taking out more and in return her name being entered multiple times more). It’s only Charlie, who only turned twelve last month, who’s name has been entered once. He’s the least of her worries.

Ethan isn’t much better. While he only has an older brother, who has also now aged out, he’s just as poor as her, his name is also in that box more than it should be.

“Come on,” says Ethan pulling her thoughts away from boxes and names. “Let’s focus on hunting. Maybe find something nice to celebrate later.”

Dana watches him walk off for a moment, temporarily stunned.

“You’re really not worried?” she asks.

He stops and looks over to her, his eyes scarily vacant.

“We don’t need to worry till 2.”

He’s right, Dana realises. Worry makes her clumsy, loud, and if she wants her family and herself to eat tonight, she needs to push that worry away.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Dana pushes the front door open carrying her winnings in a bag at her side. She’d done good today, most people at the Hob were anxious to sell before they had to shut down for the day. In the woods, she had managed to kill three squirrels, earning her one and a half loafs of bread from the baker, a few coins for selling the strawberries, and even a turkey to eat tonight. The greens she found, she kept herself, rabbit pelts she traded for a blanket, and a few herbs to add to the medicine cabinet.

Melissa greets her when she enters, already dressed in what looks to be one of their mother’s old dresses from when she was younger. Her hair is pulled back and braided in parts. She looks beautiful but then Melissa always looks beautiful no matter what.

“Dana’s back!” she calls.

“Send her in!” Mom shouts back.

Melissa takes the bag, putting the stuff away and Dana enters the bedroom here her mother is currently having a fight with Charlie’s hair.

“Put that on.” She nods to the floral dress laying on the bed.

Dana hates dresses but it’s almost customary to wear one. That or a skirt. Something feminine.

“That’s gonna have to do.” Maggie pats Charlie on the shoulder telling him he can go. “Is Bill back yet?” Maggie asks.

“He wasn’t in the kitchen,” Dana answers as she climbs into the dress.

“I don’t want us being late,” Maggie mutters.

Her mother almost becomes unbearable on this day. Stressing and running around like times is going to go quicker just because it’s today. They could have a whole 24 hours and she’ll still be worrying that if someone isn’t back at this time it’s just going to make them late.

Once dressed, Dana sits as Maggie pulls the clips out of her hair along with leaves and dirt.

“If you’d come back sooner you’d have had time to bathe.”

“Sorry, I was out getting our dinner for tonight.” There’s a harshness to Dana’s tone as she says the words. She still felt a slight resentment towards her mother. She went away in many of her children’s eyes, leaving them to fend for themselves. Had it not been for Dana, Maggie would have watched all her children die of starvation and not done anything about it while she withered away herself.

Her mother’s proclaims of she was grieving weren’t a good enough excuse for Dana. They were all grieving after all, all coming to terms with his new life, yet they didn’t stay in bed all day.

Her mother was better now but Dana was waiting for the day she would disappear again. It happened once, it can happen again.

There’s a slight tug on her hair in response to her words and Dana tells herself to keep quiet.

Melissa enters and seats herself on the other stool. Her presence is sure to stop any more awkward conversations and stray comment between Dana and their mother.

“You okay?” Missy asks.

Dana nods. She tries to draw on Ethan’s strength, his optimism.

“Lasted this long, haven’t I?”

Melissa smiles. “One more year and it’s over.” She’s talking about herself. One more year and it is over for her. She no longer has to worry. She just has to suit up for the mines or follow her mother and become an official healer.

A silence passes over all three women for a moment. Dana watches her mother braid her hair in the mirror, Melissa messes with one of the clips her sister was wearing earlier. It’s quiet except for the sound of the door opening and Charlie saying hi to their brother. There’s a bit of chatter between the two by the door but nothing the girls really pay attention to.

“It’s barbaric.”

Dana’s eyes widen and Melissa stops playing with the clip. They eye each other in shock as if their mother has just broken the law or something.

In some cases, she just did.

Negative words aren’t supposed to be said about the Games, even in the safety of their houses. They’re a holiday, a festivity meant to be enjoyed and looked forward to.

At least that is the case in the Capitol and the Career Districts.

In all the others, the Games are seen, as their mother just said, as barbaric. Brutal, cruel, and vicious. To put 24 kids in an arena and watch them fight to the death is viewed with the heaviest of contempt. But it’s a punishment and a reminder of a history that can’t be forgotten.

“You should watch what you say,” says Dana calmly. “People could be listening.”

Melissa’s eyes look wearily around the room as if trying to find who could be listening. Dana doesn’t believe they are but on a day like today, she couldn’t be completely sure about that.

“You’re done,” says Maggie moving away. “I’ll make sure Bill looks presentable and then we’ll leave.”

Dana runs her hand through the braid, silently admiring her mother’s work.

“Do you really think they’re listening to us?” Melissa whispers. “Patty Bullock said that at school once. Nobody believed her but…”

“They film everything today, don’t they?” Dana says, her attention still on her hair. “Do you really think they start at 2?”

It was almost unheard of for Dana to speak like this but she had her doubts about the validity of this theory. Still, it was good to be mindful of it’s possible truth.

“You sound like a boy in my class,” says Melissa. “His nickname is Spooky.”

The door opens with Charlie telling them it’s time to go. They follow each other out, headed for the Square, and Dana doesn’t think much more of this Spooky.

[lokisgame]

A Generous Donation [12]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11]

The food looked and smelled as delicious as always, but when Charlie took his place at the table, looking around the faces gathered there, it all felt wrong, he didn't feel grateful at all. Dana and Will's absence gaped like a black hole, a fearful reminder sucking up all cheer. Even young Mathew kept his head down, bending under pressure of being the only child present. Him, Bill and Tara, lived their lives in California where Bill was stationed, making them rare guests at the table. That however didn't stop the eldest Scully son from taking place of honour and carving the turkey. After short and meaningless grace, he started handing out thick slices, leaving the best and most tender for himself. "Dana isn't coming?" He asked, finally sitting down. "She's at the hospital," Maggie said, "with Will." 

Charlie noticed disproval on his brother's face and glared, ready for the sermon, Bill Jr. was about to deliver. "I always knew that pride would be her fall." He said apropos of nothing, around a mouthful of turkey. "Like you said mom, back in the day, IVF was for people who can't have kids, not to satisfy her whims, and now God is making her see it." He stuffed his face while others looked at him in disbelief. "She should accept his will, letting the boy spend last days with his family and not keep poking and prodding him, if it was clearly never meant to be." Bill loaded his fork with stuffing and peas and Charlie snapped, pushing his chair back so hard it almost fell back. His fists were clenched, knuckles white, but he said nothing. Instead he rounded the table and took Bill's mostly full plate away from him. "What the hell!" "Shut up Bill," he said, "just shut up." "What do you think you're doing?" Bill yelled, while the rest of the family sat frozen in their places. "I'm taking this to Dana," Charlie said not bothering to stop, his voice thick with rage. "She needs this more than you do." "Charles, please." Maggie said, finally finding her voice among tears and shame. "No, mom, I'm not sharing table with him, not tonight." He said and went to the kitchen. Doors and drawers began slamming and Emily got up, taking her plate with her. "I'm going with him." "Emily, don't." Missy said with a hint of plea and warning. "Don't what? Tolerate this kind of talk?" Emily looked at her mother, cold fury burning behind her blue eyes, then around the table, at all the food and family, growing colder by the second. Charlie came back with boxes, handing one to her, and they began loading them up with turkey, mashed potatoes, salads and stuffing, while the rest watched in stunned silence for a few excruciatingly long minutes. "I'll get you the pie," Maggie said, finally getting up and wiping tears from her eyes. "Thanks mom." Charlie said, and started loading another box. "Now listen, Charles," Bill tried to get up, but Tara caught the sleeve go his jacket and pulled him down. By the time Maggie was back, they had all four boxes filled and packed, along with their own plates. Somewhere in the middle, Missy and Tara began to help, while Bill sat with his arms crossed, in stubborn silence. "I should go with you," Maggie said, walking Charlie and Emily to the door. "No point, they won't let all of us through the quarantine zone." "Right, right," she sighed, resigned, and Charlie let go of some of his rage, putting his arm around her. "I'll call you once I know how Will is doing, okay?" "Thank you, give them my best." "Will do," Charlie said and followed Emily out.

They did the best they could to blow out his spark, reducing him to a tiny blue flame, a tea-light with one last drop of paraffin keeping it alive. She held his hand, stroking its' back with her thumb, while life trickled down the line, back into his veins. She should have asked Mulder about that vampire joke. "Why does Mulder call you Scully?" Will spoke suddenly, his voice barely audible, head turning on the pillow with tremendous effort. "It's an FBI thing." She said and his brow furrowed. "He did some consulting for the bureau in the 90's and it turned into a habit. I don't mind really. Do you?" Will's head twitched sideways. "Rest honey," Scully said, pressing her lips to his hand, ignoring the sterile mask, "save your strength." Her phone chirped in its' ziplock bag and she glanced anxiously at the ID. It was her second favourite caller.   "Hi sis," said a cheerful voice, "come out for a minute, we brought you something." Scully looked up and through the glass to the corridor beyond, and saw Charlie and Emily waving at her just outside the airlock doors. "I'll be right with you." She said and hung up. "Who is it?" Will mumbled half awake. "Charlie and Em are here," she said, patting his hand and he opened his eyes, managing a faint smile. He lifted his head and waved at the couple outside. Emily grinned and made a face, crossing eyes and sticking out her tongue and Will smiled back, a little wider this time. "Tell them hi," he said and fell back down. "I'll be right back."

"Hi," Scully grinned, hugging her brother and niece, "did mom send you?""We sent ourselves," Emily said, handing her a paper bag, "but grandma cooked." "We figured you could use some real food." "Thanks," she said, opening the box, "how bad was the dinner?" "I hate Bill," Emily said, staying by the window, her eyes never leaving Will. "He's been a royal asshole." "Charlie." "Good thing you weren't there to hear it." "That bad?" She looked up from her cold turkey, fork half way up to her mouth. "I wanted to kill him," Charlie said, gritting his teeth, "self-righteous prick. You know, sometimes I think he's been switched in his crib and he's some kind of half-troll changeling." "His neck is short enough for it," Emily said, grin in her voice. "You're both so mean," Scully said, but smiled as well. Mocking Bill behind his back was a long-standing tradition of theirs. "How's Will doing?" Charlie asked. "He got the marrow around 3pm, so now we wait. He's stable, no sign of immediate rejection." "That's good, right?" "It's too soon to tell, but it's definitely not bad." "When will we be able to see him?" "Give it a couple of days, it will all depend on his progress." "I hate waiting." Emily said. "I know Em," Scully said and got up, standing by the window with her arm around her, "I'll make sure he calls you, once he's lucid enough." "Okay," Em nodded, locking her eyes with Will, and putting her hand to the glass. She never saw him this fragile, even when he was a child and she filled her with dread. "We'll let you go back to him," Charlie said, joining them, "unless you want to feed him turkey as well." "Can't, hospital food only." "Rain check then, you need anything else?" "No, I think I'm good now," she said, feeling a little more human. Few days ago she wouldn't be able to swallow home cooking without bursting into tears, but she ate it all and talked to her family and finally had a feeling, that life would go back to normal. "You know," she said remembering the calls she made earlier, "I tried to reach Mulder but he didn't answer, could you?" "Sure," Charlie said, "just give me the address." "Thanks."

Mulder slept through the day. His aching back chained him to the couch, making anything beyond a bathroom trip, not worth the pain or the nausea. He ate toast for breakfast and canned soup for lunch, and slept with the tv on low for background. It was easier to handle the stress that way. If the transplant wouldn't work and the kid forfeited his life, the pain Scully would feel was impossible for him to imagine. So when the doorbell rang somewhere around seven, his heart began to pound, filling his head with worst images possible. He forced himself to get up, bracing for tears, fists and knives in his heart, then turned the lock and his jaw dropped. "Good evening," said Charlie Scully, accompanied by willowy, short-haired girl, who looked like something between him and Scully. "It's too soon for carolling," Mulder said, trying to read the news from their faces. "We're the Thanksgiving committee." The girl grinned and relief washed over him, making his knees weak. "Easy man, Will's okay," Charlie said catching him and stepping through the threshold, guiding Mulder back to the couch. The girl closed the doors behind them from the inside. "They did it?" "Yeah, this afternoon, he's sleeping it off." Charlie eased Mulder to the seat, lifting his face up for a second, glancing at his eyes and checking pulse. "You feel dizzy? Faint?" "You a doctor too?" "No, but I had first aid training." "EMT?" "Cop," Charlie smiled, and moved back. "This is my niece, Emily." "Hi," Emily said, smiling. Mulder looked at the girl, who looked like a punk who raided Scully's closet for her business casual. She showed him the paper bag. "We brought dinner." Mulder laughed and leaned back. "Sure you did." "May I?" Emily asked and nodded towards the kitchen. "Go ahead." "We brought more, mind if we join you?" "Not at all." Mulder said and looked at Charlie again. "How's Scully," "We fed her too, don't worry, she asked us to come check up on you, said you didn't return her calls." "She called?" Mulder picked up his phone from the coffee table and found three unanswered calls and the switch on the side set on mute. "Frohike must have turned it off so no one would wake me. Excuse me." "Sure, I'll go help Emily."

Scully picked up on the fourth ring. "Hi." "Hi, it's me, sorry I didn't call back, a bee stung me, had to sleep it off." She laughed. "It's okay, how are you feeling?" "Weak and aching, but I'll live. Will's better?" "He's not worse." She said cautiously. "Afraid you'll jinx it?" "Something like that. Charlie’s there?" "Yeah, I guess feeding people runs in the family." "We're old fashioned, if we feed you, you're part of the family." "In that case, I'll have seconds." "Knowing my brother, you'll have enough for it and probably lunch tomorrow." "We'll see, smells good." Mulder paused, then added softly. "You're not bailing on me, are you?" "Wouldn't dream of it," she said and the warmth in her tone was all the assurance he needed. Someone tapped his shoulder and he looked up to see Emily. "Dinner's ready." "Thanks," he said to the girl, then to the phone. "Food's here, wanna know what I'm thankful for?" "You'll tell me when I see you." "Why?" "Because I want to tell you too, in person." "Then, I'll see you." "Take care of yourself." "Ha, I've got people for that now." "Right, go eat, we'll talk later." "Bye." Mulder hung up and dragged himself off the couch. “Who wants to say grace?” Asked Charlie, reaching hands across the table, palms up. “I’m half jewish,” Mulder said, but took Emily’s hand. “No problem,” Charlie grinned and closed the circle, pausing, before he began speaking in a low voice. “We’re thankful for this year, with all its’ graces and trials, ones we've overcome and the ones we’re still facing. We’re thankful for our family and friends, old and new, and all the kindness we received, hoping that we can be there for them too, in time of need.” Both hands tightened around Mulder’s fingers and when he looked up, he couldn’t speak. “Amen,” said Emily, smiling at him. “Amen,” Charlie echoed and Mulder nodded, touched to his core. “We should have brought some gravy,” Emily said, breaking the moment as she reached for potatoes. “I’m hungry.” “There’s wine,” Mulder said, clearing his throat, “I shouldn’t, but you’re welcome to it.” “Got beer?” Charlie asked. “Yeah,” he chuckled, “there’s beer too.” “Perfect.” “I’ll have one too.” Mulder stared to get up, but Charlie stopped him. “Fridge?” He nodded and Charlie retrieved two bottles and glasses from the cupboard. “Glass, classy,” Emily grinned. “It’s Thanksgiving, you can behave like a human for one evening.” “Do I have to?” She looked at Mulder and hit him with a pout that would befit a five year-old, if it wasn’t for all the piercing. He couldn’t stop the laugh. “You brought food, do what you want.” “Thank you!” She sang and took the bottle from Charlie, who too, gladly skipped the glass. “Less dishes,” he chuckled and sat back down. “Try the turkey,” Emily told Mulder, “it’s the only reason I dress up for grandmas’ dinners.” “I had your aunts’ lasagna, was that where Scully learned to cook?” “Mostly,” Charlie said, finally tasting the turkey. Even reheated, it was great. "Don’t get your hopes too high though, lasagna is her specialty, watch out for the meatloaf.” “Okay.” “I like Dana’s meatloaf," said Emily. “Because you’re still practically a student, if it’s free, you’ll eat anything.” “It’s not a money thing, I work too much,” she bristled, “I get distracted, and things just...” “Burn.” Charlie finished for her. “Is that a challenge?” “Yup, when you’re staying with me, you cook once a week.” “Sure,” she said, unfazed. “But if you burn it, it doesn’t count.” “Fine.” She mixed the potatoes with stuffing, her interest fading. “And it can’t be takeout,” Charlie insisted. “I said fine!” Emily mumbled around mouthful of turkey. “Mulder heard you, so you can’t back out” Charlie grinned, then turning to Mulder said in a stage whisper, “I’m joking, she only burned one pie.” “And I’ll never live it down.” Emily said, taking a swig from her bottle to wash down the food. “So what do you do Emily?” Mulder asked, changing subject politely. “I’m a programer," she replied, before taking another bite, "I spent some time in Silicon Valley, but I’m moving back here, to finish my thesis at MIT.” “I have friends there, what's the thesis about?” “Statistical analysis of data shared through social media and potential applications. But let's not talk about work, or at least not my work, Charlie catching bad guys is so much more interesting." "Yeah, like I can ever talk about it." He chuckled, deflecting, "Mulder, Will showed me your book." "He did?" "You wrote about this former FBI guy, who though he was abducted by aliens." "Duane Barry, yes." "Any truth to that? He was injured in the line of duty, wasn't that just the brain damage talking?" "He did have pieces of metal in various places inside his body." "So you believed him?" "Every story of alien abduction is different, touching different people, coming from different backgrounds. Some accept it, feeling chosen, and some break under the pressure of constantly looking over their shoulder. Ask yourself, why would you make up a story, that would make everyone think you've gone crazy?" "Attention?" Emily asked, sipping her beer. "It's usually negative, where's the pay off?" "You're the psychologist," Charlie said, "you tell me." "I can't, that's my point, some of these people are lying, that's just people, but some of them have gone through crazy things, and they didn't do it to themselves. Someone had to seek out and target these specific individuals, using them for their experiments without their consent, and since it's all so crazy and no one really takes it seriously, these people end up marginalised, ridiculed and never see justice, so the circle of exclusion closes. There are private groups and societies that provide support and connect people with similar experiences, but like I said, it's all very us against them." "I know what you mean," Emily sighed, chasing peas around her plate, "try being a math geek in a hippy home. Mom was supportive, but she never really understood me." "Good thing you're a Scully," Charlie said, "we're a stubborn lot." "And thank God for that." Mulder smiled and raised his glass of water, for lack of a better toast. "To stubborn Scully's, who never give up without a fight." Emily glanced up and met Mulder's eyes, his warm smile oddly familiar, and a thought dawned on her. "Never," she grinned and raised her beer, looking at Charlie. "We don't mind some help, though." He said, raising his bottle. Glass clinked. "And that's probably the core of your strength."

They left Mulder's place around nine, full and happy, the Bill incident all but forgotten. Emily looked out the windshield at the rain that started drizzling, waking up the wipers to squeak lazily. The streets were almost empty, carb coma took over the city. "Does Will know?" She said, moving her gaze to Charlie. "Know what?" "No Will," she let her breath wheeze, "I am your father." "What?" "Search your feelings," she kept up the poor Darth Vader impression, "you know it to be true." "Stop that." "C'mon Charlie," she grinned, sensing she was onto something, "the smile, the jaw, the matching DNA!" Charlie kept his eyes on the road. "You really are a Scully." "Holly shit!" "Language!" "So it is true." "Dana's going to kill me," he sighed, "yeah, Mulder is Will's dad." "How does that work?" "Listen kid," he said, emotions flaring, "it was a long time ago. You were just a toddler, rambling with your mother when it happened. What Bill said tonight, was just a shadow of how it was back then and none of us want to go back. If you have the guts, ask Dana about it. All I can say, is that it ended when Will was born and everybody loved him ever since, he's ours. And even if Dana's reasons might have been childish, she loved him the most and she's a great mom." "Easy there, uncle Charlie," she said, teasing but only slightly, "I won't tell anyone, if that's what you mean." "Don't tell Will," Charlie took a deep breath, reining in his temper, "or Mulder. Let Dana do it, when she's ready." "Okay, I promise." She said, smiling slightly. "But you have to admit, it's cute as hell." "Em, Will is going to live," he sighed, "that's all I care about." "What are the odds." She mused, laugh still in her voice. Charlie smiled and said, "Apparently, one in five billion."

[sigritandtheelves]

I know you just poste but... PLEASE MORE!!! (whenever you can, this not ment for pressuring you, this is to let you know i love simple and can't stop reading it)

💗

Simple

Chapter 8

Other Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven

M | 3.3k wds | pre-XF AU | MSR, Melissa/Samantha

A/N: There’s some uncustomary angst here, but nothing too heavy. The good news is, it feels like the story has an actual emotional arc now. 😂

_+_

Wednesday - Stanford

He didn’t call her on Monday, after her terrible day, or on Tuesday, when she really hoped he would. On Wednesday morning before her flight, she tried his apartment, but got only his machine. She left him a message.

“Hi, it’s me. I guess you’re not back yet from your case. My flight gets in in at 7:30 tonight, and they’re putting me up in a hotel downtown, the, um… Hotel Harrington. I guess it’s just around the corner from the Hoover building. Anyway, I hope the case is going well, and, ah… I’ll talk to you soon.”

She hung up and tried not to be disappointed. She reminded herself that he was busy, that he was saving people’s lives, that he could even be in a dangerous situation for all she knew. Dana would not be the jealous type: not of his job and not of his partner. She would do some reading on the plane and she would wear her good suit tomorrow, and she would make a strong impression at the FBI, even if Fox couldn’t be there. So she ignored the mild ache in her heart, the sense that everything was somehow turning sour. She wasn’t even sure why she worried. Because she couldn’t reach him? Because recruitment by the FBI seemed too good to be true? She didn’t believe in signs and omens. She wasn’t Melissa.

Dana double checked her light switches and plugs and gave her single, sickly plant a final splash of water. Suitcase in hand, Dana locked up and went down to meet her cab.

—

Friday - Baltimore

Melissa Scully returned home later than she’d wanted. There had been a difficult case involving a drug-addicted mother and disputed custody: a grandmother trying to keep two sweet-faced children fed and looked-after. As she hung her coat and scarf, pushing down the static of her hair and stepping out of her shoes, she noticed something different in the feel of the house. Its air seemed thicker, and not just with the warm smell of dinner. Then, voices from the kitchen: a visitor.

“Sam?”

The voices quieted and Sam called out, “I’m here.”

There were two familiar bags beside the stairs, but she was still surprised to see Dana perched on a stool, slump-shouldered and tired-eyed. “Hi Missy,” she said.

Melissa felt her mouth drop open. “Dana? Oh my god, are you okay? What are you doing here?”

Dana tried to smile, but her lips trembled, and Missy quickly enveloped her sister in a hug. Dana melted bonelessly into the embrace and breathed in deep. So much fear, she sensed. And an angry wad of shame, balling itself up inside of her. Something must have happened.

Over Dana’s head, Melissa looked to Samantha. What is it? she mouthed, but Sam just made a face that said, I don’t know.

“Day,” she said again. “What’s up?”

Dana shook her head, red hair turning to fuzz against Melissa’s shoulder, words muffled into her sweater. “I took the train from DC. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have changed the ticket, but I thought he’d be there.”

“Who, Fox?”

A nod.

Missy looked again to Samantha, who shrugged and then waved her hands at the sisters, shooing them out of the kitchen to talk in private. Melissa tugged on her sister’s arm. “Come on,” she said. “Couch.”

Dana refused to cry while the whole story came out: Daniel (a name she hadn’t known before this) first spying on them during Fox’s surprise visit, and then confronting her with threats and accusations; her recruitment by the FBI; her fear about their father’s reaction; and finally Fox, promising to be here, or at least to call, but then leaving on a case and not returning her messages for days.

“I know it’s not his fault,” she said. “I shouldn’t have changed the ticket without talking to him, but I would have hated to not change it and have wasted the opportunity for time together.”

“You mean your plane ticket?”

“Yeah,” Dana said. “I’m flying back Sunday.” She looked up at Melissa, eyes wide and blue and sorry. “Can I stay here until then? I don’t want to have to explain to mom and dad.”

Melissa sighed and drooped an arm around her little sister. “Of course,” she said. “But you know you’ll have to tell them soon, right? I mean, did the recruitment go well?”

Dana nodded. “It did. It’s actually really exciting. Scary, but in a good way.”

A little squeeze around the shoulders. “Then let’s be excited. Let’s have a beer and some dinner and I’ll read your cards and then we can watch sad movies, hmm? A cry always helps. You can sleep ’til noon tomorrow.”

Dana laughed and nodded and they went back to the kitchen where Sam was hanging up the phone, a little too quickly.

“Who was that?” Melissa asked, eyes narrowed with a skepticism all the Scullys could do.

“No one,” she said, again too quickly, and began handing them plates piled with vegetables and rice and tofu.

—

Saturday - Alexandria

It was a short flight, but it had been a long week, when Fox Mulder finally unlocked the door to his apartment and dropped his bags on the floor at just after nine in the morning. He’d returned with more questions than answers, and a dead suspect, but the case was by all outward appearances (and filed paperwork), closed. Most of the answers he wanted would require military information, but all inquiries in that direction had been shut down right quick. Fox wiped a hand over his face and went to start a pot of coffee: the dinky cup on the plane had done little to relieve his week-long headache. Good work it may have been, but the non-answers at the end of walking in circles didn’t leave him with much sense of closure. The worst was that Diana had set up long hours of stake-outs throughout the first half of the week, and by the time he’d gotten to a phone with his calling card, he got no answer at Dana’s apartment. He’d missed her before she left, and he didn’t know where she was staying to call her once she got here.

While the coffee pot dripped, he went to his answering machine where the number 6 was flashing at him in anxiety-inducing red. First was a call from his landlord, reminding him about some work on the smoke detectors. Then one from Dana, letting him know about her flight and her hotel—he grabbed a pen and paper to take down the name, but then realized it was Saturday and that he’d probably already missed her. “Shit,” he said. Then her voice came back in a second message from early yesterday morning:

“Hi again. I’m sorry to bug you. Just an update: I’m touring Quantico and the labs this morning and then I was supposed to have an afternoon flight home, but…” There was a brief pause, and her voice was a bit cooler when it returned. “I’ll be checked out of the hotel in a few minutes. I’m sorry I missed you.” And then a quick click and the message was over. But what? He thought. “Goddamnit,” he murmured. He had fucked this one up good. She’d been here, just minutes away from where he now stood, and then at the same airport he’d flown into less than an hour ago. But they’d missed each other like ships in the night.

Two more messages played, first a hang-up, and then an automated call offering new long-distance pricing. He took a deep breath and started to do the math on when he could reasonably make a call to California, when his sister’s voice emerged from the machine in its final message:

“Fox, you dope. Your girl is here and she looks pretty fucking sad. What did you do? She flies home late Sunday morning. Don’t be an idiot,” and then the click of the receiver as Sam hung up in a hurry.

A smile spread out over his face as his heartbeat caught up to his mind’s realization. He hadn’t missed her. She’d just gone to Baltimore (and not told him). He could be there before noon. Fox barely waited for the machine to stop dripping before he sloshed some coffee into a travel mug, grabbed his keys, and ignored his still-packed bags on his way out the door. He thought maybe he could still salvage this mess of a week.

—

Saturday traffic in February wasn’t bad, but he may have committed a few minor misdemeanors on his way. He pulled up in front of his sister’s house at 11:48, swallowing the last of his now-lukewarm coffee. He thought for a moment, popped a mint into his mouth, then hurried for the front door. He was going to scoop Dana up, take her back to his place (six hours of travel today be damned) and make love to her until they both fell asleep from exhaustion. When they woke, he would feed her (preferably by hand, preferably naked) and listen to every single minute of her life over the past week.

“Oh hey,” Samantha said as she opened the door, looking smug. “Got my message?”

“I did,” he said. “Is she here?”

Sam stepped back to let him enter. “Mmhmm. Couch.” He was already walking toward the living room, but Samantha caught his arm before he could plow past her. Her eyes were brown and serious. “She’s had a week, Fox. Be gentle, okay?”

He frowned at that, a little confused. “Okay,” he said, wondering if the recruitment hadn’t gone well, if some jackass had said something to her. God knew there were enough sexist pricks at the FBI.

In the living room, Dana was curled around a throw pillow on the couch, eyes glued to the TV, freckled and beautiful and still in pajamas. Fox stood awkwardly a moment in the doorway before she caught sight of him and her eyes went wide.

“Oh my gosh,” she said, pushing herself up to sit.

He smiled, letting the warmth of her proximity wash over him. “Hey you.”

“You came back. I thought… How’d you know I was here?”

He pulled off his coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. “Sam left me a message. Mind if I sit?”

She shook her head and shifted to make room. He lowered himself beside her and hooked his index finger over her pinky, gave it a little tug. Something seemed off, he noticed. She seemed… hesitant, a little less excited than he’d hoped. He thought of Sam’s warning: be gentle.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment of her fiddling with his fingers with her left hand: rubbing them, staring down as if she were nervous.

“For what?”

He tugged again at her hand, trying to get her to look at him. “For missing your calls.”

Dana shrugged and moved her eyes to the coffee table, to the remains of her breakfast cereal and a worn paperback. “You were working, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have… anyway, it doesn’t matter. How was your case?”

“Frustrating. Too long. Hey.” With that, she finally looked at him, and he could swear she looked afraid. Fox raised his hand to her cheek and was relieved when she leaned into it. “Tell me about you.” He leaned in and touched his nose to hers. She smiled, just a little twitch of her lips, and it warmed his hopes. He braved a kiss, and she responded with a gentle pressure of her own lips. There she was. “Hello,” he said with another little kiss. “I missed you,” he murmured, and he let his fingers toy at the hem of her top. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“Hi,” she said. “I missed you, too. And it’s okay.”

“Were you sufficiently wooed by the FBI?”

Dana smiled again. “I think so. I toured the Hoover Building first. Very impressive. Many important men in suits.”

“Hmm, yes.”

“And then the labs at Quantico.”

“And?”

“Amazing.”

“They let you slice up any dead bodies?”

Dana sighed, in mock regret. “Unfortunately no. I brought my own scalpel and everything, but I guess they want me to go through training first.”

Fox laughed and tugged her into his arms. She fell heavily against his chest with an “oomph” and a little laugh. He squeezed her tight, relieved at the warmth of her, here and solid and his. “And you will, you think? Go through training?”

She leaned her head back to look at him, and though she smiled, there was some distant and foggy look in her eyes. “Yeah,” she said.

—

The sight of him in the doorway should have overwhelmed her with joy, as it had three weeks ago when she’d found him waiting for her. But it was as if the earth had undergone a tectonic shift, or a tilt in its axis, that changed their orientations toward one another. Or hers toward him. She wasn’t sure. The feel of his palm on her cheek still set beating the small wings of her heart, but it was with anxiety now, as well as excitement. His lips on hers still felt exactly, perfectly right. And yet, she was afraid. Seeing FBI Headquarters, imagining herself there, stiff-backed and strong under the daily onslaught of authoritative men and their rigid expectations, was a thing difficult enough. Imagining him there, too, as one of those wielders of authority,  who could sway the opinion of those who judged her… He could touch her in a hallway out of only affection and accidentally ruin her.

(Are you fucking him to get a place there?)

Daniel’s voice was a poison in her memory that she tried to shove away. But her recruitment by the FBI changed them, she realized. It gave Fox a kind of power over her she hadn’t considered at first, even if he would never use it. She would be, once again, sleeping with a colleague, and that recent burn still stung. Now, as she rested her head against his chest and felt his arms around her back, she wondered once again if she’d been too hasty with her affection. Take a step back, Dana. Armor yourself.

They both said goodbye to Melissa and Sam. She thanked them for the cozy room and dinner, and let Fox bring her back to his apartment. She was quiet on the ride, listening to him unravel the details of his case. She tried her best to offer words that didn’t want to come.

When they pulled up at his apartment building, Dana felt the tingle of nerves again, all the way into her fingers. She tried to carry her own bags, but he waved her away from the trunk. She bit her lip, surprised by her own irritation. This small gesture, meant with affection, now felt weighted down with assumptions and misguided chivalry. Inside, he juggled the bags and his keys to unlock the door. His apartment was much larger than hers, but a bit dim, even with the lights on. Well-decorated, though. Her lips twitched up at the sight of his fish tank. Fox nearly tripped over his own bags on the way in, then carried them all, waddling awkwardly, into his bedroom. When he came back, he stopped and stood before her, watching her watch him there in his foyer, still in her coat.

“I won’t bite,” he said after a moment, a little sheepish. “Mi casa, and all of that.”

She tried to smile, and tugged off her coat, hung it on the coat rack.

“Dana,” he said while she fiddled with the pockets and straightened the fabric. Slowly, she turned, and the worry on his face hurt her heart. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay. Sam said you had a week. Will you tell me?”

Dana closed her eyes and breathed. Telling him would mean explaining the situation with Daniel, the whole situation. And what would he think of her then? Fox stepped closer, and his fingers brushed her elbow.

No, she thought. She wouldn’t break in front of him. She wouldn’t cry and tell him about her mean ex and beg his comfort and let herself be held, she who had stupidly thought he might rush back to see her. He couldn’t want this much complication, not so soon, and she suddenly couldn’t imagine letting herself seem so weak in front of him. So she swallowed and put what she hoped was a smile on her face. “Work stuff was stressful, that’s all. Because I had to take the three days off.” She tucked hair behind her ear and tried that smile again, but she could see that he didn’t quite buy it. It wasn’t a lie, she thought, not exactly—the trip had set off some trouble… which had unfolded at work. “And I’m not great at flying,” she added. “Cross-country trips stress me out a bit.”

Fox nodded, lower lip tucked between his teeth. “Okay,” he said, and ushered her into his living room with his hand on her back. His fish tank burbled and his couch was green. She sat down on it and looked out over his desk through the window. “Should I order us some lunch? I don’t have much here.”

“Okay,” she said, not looking back from the window. “That sounds good.”

So they ate in unfamiliar awkwardness, their noodles and egg-drop soup and chicken, and Dana felt she had maybe ruined everything. Here was this man who seemed to genuinely like who she was, not who she might be or who he wanted her to be, and she would either ruin it all with her neediness or push him away with her coldness. Dana swallowed a lump of baby corn that felt like a brick in her esophagus, knowing suddenly that she had done wrong. She had loved too much too soon at a time when she was too unsettled. Now, she was sure, they would suffer for it.

They spent the afternoon watching TV, and she clung to him wide-eyed, face against the warm cotton of his shirt, while he kissed her head and she convinced herself this might be the last time they shared this kind of quiet comfort. He hummed pleasantly against her scalp while she fought back tears he never saw. They took a walk to a small park down the street, and she twined her fingers around his like they were a lifeline, like they could save her from ruining this.

Shouts echoed on the playground until clouds purpled the sky. Children on skateboards and bikes wheeled home to their dinners, and soon she and Fox turned back, too. When it grew late, they swallowed leftovers and she curled into his bed in the dark. His fingers found her. His words poured into her ear: Dana, you feel so good, while skimmed his heavy palms over her body and she pressed her flesh to his. He slipped her panties down, and god she wanted him to, more than anything. She was glad of the dark that hid the depth of her love and sadness: the crease in her forehead, the wobble of her lips. She moaned into his clavicle, arched against his fingers, spread her legs and accepted him inside of her, all while thinking she could not keep him.

At the airport, she managed not to cry, and if he mistook the shine of her eyes for the sadness of temporary partings, she did not correct him. Again, she wanted to tell him she loved him, but hadn’t the courage. He palmed her cheek and kissed her lips in that way he had, like he was holding a secret. “Call me when you get in,” he whispered. And though she nodded (feeling ripped open, feeling hollowed out, feeling like she’d stepped on something beautiful in her clumsiness and broken it), she did not.

— end chapter eight —

Go to Chapter 9

[gaycrouton]

hi again, it's the same person of the last ask. i have this one shot idea on my mind, and i think you might like it: what if mulder was with scully and the lone gunmen during three of a kind and has to deal with a drugged scully?

Lol I hope you’re still around! I know I’ve had this prompt in my inbox probably since September. I’m so glad I finally got to it, and I hope it was a little worth the wait!

Illicit Desires

They almost succeeded with their little plan. Apparently they trapped her cell to re-route to back to them, but they hadn’t anticipated her double checking airport arrangements with him over her home line.

“What do you mean, ‘what do I mean’? You just called me less than thirty minutes ago telling me the Lone Gunmen found something important and I had to get to Las Vegas as soon as possible,” Scully whined in tired exasperation.

“I’m sorry, Scully. I really don’t know what you’re talking about…” Mulder died off as the realization hit them both. “Well, want to go to Las Vegas and see what they want?”

Looking back, maybe he should have called to see why they were trying to exclude him. As soon as they saw him in the lobby arriving with Scully, Langley rushed up and pulled his coat up over his head to hide his hair and dragged him like that all the way back to their hotel room, ignoring Scully’s comments of irritation on his behalf.

Apparently Mulder’s presence would be too incriminating, so he was resigned to desk duty in the three stooges’ room, just receiving their calls and doing any research they needed. Something was obviously wrong here, he’d admit that, but he wasn’t used to being out of the field and he was getting cabin fever. He also hadn’t heard from Scully longer than normal for them.

Langley told him earlier that she’d been really jet-lagged and had wrapped up the autopsy in less than ten minutes. He found this odd being she hadn’t been jet-lagged when he was her earlier and there was no way in hell an autopsy took less than ten minutes. He tried calling her to check on her, but it went to voicemail. He asked Frohike to be on the lookout as he stayed in the room with Byers and Modeski. He was about to call her again when he heard a woman’s giggle followed by the swipe of a keycard.

He turned around and relief was instantly replaced by concern as he saw Scully being dragged in by the arm. Her eyes lit up when she saw him and, in an uncharacteristically high pitch, squealed “Hi!”

Of all the expressions Mulder has seen on Frohike’s face while he was around Scully, let alone touching her, exasperation had never been one. “Settle down,” he pleaded as he eased the still giggling Scully onto the bed. “ I found Agent Scully Go-lightly holding court-” then Mulder’s eyes practically bulged out of his head as he saw Scully grab Melvin’s ass. “-bar!” he exclaimed, turning in shock to the giggling woman.

“I’ve never seen her drunk before,” Beyers stated in confusion.

Modeski rushed over to her and started evaluating her. “God, this can’t be-” she murmured while Frohike tried to keep Scully from tickling her, the loonish laughter coming out non-stop. Eventually Modeski stopped after brushing her hair behind Scully’s ear and proclaimed, “She’s not drunk, look at this.” Mulder walked around and saw a circular red mark on the side of Scully’s head. “That was made by an injector gun.”

Mulder felt anger bubble up inside him. Anger at whatever sonuvabitch drugged her, and himself for not being with her sooner. “Well, what the hell was she injected with?” he barked, putting his hand on Scully’s shoulder to comfort her and himself.

“It’s derivative of AH gas. AH, anoitic histamine, my latest creation.” He didn’t fully understand what she was saying, Scully was the one who would explain the sciency terms to him, but right now she was too busy trying to mimic everyone’s facial reactions, going between pouting to mock-severity. “I could have developed it years ago, but I held off. I wasn’t about to let those bastards I work for get their hands on it. Grant thought that if we secretly developed a small batch, and then destroyed the notes, that we would have the proof we needed to go public. We’d also have a weapon we could use against them.”

He heard someone ask, “Who else has access to this anoitic histamine?” but he was too focused on Scully nuzzling her cheek against his hand.

“Grant and I are the only two people that ha-” she paused in realization, “-that have the samples.” Scully shrugged playfully before giggling some more. Modeski turned to Mulder and gestured at Scully. “Keep her there, let me go get something.”

Mulder sat down on the bed next to Scully and was taken aback when she tried to scoot onto his lap. “Woah, Scully. Sit still, okay?” She let out a girlish giggle and tried to tickle him. He’d never seen Scully so flirty and realized the implication of Frohike’s words from earlier. Turning to the man, he asked, “What do you mean ‘Agent Scully Go-lightly was holding court bar’?”

Frohike just sighed and ran a hand over the few hairs he had on his head. “She was sitting at the bar with over ten men fawning over her. One of them offered her a smoke and everyone was jumping at the chance to ‘light her fire.’ It was clear they were looking to keep her warmer than what a flame could offer if ya know what I mean.”

Mulder felt sick at this new found knowledge. Scully was lolling her head from side to side while laughing at anything that slightly amused her. All those men probably just thought she was drunk, but regardless, it didn’t matter to them that she obviously couldn’t consent in this state. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened if Frohike hadn’t found her.

Before he could dwell on that sickening thought too much, Susanne came back with a little vile. “Can you take off her jacket?”

“Yeah baby, can you take off my jacket?” Scully teased between giggles. Ignoring her, Mulder unbuttoned the middle of her jacket and slid it off her shoulders, ignoring the way she was trying to get him to touch her more than necessary.

When he was done, she sat on the bed next to them and rolled up Scully’s sleeve. “This will counteract the anoitic effect.”

At that moment, Langley came back and immediately got Scully’s attention, “Hey, cutie.” As she was distracted, Susanne injected her, making Scully jump a little bit and start to pout. “…just a little prick.”

Scully slid more onto Mulder and pressed a kiss to his chest. “Bad trip?” Langley asked.

“Why is she still like this?” Mulder asked, trying to keep his blush under control.

“Things may get worse before they get better, but I can guarantee she will be better when she wakes up in the morning.”

“Oh great.” Everyone else in the room started talking about why this happened, but he was only concerned on making sure Scully was okay right now. She started coughing as they talked and he realized she might be dehydrated from the drugs, especially since no one knew how long she’d been affected for.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, he rushed back over to Scully. “Hey, can you drink this? It’ll help.” To make it easier, he uncapped the lid and held it out for her to take. He wasn’t sure if she misunderstood his actions or if she really just wanted to torture him. Instead of making a move to grab the bottle being offered, she just maintained eye contact as she opened her mouth, sticking her tongue out suggestively, and tilting her head back. He’d seen that visage in more fantasies than he was willing to admit and she must’ve seen that in his face, because she let out a husky laugh as her mouth remained open.

Deciding the Gunmen didn’t need to see this any longer than necessary, he indulged her by tilting the bottle over her mouth and letting a bit fall in, mesmerized by the way her throat moved as she swallowed.

He stopped after just a few seconds, unwilling to pop a boner in front of his friends and drugged up partner, and screwed the cap back on. He saw a gleam in Scully’s eyes as she closed her mouth, making an exaggeratedly sensual sound in the back of her throat as she wiped the corners of her mouth coyly.

“Oh my god,” Frohike declared in the silence of the room. He sent the short man a warning glare and offered his hand to Scully.

“I’m going to take her to my room. I think I should just try and get her back to herself.”

“Be safe, Mulder,” Beyers said apologetically.

“Scully, can you give me your hand?” He asked, offering his own to her.

She took it before suggestively standing up and hugging him around the middle, humming against his shirt. “Don’t have too much fun.” Frohike joked, immediately receiving a warning glare.

“Not funny, Frohike. May I remind you that the only reason she’s been drugged was because she was trying to help you guys.”

“Sorry,” he apologized, “Do you need any help getting her to your room?”

“No, thank you though. Worse comes to worst, I’ll carry her.”

He felt Scully move in his arms before looking up at him, “Carry me.”

“Can you walk?” he asked, suspicious of her motives.

She stuck out her bottom lip and shook her head, slumping her weight against him for dramatic effect. With a sigh of resignation, he bent down, hooking one arm in the crook of her knees as the other slid around her back, lifting up her weight effortlessly.

“The anecdote shouldn’t cause any weakness,” Susanne murmured in concern, standing up to look closely at Scully.

Scully must’ve found the fact she was caught hysterical because she started laughing into his neck, her chuckles warming his skin. “Lookie, he’s so strong,” she declared dangling her feet back and forth exaggeratedly to show how he remained standing still.

Modeski seemed relieved while his concern grew as she nuzzled her cheek against his. “Can one of you open the door for me? I’m only carrying you to the elevator, Scully.” She let her weight fall back so her head was dangling upside down while she emitted a deep laughter.

She remained like a sack of potatoes until he took a step inside the elevator, where she wrapped her arms around his neck and placed a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for the ride,” she giggled as he set her back down on her feet.

He felt his heart race as the elevator doors closed. For the first time since she’d been afflicted, they were alone. Just like they would be for the rest of the night. “Are you takin’ me to your room, Muldey?” she cooed, apparently also realizing the suggestiveness of the situation. As she said this, she attempted to run her hand up and down the front of his shirt. He imagined she thought this was a languid, seductive move, but she lacked the dexterity in the moment so it was just a hard pet.

Pretending to be unaffected by forwardness, he laughed, “Am I Muldey?”

She wrapped her arms around his middle and rested her chin on his chest, looking up at him with her big blue eyes, though the drug had dilated them to the point the blue was barely visible around the black eclipse. Or at least for his sake he hoped it was the drug. “You’re my Muldey.” To reaffirm her emphasis on ‘my’ she squeezed him tight, smashing her breasts against his chest.

He ignored her suggestiveness and kept his hands to his sides. “Yes. I’m taking you to my room so you can sleep this off.”

She pressed herself against him more so that his back hit the wall of the elevator. She used this as her advantage to rub herself tantalizingly along his front, coming on her toes to whisper, “I don’t wanna sleep.”

Every nerve in his body was ignited at the sensation of her warm, pliant body pressed against his. He was staring intently at the numbers rise on the meter above the elevator door because he knew he couldn’t handle seeing and feeling her at the same time. He already had one mess to attend to, let alone make another one. “Well, you’re going to have to Scully.”

As quickly as she came, she was off him, turning around and pressing the button for the first floor. “Well, if you don’t wanna play with me. I’ll find someone who does.”

He lurched forward and grabbed her around the middle gently, pulling her away from the buttons, “Oh no you don’t.”

She giggled and raised herself on her tiptoes before bending slightly and backing up into him, rubbing the meat of her ass along the front of his pants. She laughed at his poorly disguised groan and his arms grabbed her arms a little harder than necessary in his desperation to get her to stop. “You know you wanna. I can feel you do.”

The elevator doors opened up on their floor and he put one hand on her shoulder, practically pushing her down the hall. “You’re going in my room, and you’re going to do what I say. Okay?”

Suddenly a teenage bellhop stepped out in front of them, ignoring the dinner cart he was pushing and blocked their path with his arms outstretched. “Ma’am, is everything alright?” he asked, unabashedly glaring at Mulder.

He felt his face flame up as he realized that it most definitely looked like he was trying to take advantage of an inebriated woman. “Oh, you don’t underst-”

“I didn’t ask you buddy.”

Scully giggled wildy and he saw the confusion dawn on the boy’s face. “Thank you so much sweetie, but this is my husband.” She turned to Mulder and he was glad she wasn’t making things worse. She placed a hand on him territorially before continuing, “We’re about to fuck.” He spoke too soon.

The boy’s face flushed crimson red and he just stammered a quick, “Oh, s-sorry,” before scurrying down the hall, making Scully erupt into a fit of laughter.

Mulder dragged her jovial form the rest of the way there, unlocking it and shoving her inside. As he closed the door behind them, he felt Scully place a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to turn him around. He complied with her and met the gaze of a hungry Scully.

“You’re hard,” she stated, pride evident in her tone. Apparently his attempts at hiding it were unsuccessful.

He swore in this moment that if god did exist, he had a grudge against him because this was simply torture. “Scully, you’re a very beautiful woman, and you keep touching me. I can’t help it,” he explained. His biggest fear was that Scully would wake up the next morning with just fragments of memories. He didn’t want those fragments to only include the fact she was drugged and that he was hard.

“I could help you take care of that, ya know,” she purred, easing herself onto her knees so she was face level with the tent in his pants. Before he had a second to register her words, one hand clutched at his belt while the other fully cupped him through his jeans.

He groaned and inadvertently bucked into her palm, earning a toothy, self-satisfied grin from Scully. She started to slip the belt out of the loop, but he reached down and grabbed both of her wrists, pulling them away from his erection. She stared up at him with bedroom eyes and he filed it away in his eidetic memory. “Scully, I can’t let you do this,” he panted.

She nodded and he thought he was in the clear until she gently bit him through his pants. “Fuck,” he hissed, snapping his eyes shut as he felt her breath through the material of his jeans. He chuckled against him as she ran her tongue back and forth across the length she could reach.

Not wanting to hurt her, or his penis, but desperate to get her mouth off him, he let his body fall back against the door, and he slid down it, falling to his ass on the floor. She crawled towards him and tried to get closer, but he held his hand out to keep her at a distance. “Scully, you’re killing me.”

“I know something that can bring you back to life,” she cooed, reaching her hands to the top button of her shirt as she started to undress. He stood up quickly and started locking all of the bolts on the door then, ignoring her, he walked over to a chair by the window and put his hand over his eyes.

“Okay, Scully. I want you to change, but I want you to find something in my suitcase you want to wear.” He wanted to rush to the bathroom and gain some semblance of composure, maybe even take care of his predicament, but he needed to make sure he made sure she didn’t try to leave. He half regretted that he didn’t take her to her own room so she’d have her own pyjamas and everything, but he had bigger things to worry about.

He continued to listen to the sound of clothes falling from her body while trying to focus his mind on every gross thing he could think of. He was focused on the thought of Flukeman when she finally called out to him.

“Mulllder, Mulllllder, lookie here,” she cooed.

Reluctantly he glanced over and immediately felt his blood rush south. He hadn’t heard her walk closer to him, but she was now standing an arms width away from him, wearing nothing except a matching bra and panty set.

“Jesus Christ, Scully,” he hissed, averting his gaze to the floor.

“You don’ like it?” she asked sadly. “I just got it.”

The melancholy in her voice brought his attention back to her, and from the smile that erupted on her face, that had been her intent. He tried to have the upper hand by not letting her know how much this was affecting him, but he couldn’t help drop his gaze.

The ensemble was a deep violet color that was rich against her ivory skin. The tops of her breasts were revealed from the low cut, lacy fabric of the cups and she was idly playing with a pink bow in the middle. Her panties were the same lacy material, and he was certain if she turned around her ass would be hanging out of the bottom. “You look very nice,” he reassured, hoping she didn’t catch the strain in his voice or the one growing in his pants.

“I don’t usually wear anything like this, but-”

“But what?” he prompted without thinking.

She took a step closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, taking him off guard. From this close he could smell her perfume lingering on her skin and each and every freckle smattered across her aquiline nose. “I really appreciated that date you took me on last weekend.”

The batting cage. The best night of his life. He only paid the kid for an hour and he was surprised when they used the entire time. He wasn’t sure how much Scully liked baseball, or if she was simply enjoying being close for what felt like the first time. Even after the kid left, they’d sat on the bleachers for god knows how long laughing and reminiscing. It was a perfect night. The only thing that could have made it better would’ve been if he had summoned up the courage to kiss her goodnight. He could tell she was curious if he would, her eyes gleamed up at him with what he could have sworn was hope. Maybe it was just his reflecting in hers. Instead, he gave her another hug, kissed her hair, and bid her goodnight.

“Me too.”

“So,” she started, placing one hand on his chest as she swung a leg over his seated form so she could sit on his lap. He couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped his lips and he was just glad her weight was resting on the middle of his thighs and not higher up. “I was hoping you’d make another move this weekend.”

His mouth went dry and he swore he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, among other places. She wanted him to make a move on her. She wore sexy lingerie for him. He’d never particularly felt like a lucky man, but in this moment he was the luckiest man in the entire damn world. Well, except the fact she was insatiably attractive while throwing herself at him and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. “I will make every move you want me to make when this gets out of your system.”

“I think I need something in my system first,” she purred, rolling her hips up to meet his at the same time she latched her lips to his neck. He involuntarily moaned and his hips lurched off the chair, thrusting into her obvious arousal. Mulder wouldn’t be surprised if there was a wet spot on the front of his jeans from how hot she was. He felt her entire body shudder against him and she tried to nuzzle herself closer to him, humming as she rubbed her cheek against his neck.

“Scully, stop,” he rasped. He grabbed onto her bare waist, ignoring the way her skin felt like silk against his palms. She tried to lurch back onto him, but he stopped her, swooping down so that his neck was against her side so he could hoist her up over his shoulder.

She erupted into giggles and squealed, “Ooooh, I like this.”

He tossed her gently on the bed and she wantonly sprawled out in front of him, smiling up at him as if beckoning him to join her. “What do you want to sleep in?”

“I’m not ready to sleep,” she giggled as a hand slid down her abdomen and under the elastic band of her panties.

Oh fuck no.

He averted his gaze but he could still hear the slick sounds of her arousal as she touched herself in front of him. “Scully, please stop.”

“Why?”

Her voice was so low and breathy, he started to get concerned if his heart was beating too fast. “Because you aren’t yourself. I don’t want you to be embarrassed in the morning and I don’t want you to be mad at me for letting you do this.”

“Okay, I stopped.”

He looked back over and she hadn’t stopped at all. His attention was immediately drawn to the way her fingers where moving vigorously against the dampened fabric and the flush that had spread across her chest. He heard a sound in the room and he thinks he actually just whined. He reached down and gently grabbed her wrist, forcing it her to stop and pull herself out of her underwear, ignoring the way her fingers glistened in the dim lighting of the room.

Scully pouted at him and let out a little huff of dissatisfaction. “You don’t want me.” She looked dejected and continued to puppy dog eye him and he felt his heart melt.

“N-no, no, Scully, don’t get confused. I want you more than you could ever imagine, bu-”

“Then take me,” she declared gently, wrapping her legs around his sides while trying to pull him down on top of her.

“Scully,” he chastised warningly, “Not right now. As soon as you are sober and healthy, I will be at your sexual beck and call. Until then I just simply cannot let anything happen. I love you too much.”

She looked straight into his eyes as he begged her and took a second until she started nodding lethargically. He let out a sigh of relief that was short lived as she murmured, “Mulder.”

“Yes?”

She bit her lip, for the first time since all of this happened, she actually looked shy. “Will you kiss me? Just once. What if I forget in the morning?”

“But-I-” he stammered.

“Please,” she whispered. If it wasn’t for her still dilated eyes and the stunt she just pulled, he would have sworn this was his Scully laying in front of him.

“Just a peck, no tongue,” he commanded as his head lowered down to hers.

“Okay,” she breathed and he was so close he felt her warm breath on his lips. He pressed his mouth against hers chastley and it felt like heaven. She pressed back, abiding by his rules, and pressed a hand to the back of his head to keep him there. All and all it was pretty PG if it wasn’t for the fact he was pretty sure she inadvertently was wiping her arousal into his hair, he was pitching the world’s most aggressive hard on, and he could smell her in the air like a perfume.

She made a little sound of pleasure in the back of her throat and he reluctantly pulled away, gifted with the sight of a thoroughly-kissed Scully, lips still puckered from the ghost of their union and face washed in bliss. She looked so sweet and trusting that guilt started to gnaw at him. She deserved to remember and enjoy their first kiss at her own accord and he felt like he’d taken that away from her. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, standing up straight and then taking a step back so his bulge wasn’t right in her face.

“About what?” she laughed, easing herself up on her elbows.

“I shouldn-I need to get you to bed. What do you want to wear as pyjamas?”

She paused and looked lost in thought for a minute before a light went off in her mind. “That,” she proclaimed, raising an arm to point at his shirt.

“Really?”

“Yes really, if you won’t let me have what I really want, at least let me have a substitute.”

“Okay,” he sighed, placing his hands on the hem of his t-shirt as he tore it over his head. As he focused on turning it right-side out so she could slip it on, he didn’t see her take off her bra. “Here you g-Scully, come on!”

“I’m ready,” she stated in a voice imitating innocence but not quite achieving it.

He glanced over and saw her hands were extended so he could put on the shirt. He tried his best to ignore her exposed breasts, which seemed to be a thousand times better than he remembered and imagined in his fantasies. Taking the shirt, he helped navigate her arms through the holes, then her head, and allowed the fabric to fall down and engulf her.

Scully beamed up at him before wrapping her arms around herself in a hug, “It smells like you. I’m in surround-sound-Mulder.”

He laughed at her phrasing and helped navigate her under the blanket. “Alright, here you go,” he stated, bringing the blankets up to her neck.

He went to turn off the light, but her dainty hand came out and grabbed his wrist, “Wait. Where are you goin’?”

The tone of her voice tugged at him and he couldn’t help the small smile that graced his lips. “I’ll be right over there on the couch, okay?”

“No, you’re too big,” she demanded with a yawn.

“I don’t think it’s wise for me to sleep in the same bed as you. I don’t think you’ll appreciate it when you wake up.”

“Oh, I think I’ll more than appreciate it Mulder.” While her words were still flirtatious, she was clearly losing the battle against sleep, her lids becoming heavier and heavier.

“If I sleep next to you, do you promise not to make a move on me?”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, nodding her head lazily against the pillow, making her hair unruly against the fabric.

He turned off the light before making his way to the other side of the mattress, bringing his hands to his belt to take off his pants. Once he was clad in only his boxers, he eased himself under the covers next to her, mindful to keep himself a respectful distance away. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness of the room, so he just laid on his back staring at nothingness.

He heard her rustling closer to him before he felt the warmth of her skin against his. “Scully-” he began in warning.

“I just want to hold your arm,” she murmured. She slipped her arms around his, holding it to her like a pillow. He did his best to ignore the way his arm rested in between her breast and how he felt her breath hit his shoulder in small puffs.

“Goodnight, Scully.”

“Night, Muldey.”

He laid there enjoying the weird intimacy of this all for he didn’t even know how long. He wasn’t going to risk her moving by turning his head to look at the clock. He could tell when she had fallen asleep, which couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later, as her breath started to even out. He started to lull himself to sleep by listening to the methodical sound, only to be jolted awake as she swung a leg over him so that it was resting on top of his lower abdomen, dangerously close to where he did not need her to touch right now.

He couldn’t even count how many times he’d dreamed of moments like this, laying in bed with Scully, soft and warm, in his arms. His eyes had adjusted a bit more and he could see her face illuminated by the blue light streaming in through the windows. He saw her eyes moving under her eyelids and he wished more than anything to know what she dreamed of.

He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep until he was being woken up. “Mulder,” he heard her voice calling, accompanied by a hand shaking his shoulder.

His eyes opened to Scully’s worried face looking down at him. “Hey,” he croaked, sitting up. As he did so, he realized he was completely exposed, only his boxers to cover him as Scully’d stolen all the blankets in the night, all of which were wrapped around her legs.

“Wha-What happened yesterday?” she asked, fear lacing her voice. “I don’t remember anything.”

He’d hoped she’d have at least remembered something. For Scully, lost time wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was unbearable. Lost time for her was just reminiscent of her abduction, memories taken from her without her consent. She’d lost enough time. “You were drugged. Susanne Modeski and her husband made some sort of serum that make people easily controllable. It also apparently affects memory.”

“Why did they want to control me?” she asked tentatively, trying to keep how much the thought scared her out of her voice.

“Probably to prevent you from doing a proper autopsy. Do you remember anything before that?”

She looked lost in thought as her brow furrowed, “No. The autopsy was making Langley sick and he ran out. Then I can’t really remember anything…” she faded out, playing nervously with the hem of his shirt she was still wearing.

“Frohike found you in the bar a while later and brought you up to their room. You were given an antidote and I brought you back here.”

“Did you change me?” she asked, pulling the shirt away from her in emphasis, letting it fall back against her.

“I had to help you a little, yes, but you did most of the work.” He was worried about how much she wanted to know. He’d be honest about everything, he would never lie, but he was scared how upset she would get. If they’d just taken one step forward in their relationship before this sets them five steps back.

“Did anyone do anything to me? In the bar?” She was scared, for good reason.

“I can’t say for sure, but Frohike found you not long after you’d left the autopsy bay, and the men around you-”

“Men? Plural?” she exclaimed.

“Yeah,” he said rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Frohike said you were sitting at the bar with a captive audience.”

“Oh my god,” she cried, letting her face drop into her hands.

“Hey,” he whispered, leaning forward to stroke her back. “I’m sorry this happened.”

“What was I doing? During the night?” she asked, sitting up.

“Before getting the antidote shot you were a little flirty, you giggled a lot, and seemed a bit, I’m sorry, ditzy. You could have easily passed for drunk.”

“And after?” She must’ve seen something in his face because hers blanched. “What?”

“After you got the shot, I immediately took you here so you could sleep it off,” he tried to avoid the question a little bit, hoping this was maybe what she meant.

“What did I do?” She emphasized every word with deadly conviction and he couldn’t beat around the bush anymore.

“You wanted to have sex with me, and you made that very clear,” he rushed. Her face fell into her hands again and he was quick to comfort her again. In every single relational development they’d made, they always had an out. There was no way for her to escape right now, so he decided to help. “Scully, you were heavily drugged, I would never hold anything against you.” He heard a sharp intake of breath and his heart broke when he realized she was crying. He grabbed a wrist gently and tried to tug it away. “Scully, please look at me.”

She let her hands drop dejectedly into her lap as she looked at him with big, wet, blue eyes that looked like mini oceans in every sense of the word and he already felt himself drowning in their depths. “Why are you so upset?” He could assume any number of reasons as to why she might be, but he wanted to hear her say it.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she sobbed lightly, her voice quivering.

“About what specifically?” He grabbed onto her hands and stroked his thumbs over them lightly.

“I think I humiliated myself in front of you and I can’t even remember, and I know you’re too nice to really tell me how bad it was.”

“Come ‘ere,” he requested with open arms, pulling her into a seated hug, one leg on either side of her. She still looked mortified, but she wasn’t crying. Taking that as a good sign, he rubbed one hand across her back, relishing the way the fabric moved over her naked skin while the other stroked her hair, his chin resting on top of her head. “Bad is most certainly not the word I would use to describe last night. Torture maybe, but only because I was living in a dream.”

She sniffed lightly, ruminating in his words before asking, “What do you mean?”

“Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?” The severity in his voice must have stunned her from answering fully, because he just felt her nod instead. “Last night you told me you wanted me to make a move on you when we came here and you yourself made moves on me I’ve only ever fantasized about. It was awful getting to finally hear what I’ve always hoped for, knowing that you likely didn’t mean any of it.”

He felt her fidgeting in his arms lightly and, even though he was oversharing, he felt it only fair after what she’d just went through. “I told you I wanted you to make a move on me?” she asked softly, her breath ticking the soft hair on his chest.

He laughed it off, hoping it would downplay how much the prospect meant to him, “Yeah.”

“That was true,” she murmured so lightly he could barely hear it.

He stiffened in place and she took it wrong. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate,” she started apologizing, detangling her legs from the blankets in a desperate attempt to get up.

He reached out and gently grabbed her wrist, making her turn to look at him. “Are you serious?”

She opened her mouth before closing it, deciding internally to say something else. She nodded slightly before beginning again, “I hope you don’t think I was being forward. It was just-I had such a wonderful time last week at-”

“-the batting cages,” he finished, almost in disbelief that the sentiments she’d expressed weren’t just a manifestation of temporary, drug-induced lust.

Another nod. “Did I tell you that too?”

Now it was his turn to nod. “Yes, you did, and I agreed that it was a very important night for me as well.” She smiled lightly, just barely, before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Deciding to really test the limits of last-night Scully’s truthfulness, he asked, “Did you really wear that lingerie in hopes I would?” For emphasis, he pointed at the strip of purple visible on the side of her hip.

“No,” she murmured lightly, touching it. Fear he’d overstepped gnawed at him, but just before he was about to apologize, she added, “I bought this just for the occasion. If you weren’t going to make a move, I was.”

She didn’t even try to hide the smile that erupted as his jaw dropped open and his eyes widened. Scully was going to seduce him and she bought special, sexy lingerie just for the occasion. If he was ever going to have a heart attack, it would be in this moment. “I-are you-really?” Apparently formal thought processes were beyond him right now, but Scully didn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah,” she admitted, a slight blush over her cheeks. He saw her gaze drop before coming back to his eyes and he realized he’d pitched a tent in his boxers from this new-found knowledge. “Um, the offer didn’t expire, just so you know.” She couldn’t meet his eyes as she revealed that bit, and he realized she entirely put the ball in his court.

“Can I admit something to you?” he nearly whispered, afraid to ruin the tranquility of the moment.

“Please, I think I’ve done enough revealing,” she joked.

“During all of your attempts at seduction, I told you adamantly that I’d never touch you while you weren’t of sound mind and body.”

“Thank you.”

He held up a hand to signal the appreciation came too soon. “Then when I was putting you to bed you promised to behave if I kissed you, so I did. It was chaste, respectable, and would undoubtedly be Margaret Scully approved.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming on,” she stated slowly, curious where he was going with this. He was just glad he hadn’t been slapped for the transgression.

“But I felt guilty immediately afterwards,” he admitted.

“Why?” He found it amusing. Her tone clearly implied she thought it had been lackluster. As if she’d disappointed him in some way. Impossible.

“Because you weren’t really there. I’d taken our first kiss and you didn’t get to experience how mind blowing it was.”

“Well, if I wasn’t really there, then I guess you never really experienced our first kiss either,” she informed with coy confidence.

Realization hit him like a truck. This wasn’t an observation, it was an offer. An offer he wasn’t going to let slip away. “Hm, I guess we’ll have to try again, won’t we? For science,” he smirked, shifting closer to her.

“It only makes sense. I don’t want you to think that would be an accurate representation of what it would be like to kiss me,” she murmured, crawling closer to him.

“Certainly not,” he whispered against her lips as he snaked a hand through her hair.

Certainly fucking not, he confirmed internally. This was exquisite. This was all he’d ever dreamed of and more. Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully, medical doctor, was kissing him with all her might. They probably lasted all of five seconds before their tongues collided, exploring each other’s mouths greedily as if it was the last thing they’d ever do.

As her arms came to rest on his shoulders, he grabbed the back of her legs and dragged her to him so she was sitting fully on his lap, enjoying what he couldn’t last night. She gasped as her underwear-clad center came in contact with his erection. He broke away, panting heavily against her neck. “So beautiful,” he gasped. The kiss, this moment, her, his statement applicable to every single one.

“No way in hell I could forget that,” she panted, her chest rising and falling against his own rapidly.

He chuckled and rocked them forward so that she was on her back, her legs remaining wrapped around his hips the whole time. His laughter faded when he saw the hungry way she was looking up at him, her red hair fanned out around her like a halo. His angel in violet lace.

He eased himself down on his forearms so that more of his weight was pressed to her, and in response she wiggled suggestively against him, rocking her hips upward like they were beckoning him home. He placed a series of small kisses along her face before making his way down, not bothering to even pull the shirt she was wearing up. He stopped when he felt her heart beating against his lips and took a detour, kissing to the side until his mouth came in contact with a small pebble covered only by thin cotton.

He took an exploratory glance up and saw Scully’s eyes were closed as she held her tongue between pursed lips. The perfect portrait of anticipation. Taking that as a good sign, he opened his mouth and latched down hard onto her clothed nipple, dampening the fabric immediately. “Oh god,” she cried, arching her back against him as if begging to be consumed.

He flicked his tongue back and forth and relished the way she tried to stifle her whimpers behind trembling lips. Eventually he made his way over and gave similar treatment to the neglected breast, and by the time she had two thoroughly saturated circles on her shirt, he was having to lightly grind himself against the mattress to relieve the ache.

Eventually he got down to a sliver of pale delicate skin where the hem of her shirt had risen and the band of her panties began. He cherished this bit of revealed skin by running the tip of his tongue from hip bone to hip bone. She completely shuddered underneath him and he blew a cool stream of air over the trail of saliva for good measure. “Mulder,” she whispered into the room like a prayer.

He could smell her arousal perfuming the air like he had last night. He’d spent to much time lavishing her with gentle touches and caresses that he decided to be bold. Without any warning, he sucked on her clit over the material of her underwear in an opened mouth kiss.

She appreciated it more than he expected and within seconds she was convulsing under his flicking tongue. For a second he was worried she gave him a concussion from the way her thighs clenched around him so violently, but he decided he didn’t care as she thrust herself against his face. Heaven was in room 0112 of the Monte Carlo Resort and Casino.

He kept at her until the material was soaked and Scully was a quivering puddle beneath him. “Oh my god,” she sighed in the most sated voice he’d ever heard.

He crawled up so he could place another kiss to her mouth, not losing the irony that she’d just had an apparently fantastic orgasm and he was hard as a rock but they were no less clothed than when they woke up. A fact Scully was quick to rectify.

She reached between them, grabbing the hem of her shirt all but ripping it off her body, tossing it to a corner of the room that didn’t matter anymore because Scully’s breasts were pink, swollen and breathtakingly beautiful. She arched her hips to ease her panties down and the one ounce of blood he had in his body that wasn’t currently fueling his erection told him it’d be a good idea to follow suit.

His boxers were roughly discarded and within a moment they were bare to each other. “Do you want this, Scully?” he rasped.

“I think that’s fairly obvious,” she laughed.

He couldn’t help but chuckle along with her, “I know, it’s just nice to know when I’m positive it’s you, completely and utterly you.”

Her smile remained on her face, taking on a sweetly serious quality. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss that he was certain took a part of his soul with it. She released him while the trails of connecting saliva tried to keep them together. “Mulder,” she whispered in the rawest voice he’d ever heard from her. “I want you so much. I don’t think you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

He wanted to respond, but he didn’t trust himself to refrain from crying and he figured crying on her might be considered a mood killer. Instead, he decided to put their curiosity to rest. He took himself in his hand and guided his tip to part her lips, moaning at how wet she was against him. He thrust against her once, knowing he wouldn’t go in quite yet, but it would coat himself in her arousal and make it easier. The result was the head of his cock brushing against her clit and making her head fall back in a moan.

With that, he let himself fall back down to her entrance before pushing in with one deep thrust, almost coming on the spot from the way her wet heat clamped down on him. Her arms moved from the nape of his neck to clutch at his back. “P-please,” she requested breathily.

He didn’t need to ask what she meant because it was the same thing he needed. Pulling out of her, he thrust back in, establishing a slow languid rhythm as they got used to the sensation of being whole.

God, she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Her face and chest were flushed red and sweat was gathering at the hollow of her throat as she squirmed against him, matching him thrust for thrust and moan for moan. It seemed their partnership knew no bounds.

He eased himself down on his forearms so that more areas of their bodies rubbed together in their vigor. “Mulder you feel so good,” she groaned, her eyes hooded with lust while trained on him.

“The feeling is mutual,” the sentiment was punctuated with a near-growl as she angled her hips in a new position, allowing him to impossibly go deeper. His balls slapped against her ass almost lewdly as they ground against each other. He rotated his hips and eventually he hit a spot that made Scully bite back what he imagined was going to be a whine.

He pulled out and tried to his the spot again, earning a throaty moan as her grip on his back tightened, scoring his skin with her nails. He bucked against her in a steady rhythm, only stopping to spend a second grinding his pubic bone against her clit. Under most circumstances, he’d want this to be lauded as him being an attentive lover. This was true, all he really wanted to do in life was please Scully, but in this moment what he wanted more than anything was to get her off one more time before he met his own rapidly approaching orgasm.

Luckily his ministrations seemed to have the desired effect as her breathing became pitcher and sporadic. “Like that, yes Mulder, oh fuck,” she begged against the skin of his neck. He picked up the pace as his balls began tightening from the husk of her voice alone. His thrusts began losing any sense of order and the desperation seemed to send Scully over the edge as she cried out his name while she pulsated around him.

With one final thrust he was coming deep inside her. He pushed himself all the way and rotated his hips roughly against her, drawing out both of their orgasms for as long as he could. He became hypersensitive to everything about her; the warmth of her encasing him, her nipples brushing against his chest, her breath hitting his neck, the love she just gave him with her body.

He wrapped his arms under her and pulled her on top of him as he laid on his back, suddenly exhausted from the rigor of their lovemaking. She placed a few kisses on his collarbone before laying her head on his chest. He just wanted to stay like this forever, and he was more than content to try.

[admiralty-xfd]

Culmination

This is chapter 7. To start at the beginning click here.

COLLISION

(all things)

SCULLY

Their worlds are colliding. Her world, his world.

There’s no other way she can describe it. The force of gravity pulling them both down to earth. Two meteors crashing into each other. Magnetic poles fusing together.

She doesn’t remember exactly how it started. She only remembers waking up alone on his couch, his fish tank bathing the living room in a pale green light, the ugly blanket from his couch around her, smelling like Mulder. She loves that ugly blanket.

What if there was only one choice, and all the other ones were wrong?

She’s been making the wrong choice for years. Now the only thing she wants to do is make the right one and she doesn’t want to wait any longer. She is done waiting and wondering. So she goes to his bedroom in the middle of the night like a moth to a seven-year-long burning flame.

There is no more hesitation. She runs to him and it begins.

They are sitting on his bed together, a frenzy of tangled limbs. Their clothes come off fast enough to make her head spin. All she can sense is him, his heat, his mass, his every atom.

A flurry of thoughts invade her mind, first oh my god I can’t believe this is finally happening.

Then this is a mistake, we shouldn’t be doing this.

Then stop.

Stop.

But she doesn’t want to stop, she knows she’s not going to stop. She banishes these thoughts because even though her mind is screaming at her to stop she knows her heart will not listen.

She’s made her decision.

Physically, this is what she wants, she knows this is what both of them need. But emotionally, she worries what it might mean. What if this really is a mistake? What if they can’t be like themselves after this, can’t go back to being them?

Tears prick her eyes and she admonishes herself. It’s exhausting, hiding your feelings from the one person you want to tell the most. Fantasies of this very moment have permeated her thoughts for years, and every day that passed without it happening made that exhaustion exponentially worse.

And what about him? What is he thinking? What is he feeling?

God, he feels amazing. This is amazing.

He feels exactly like she always imagined he would. Her fingers trail along his arms, his back, his shoulder blades, all the places she’s never been allowed to touch this way. Her mind tries to focus as stray thoughts from over the years fill her head: his hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of an autopsy bay. His steely hazel eyes locked onto hers for just a few moments too long. The heat of their mouths just inches apart as he pulls her forehead to his but never crosses that line.

All those times she wanted him to.

Sometimes nothing happens for a reason.

Well, that line has certainly been crossed now. She rationalizes that it’s pointless to stop even if she were capable of doing so. There is no going back now. None of this is rational anyway; all her rational thoughts have left the building. His building. His bed. His body. His hands. His mouth.

Him, him, him.

Finally.

It’s dark, but the moonlight is bright, almost otherworldly. She should feel self-conscious about her body but she doesn’t; they’ve seen each other naked on multiple occasions over the years. Never in this context, admittedly, but she can’t bring herself to care. There simply isn’t enough bandwidth in her brain right now to go there.

He’s kissing her deeply, hungrily, all over, like he’s discovering her. She lets him. He’s nothing if not single-minded when it comes to his passion. As frustrating as it can be in moments when they don’t see eye to eye, she admires that about him.

She loves that about him.

“Is this okay?” He is the first one to speak. It’s an odd thing to say, considering she's the one who started everything. He must notice the tears in her eyes. Maybe he’s thinking about what happened in the car. She worries he’s misinterpreting.

“No. I mean… yes, it’s fine,” she smiles. “It’s better than fine. Just ignore me.”

He smiles and pulls her in again. His hands sink into her hair, his fingers entangle and disappear.

He tells her he’s ignored her for too long, he won’t make that mistake again. Something like that. Her head is swimming and she doesn’t hear exactly what he’s saying. She’s never felt so wonderful in her entire life, she knows that much. The actual fulfillment of the one thing she’s wanted more than anything else is overloading every single one of her senses. Her stomach contracts until it almost hurts.

The rain is pounding on his bedroom window, the trees whipping against the glass. She still can’t believe this is happening at all and wants to live in this moment, wants to make this go on forever, but a familiar ache is telling her this preliminary dance can’t go on much longer. It’s been years since she’s been with anyone and she’s more than ready for him.

Rarely are they on the same page, however, and tonight will be no exception. He’s kissing her everywhere, slowly, taking his time. But she needs him right now.

She pushes him back against the wall and her hand moves down in expectation, first touching him softly but then grasping him firmly. Hard evidence, her favorite kind, she jokes to herself. She suspects Mulder would appreciate a dumb science joke but she tucks that one away for later. Now really isn’t the time.

“Wait.” He pulls away, holding her face.

She looks into his eyes and sees exactly what she’s been hoping for so long to see: desire for her, maybe even love? He’s looking at her with wonder, like he just saw his first UFO. But then:

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Fuck.  What is he doing?

Maybe he’s considered this so many times and stopped himself so many times because he knows it’s probably not a good idea. Does he really want to stop? Does she?

No. There really is no turning back this time. She’s made her choice. Whatever he believes, she wants to believe everything will be okay, no matter what, because it’s them.

They can take on the world.

“I’m sure.” She says it clearly, assuredly. “Are you?”

Possible consequences are not driving her at the moment. He is like air, like water. Her need is primal and urgent. God, she hopes he’s sure.

He nods and smiles. That smile. The one she’s tried to ignore all this time. The one that stirs up these feelings she’s pushed away year after year until she finally realized that smile was all she ever wanted to see.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life, Scully.”

“That’s certainly saying something, for you,” she says, grinning, as she climbs onto his lap.

It’s the first time they’ve made contact in this way and their eyes lock. The significance of the moment isn’t lost on her, but all she can think of is how he can’t get inside her fast enough. She berates herself for feeling so powerless to these urges, because the Scully he knows doesn’t behave like this. That Scully isn’t impulsive, especially with Mulder. It’s how she’s kept her hands off him all these years.

As she looks into his eyes, though, she realizes she’s actually very much in control. She’s more in control than she’s ever been. For the first time with him, she’s going after what she wants. This Scully, the one holding onto him now, is real, and she wants him to know her so badly.

This is what she wants, he is who she wants. He is all she’s wanted ever since she walked into his basement office all those years ago. Her life started at twenty-eight and she hasn’t realized it until now.

Suddenly they are one, and she closes her eyes, marveling at its exquisiteness. It has never felt this way for her before. The symbiotic dance that has gone on for so long between his beautiful mind and hers has finally manifest in their bodies and it’s every bit as divine as she imagined it.

She remembers what he said to her years ago in his hallway: You made me a whole person. She never knew until this moment she had not been whole without him.

The rain continues to pummel the glass. Her hands are in his hair, his hands are everywhere. They find a rhythm and time and space don’t exist anymore; only they do.

She holds his face and studies it: his perfect bottom lip that she can’t help but stare at whenever he’s rattling off a theory he’s excited about. The stubble on his face he’d neglected to shave for some reason that probably had something to do with her absence. And his eyes, the same eyes that have looked directly into her soul for years, now looking more closely into her own than ever before. The only reality she can perceive right now is him, wrapped around her like he belongs there.

This feels so right, and so real, and as their bodies move against each other, his familiar voice an unfamiliar groan in her ear, she wonders why it took them so long to get here. But as she wonders, she simultaneously believes deep down within her that this, right now, was worth every single second of waiting.

She doesn’t want it to end but eventually, it does for them both, at the same time. That never happens, she marvels. She can’t believe how perfect everything is.

Her eyes close and she pulls his mouth to hers again, drinking him in. Her lips dance around his face, tasting the sweat dripping down his forehead, the sweat she helped put there. His body starts to relax, his eyelids close and he looks completely spent.

“ScullyScullyScullyScully….” he whispers into her ear, as if her name is the only word his brain can locate. It’s the best thing she’s ever heard him say. And he’s said a lot.

She holds him tightly, their bodies still joined upright. Her chin is resting on his shoulder, her knees locked around his hips. She studies the texture of the wall behind him as reality starts crashing in around her, and decides extracting herself from his arms is something she wants to put off as long as possible. Mostly because this feels like heaven, but also because then she will have to face him and think of something to say.

She doesn’t know what to say.

She wants to tell him the truth, she wants to say the words, but she can’t. She’s terrified. Just because he’s said yes to sex doesn’t mean he loves her the same way she loves him.

What if she says it and he can’t say it back? It would ruin everything that hasn’t already been ruined.

She can’t help but hope they’ll ruin it again. And again.

It’s too soon to say it, she tells herself. Seven years and it’s too soon. How fucking stupid is that?

She thinks of the millions of people who say it all the time without meaning it, and here she is, meaning it and not saying it. She prays to whatever God is listening that he says something first.

“That was incredible,” he murmurs into her ear, in that tired voice he uses while discussing a case and they’re on round four of one of their bantering sessions. “You have no idea, Scully… no idea how much I’ve thought about this, how much I’ve wanted this.”

She thinks she probably has some idea. She says nothing, but clings to him even tighter and kisses his temple. He’s breathing quietly into her ear as he holds her, and she is more happy and content than she’s ever been. She’s never been this close to him before and she wants to savor it before the moment is over and they have to try to go back to doing whatever it was they did before this.

The rain has begun to slow down, as if the storm itself was waiting for them, only for the two of them, to swell and subside as they did. As if the world had been holding its breath. They embrace each other quietly for what feels like an eternity, their breath slowing, their hearts pounding, the rain outside. Finally, reluctantly, she unravels her body from his and slides off the bed.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom, I’ll be right back.” She hears him flop back down onto the bed.

She closes the bathroom door behind her and looks into the mirror. She likes what she sees. The tableau of Mulder’s bathroom mirror framing her wild hair, her puffy lips, face red from the scruff on his chin, that just-fucked look in her eyes.

This feels good, this feels right. She smiles at her reflection.

She turns on the sink and splashes water on her face. She tries to turn off the faucet but a stubborn drip protests.

After a couple minutes, she emerges into the soft moonlight of his bedroom. He’s already asleep, of course. The jet lag from his flight from England that afternoon combined with their activities would be plenty to send him off to dreamland.

She considers climbing into bed with him, holding him all night until their breathing falls into sync like everything else, and staying there with him until morning. But she doesn’t. She can think of a million reasons to go and only one reason to stay. And that one reason is something she’s not ready to tell him.

She decides to leave that for another night. Because as awkward as this all may be, deep down she knows there has to be another night.

She softly pads around his bedroom, collecting her clothes. Her skirt is on the floor near his head, and as she crouches down to get it she watches him sleep for a moment. She presses her thumb to her own lips, then his, and says what she’s not ready to say, quietly. He won’t hear her, but she tells him anyway, because it’s the only thing left to do to make everything truly perfect.

She returns to the bathroom and gets dressed, the sink still dripping, unfinished business. Like they will have tomorrow.

After exiting the bathroom she notices the wind has picked up again. She tries not to read too much into it. She pauses at the foot of the bed to grab her jacket and looks at his naked sleeping form, half obscured by sheets. A tiny, triumphant smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

MULDER

He’s talking too much, as usual, the droning sound of his voice starting to bore even himself. So he stops and lets his gaze rest on her face, asleep on the couch next to him.

With one finger he gently tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.  She’s so heartbreakingly beautiful. Once again, the bad thoughts he’s been fighting against rise up inside him.

You don’t deserve her.

You’ll never be good enough for her.

Oh, and you’ve completely fucked up her life, by the way.

He doesn’t want to think these things but he can’t help it. He’s a fucking disaster and he loves her so much it hurts.

He briefly considers waking her up so she can go home, but he wants her here, as near to him as possible. So he tucks a blanket around her shoulders and after one more lingering gaze, reluctantly leaves her side to go to bed.

He’s tired, anyway. A whirlwind trip to England to investigate crop circles that all ended up coming to nothing. And he and Scully had a stupid argument before he left, not to mention that whole awful thing that happened in the car the other night. It was a shitty weekend.

At least she’s here now, and everything seems to be okay. They’ll move on like always, in the numbing embrace of the status quo, because as usual, he’s too chicken shit to do anything about it.

He brushes his teeth, takes off his pants and gets into bed. He’s tired but his mind won’t rest. How can it while she’s here in his apartment, so close, right now?

He’s lying there, his mind racing. He should wake her and offer her the bed. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. Fuck it, maybe he should just scoop her up and bring her into the bed with him. Be romantic, do something unexpected.

Ugh, no. She’d probably slap him or leave or something. It just isn’t him, it’ll never work.

As he mulls his options over, she appears in the doorway. At first he thinks he’s dreaming, that he’s willed her into existence, some gorgeous fiery haired tulpa. A corporeal being turned physical by sheer imagination.

“Mulder.”

Her voice is husky, unfamiliar. He’s never heard her say his name this way, and he’s thrilled to add it to his list. He’s amazed that one word uttered by her has already stirred something deep in his groin.

He props himself up on his elbows and blinks.

“Scully?”

Before he can even comprehend what’s going on she’s across the room and in his space, kissing him wildly, her hands in his hair. He kisses her back.

And just like that, they’ve changed. They’ve become something else.

Of all the times he pictured this happening, and there were many times, he was always the one to make the first move. He’d thought about it in their office. He’d thought about it in the field. He’d thought about it at home, at times when he felt so lonely he could hardly stand her absence even though they’d already spent twelve hours together that day. Some nights he’d call her up for no reason at all, just to hear her voice. Other nights he’d turn to the stash of adult videos he’d tried and failed to keep a secret from her.

Hell, he’d actually tried to make a move, on more than one occasion. All of them failures.

It feels pathetic how long he’s been unable to act on his feelings in this way and now, here she is, finally doing it for him. Like she does everything for him, always.

What she’s doing now isn’t like his lame attempt on New Year’s Eve. This isn’t some arbitrary excuse to press her lips against his. This is the exact opposite of chicken shit. She’s so much braver than him and he is in awe.

He knows he doesn’t deserve her but he feels so goddamn lucky that for now, just for now, he tries to forget that.

He’s sitting up now and they are pulling, tearing each other’s clothes off. Everything falls to the floor until they’ve eliminated all the barriers that have ever been between them.

This is it, he thinks. This is really finally happening.

Just then he sees tears in her eyes. Is she crying? He asks if this is okay. After what happened in the car the other night he would never want to make her feel that way again. She says it is okay, and he believes her. He will always believe her.

He starts talking into her neck but then shuts up. They talk too much. All he wants to do is kiss her, a thousand kisses he should have given her so many times before: dozens of stakeouts where they were so close together he found it impossible not to wonder what it would be like. That night he took her hand and they danced together at a concert. The time their hands entwined around a bat as they hit baseballs in the cool night air, his arms wrapped around her. When he told her she was his constant, his touchstone, and he knew, he knew that time if he’d gone for it she would have probably gone there with him. But still, he hadn’t.

That goddamn fucking bee in the hallway that interrupted them, just outside of his apartment, mere yards from where they are now, gasping for breath and tracing every inch of each other with their fingertips.

He can hardly believe it but now her hands are moving downward, and suddenly his rational brain snaps to attention. This is headed exactly where he wants it to go, but...

What if she regrets this?

What if it affects our partnership?

What if what if what if?

He looks into her eyes, knows he has to ask if she’s sure.

She pauses for a moment and he’s having trouble reading her face. He’s so sure about this he now wishes he hadn’t said anything at all and he’s painfully aware he’s given her an out.

Please don’t take it.  Please stay with me, Scully.

She takes his face in her hands, looking deeply into his eyes. It nearly takes his breath away.

“I’m sure,” she says, with the same certainty she reserves for the scientific facts she recites for him daily, and his heart almost bursts with relief. She crawls into his lap and his world spins off its axis.

Before it’s over, he adds three new “Mulders” to his list. The very last one she screamed out is his new all-time favorite.

Afterwards, she clings to him tightly, both of them breathing heavily. He wants her to know he loves her, that she means more to him than anything in the world. But he doesn’t tell her, not right now. His brain hasn’t caught up to his body and he can barely process how incredible this all is. How incredible she is, how much he’s wanted this for so long.

He can tell her that much, so he does, softly, into her ear.

Suddenly he’s completely exhausted. He knows they’re going to have to figure this all out but he can’t think about that right now. All he can think about is how amazing her body feels next to his, just the way he’s always imagined it. Better, actually.

For the moment, he is utterly content. He would be perfectly happy just holding her like this forever.

After a while she releases him to head to the bathroom and he feels a pang of sadness to let her go. He flops back onto the bed, the sheets still tangled from his attempt at sleep before she pounced on him.

He shifts over to one side of his bed to make room for her. He’s not used to having to do that, his long limbs usually stretched out across the entire bed. His couch has been the only place he’s slept for so many years; sleeping in an actual bed has been relatively new for him.

He could get used to having her in it, he thinks, and he’s picturing such a scenario when he drifts off to sleep, the wind beginning to whip the leaves against the windows once again.

Thanks for reading! To continue, click here. Otherwise I’ll see you tomorrow for the next chapter!

[poeticsandaliens]

A Pirate’s Life for Me Ch. 11

Pairing: Stella/Scully

Rating: Mature

Summary: I may be slow, but I am still attached to this story and I fully intend to finish it. Consider this chapter your obligatory ‘beauty and the beast’ joke. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, but it did, and I’m not mad at it. 

Raising a glass to @rey-thelast-jedi​ for reminding me that listening to pirate music doesn’t make novels write themselves.

Previous chapters:

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405793/chapters/48109651

Stella Gibson floated toward them like an apparition in the dark. Stella, whose heart beat in the box next to her. Stella, who had already saved their asses once today. Who at that very moment was violating her oath.

Spector’s body bled onto the rocks. His fingers were still wrapped around the hilt of Scully’s rapier and his own. For a moment, Stella stood over the corpse, staring at the lifeless face frozen in a permanent expression of shock. There was something about Spector’s face that reminded her of John Jack, more so now that he had died. She remembered the look on John Jack’s face when he put three bullets into Stella, and she didn’t bleed. She remembered the horrified hush that fell over the tavern when Stella said, I am Davy Jones, and the sea itself stilled.

Scully got to her feet and brushed the dirt off her knees. She picked up the dagger—after so many years of disuse, the silver still gleamed, so clear that she could see her face in the blade. She held it out to Stella. “I believe this is yours.”

Stella looked up. With a weary quirk of her lips, she pressed the dagger into Scully’s coat. “Keep it.”

Scully reached out with her thumb and wiped a smear of soot off Stella’s chin. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said. “You broke your terms.”

Stella gripped her hand. “I know.”

“Captain.” Mulder stepped forward awkwardly. His brow hung. “Thanks for the bullets.”

Stella chuckled. Scully wrapped her arms around Stella’s waist and tucked her head beneath the captain’s chin. “God, Stella,” she said hoarsely, “what possessed you?”

“I saw Spector climb the cliffs. He was coming for you. Believe me when I tell you—I trusted in your strength, but you had no idea he was still alive. You had no warning, and a world where Spector killed you was unfathomable.”

“And what about you?” She brushed her fingers over the scar on Stella’s sternum, feather-light. “What about the curse? One day on land, ten years at sea. What becomes of you now?”

Stella lifted her chin, avoided Scully’s gaze. “I have ten more years,” she murmured.

“Stella…”

“Then I’ll waste away and join the Dutchman’s crew. My heart will stop beating, and it’ll lie in the chest until some merciful soul replaces it with their own.  The Dutchman will have a new captain, and I’ll be another ghoul manning the ship.” She held out her hand. It was a cold blue-grey, and the muscles trembled. “Slowly but surely,” she said, and she sounded more tired than anything. Almost resigned. Then she chuckled. “I always thought I’d have a longer turn as the Sea Devil. I hadn’t quite tired of it yet.”

Scully watched her, studied her for any signs of death or dust. Nothing visible. But something in the air had soured around them, like a peach just before it spoils. Her breath hitched. Tears pricked her eye, and she understood then the magnitude of what Stella had done.

She took Stella’s hand. Once cool to the touch, now it was downright freezing. White lines snaked between Stella’s veins. It looked like glass washed up on the beach, and something uncomfortable roiled in her stomach. Stella’s body was dying, actively wasting away like the shell—the corpse—it had always been. She swallowed a lump in her throat and steeled herself before looking Stella in the eye.

“There must be a way to reset the clock. Set your ten years at sea back to today…”

Stella let out a hollow sigh, more resigned than anything. “Dana, my love, the trouble with immortality is that once you lose it, you never get it back.” She was right, of course. You could cheat Death for a hundred years, but never more than once. “I played the Reaper,” Stella said, “and now I must live with the consequences.”

“But that’s just it,” Scully insisted, her voice rising to a plea. “You didn’t play the Reaper. You’re no delusional treasure hunter, Stella. You didn’t hunt down the Flying Dutchman looking to live forever. You took your father’s place at the helm of this ship, and you don’t deserve to be punished by a curse that wasn’t meant for you.”

Stella whirled on her. “Well that’s life, isn’t it, Dana? Life isn’t fucking fair. Eternal or not.”

Scully stepped back. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. What happened to ‘never shall we die?’ What happened to proud Stella baring the worst weather at the Dutchman’s helm? A month ago, Scully might have given up. Stella might have intimidated her; she might have pinched herself and said ‘curses aren’t real.’ But today, Scully wore a pistol and Stella’s father’s sword. She had lost an eye and gained a lover. She wasn’t about to stand down just because Stella was too cynical to change her fate.

That was the problem with living too long, Scully supposed. Immortality made you cynical after awhile.

Scully crossed her arms and stepped into Stella’s personal face, nose to nose. “Fine. Life isn’t fair,” she snapped. “But you can let it be unfair, of your can fucking do something about it. Aren’t you the one who said pirates made justice for themselves? Curses aren’t life, Stella. They’re justice, tailored to each man.”

She heard Mulder step behind her. “She’s right, you know,” he piped up, and she could hear the Mulder she remembered in his voice. The Mulder who knew everything there was to know about old wives tales and didn’t hesitate to tell it. This wasn’t his fight, but he understood it. “Cursed treasures ensnare the greedy; killers must live forever. The punishment fits the crime. Curses aren’t meant for the innocent.”

Stella snorted. “I’m far from innocent, Fox Mulder.”

Scully touched her shoulder. “Maybe not. But you’re not Padgett. He earned that curse. He had a lesson to learn, about the value of human life. You’re standing here today because you understand that value more than anyone.”

A dry laugh escaped Stella’s throat. “The Dutchman must have a captain, my love. Save your hope.” Her voice was shaking again, and at that moment Scully understood. If Stella allowed herself to hope for a future and was let down, it would break her. If she was going to give Stella hope, she had better follow through.

Scully wiped her eye. She reached up to wipe the other, then remembered—there were no tears on that cheek, no tear duct. Just a scrap of leather. “I want to try,” she insisted. “Where there’s a will there’s a way.”

Stella swallowed. She pressed her lips together, blinked and looked down at her hands, holding onto Scully’s. She said nothing, but she didn’t protest.

Mulder was fiddling with his coat buttons. “If we can get back to the Flying Dutchman,” he mused, “I still have the what’s left of my research. It’s not a lot—only what I managed to keep dry when Scully rescued me—but it might give me some insight into the curse.”

Stella looked at Spector’s body, the pool of blood swelling from him, and then at the wooden chest. Ye dead man’s fingers never touch the Dutchman’s heart. She picked it up and felt the wobbly tremors of her heart inside. Maybe she could already feel it slowing, turning to the wood of her ship.

Scully, too, wondered if Stella could feel the land weighing at her bones. She wondered if her steps felt slower, or her skin thinner, or her heart a little lighter in its box. She couldn’t help but examine Stella for signs of her time on land. She didn’t know what she thought would happen - perhaps webs of dying flesh peeling their way up her arms, some kind of discoloration or slow vanishing. She knew what became of the dying. But she didn’t know what would happen to the un-dead.

Without a word, Stella handed her the beating box and began to march.

She kept close to Stella’s side as they walked back to the Flying Dutchman. Clouds had covered the moon, shrouding the island in darkness and making for a difficult trek. Stella was quiet, but Scully had grown used to the silence. Many nights aboard the Dutchman, she had sat beside Stella on the deck, watching the sun drift and stars appear. Some nights Stella had made an occasional comment, nothing that required conversation. Some nights she had said nothing at all  More than once Scully felt Stella’s hand resting on the small of her back, cold as ever. She wondered when it was she’d stopped shivering at Stella’s touch.

The chest sat tucked beneath Stella’s arm like a disobedient child carried home by its mother. Scully couldn’t take her eyes off it, not for more than a few seconds, not when she knew what lay inside. She wondered what heart looked like when it was still beating. She wondered what it was beating if not blood—maybe it was beating its own walls, forcing its way to freedom. Maybe it counted seconds, down to some great happening Scully would never live to see. The corners of the box dug into Stella’s ribs, her knuckles were pale from clutching it.

When they reached the beach, Stella’s pace quickened. She hurried to the water in long strides, her sword knocking against her hip. She stepped into the cool cove and stood knee-deep, still holding the chest, her shoulders rising and falling as she breathed. The night blurred her features, as if she were a ghost, or an artist’s charcoal rendering of a person, as if she had never been there at all. Scully’s eyes watered.

Scully went to her. Mulder hung back, trying not to stare. Scully was grateful to him for allowing her these brief moments, when she shared in Stella’s private pain. When she approached, Stella was trembling again. She seemed hollower, somehow, as if she’d aged in the time since Scully had met her.

“It feels wrong to stand on dry land,” Stella explained.

Scully held Stella’s hand overtop the chest. “How?”

“As if I’ve been wrung out to dry.” Stella squeezed her hand, then pushed it away. Scully might’ve been hurt, if she hadn’t spent so many weeks with Stella at sea. She thought of Tom Anderson, of Stella alone in the Ophelia ’s cabin, cutting out her heart. And now an incurable salty dryness was creeping up Stella’s skin with every hour she spent in the sand. Scully knew what Stella was thinking— is this how it’ll feel to die?

Abruptly, Stella tied back her hair, as if she just needed an excuse to move. Then she whistled, as if for a dog, and the rowboat appeared from the nearby cliffs, bobbing pleasantly over little inlet waves. The bay had stilled since the firefight, as if it could sense the conflict was over and was respectfully laying its new bodies to rest. Scully wondered how many bodies lay on the ocean floor before the men of the Claudius. She wondered if anyone would die there in the future, now that Stella’s heart was gone, if anyone would find Spector and Spender strewn across the barren landscape, or if they’d simply turn to dust and crow-food, and their skeletons grow into the rocks. The island would never be able to forget what had happened.

The Dutchman’s frame creaked and moaned as they boarded. Her sails drooped even in the wind, mourning their captain. Stella glanced about the ship, her eyes eventually settling on the wheel. “Lovely ship,” she murmured, as if she’d just now noticed.

“Come with me,” said Mulder, beckoning to the cabin. Everything he had salvaged from the Claudius—everything he’d had on him when Scully rescued him, that had survived the sea—sat on the Captain’s mahogany desk.

Scully looked to Stella expectantly. She wasn’t sure, not fully, whether Stella would follow, but she did. As they stepped into the familiar room, Stella’s breath tickled her neck. “I apologize for what I said earlier,” she murmured. “Or rather, how I said it. Life isn’t fair, but I should not have put my own despair on your shoulders.

“To tell you the truth,” Scully said under her breath, “I never believed in miracles. But I didn’t believe in the Flying Dutchman either.”

For a moment, Stella’s cool body was pressed up against hers, Stella’s breath on her cheek. Then she stepped to the side, and Scully sat down at the table. Mulder was already rifling through his belongings—a couple of loose strips of parchment and a wrinkled journal. “There must be something here.” He held up the journal, glancing between Scully and Stella. “These notes belonged to a bartender in Tortuga, by the name of James Burrow. On the twenty-third of August, every ten years, Padgett visited his bar. He hung his hat at the door and ordered pint after pint of their finest whiskey. He drank enough to kill most men, but it never got him drunk. And he told his story, in bits and pieces, to Burrow each time he saw him.

“How did you get the journal?” Stella asked.

“A thief killed Burrow and stole the journal, looking for Davy Jones’s treasure. That thief stowed all the way to Port Washington, where he was arrested for stealing from the jeweler. He ends up in jail, this book gets sent to the archives.” He smiled grimly. “I found it while cleaning.”

Scully leaned over his shoulder as he thumbed through the journal. “I believe,” he said, “that Padgett told Burrow about the terms of his curse, somewhere in here.” Half the pages were earmarked, clearly Mulder’s doing.

He flipped until midway through the book. “Here it is.” The date was August twenty-third, 1680. “It was Captain Padgett’s fourth visit,” he began to read aloud. “He drank his usual fill and kept his wits about him. He didn’t start any fights this time. Instead, he finally told me the story of how he got to be cursed. It’s a hell of a story—it had to be. You have to do something terrible to earn a goddess’s wrath. I thought he was just storytelling the first time he came - Davy Jones bein’ an old wives tail and all—but each time I saw him, I was a little closer to believing him. And today I think I do. Davy Jones isn’t some devilish ghost. He’s a real man paying for real crimes.

“He said he was at port when the goddess Athena revealed herself to him, disguised as the Lady of the settlement. He tried to kill her, take out her heart and toss it in the sea like all the other lords and ladies before. But she began to glow, so white he couldn’t make out her shape. He tried to run but she locked him in the chamber. She rebuked him for abusing the poetic arts, smearing his work with the blood of innocents. His punishment—to do to himself what he’d done to so many others. Cut out his heart and lock it in a wooden chest and cast it away, on an island far out at sea. Until another took his place, out of mercy or hunger for power, he would never die. His crew, they were bound to the ship, invisible. Granted one day ashore for every ten years at sea, he would be utterly alone. And that was how the Flying Dutchman came to be what it is—a cursed ship manning itself beneath the waves.

“Was there any way to break the curse? I asked him. He laughed in my face, a horrible sound. Death, he told me. If someone sliced open his heart with the very knife that cut it out. That knife sits on his belt. He brandished it for me. But the goddess did give him one way out. If he could trust someone enough to give them his heart, and they loved him enough to give it back, then he would be free.

“He admits to this day, he doesn’t understand what she meant. He probably never will. When he wants to die, he’ll damn some other unlucky soul to take his place.”

Mulder closed the book. Scully exhaled into the thick silence. If he could trust someone enough to give them his heart, and they loved him enough to give it back, he would be free.

Stella had stood on the Dutchman’s webbing and watched her row to shore. Stella had climbed the cliffs of the Hall of the Moerae and fatally shot Paul Spector. And when Scully had brought back that beating box, nothing good had come of it.

Mulder and Stella seemed to have reached the same conclusion. He hummed anxiously, tapping a quill on the table. Stella leaned against the wall, meeting Scully’s gaze with tired eyes. She picked absently at her fingernails. She breathed, but not really. “We’ve tried,” Scully murmured under her breath. But something nagged her.

When she was seven years old, her father had told her the story of how he’d met Maggie. I was just a young sailor, and we were the first crew borne out of Port Washington. The governor invited us to his home for a meal, with himself, the Commander, and a few of the port’s patron families. Your mother was the eldest daughter of Lord Barrett, and he wasn’t too keen at first when she met a Navy boy like me. But it was too late. I’d given her my heart from the moment I met her. My heart and all the rest of me.

Davy Jones’s heart didn’t come with ‘the rest.’ It came with no stakes, no promises, no declarations of love. It only came with power. Spender and Spector and many a treasure-hunter had fallen for Davy Jones’s heart. But Scully had fallen for the rest of Davy Jones, the woman with the hollow rib cage, whose heart had already been stolen. The only thing that tied Stella to her beating heart was the knife that could kill them both.

And Scully knew. To prove he had learned from his penance, Padgett had to trust another human being with the power to kill him. And rather than kill him, that person had to give that heart back back to its home. They couldn’t just love his heart, the power it conferred; they had to love the rest of him.

Stella had already given Scully the power to kill her. So many times, Scully had held the chest in one arm and the knife in the other. Her eyes met Stella’s in the dim lamplight. Stella’s mouth was a grim line, the lines in her face more prominent than ever. Her eyes shone through a film, like the stained glass in her hometown cathedral.

“You know I trust you,” Stella said tightly.

Mulder stood up. “Scully—” he started.

She held up her hand, and he stopped in his tracks. “I know how to break the curse.” She wanted to smile, but she was only dreading the hours to come.

“Scully, you have to give—”

“Hand me the knife, Mulder.”

His eyes widened. “Scully, what are you—”

“I’m giving Davy Jones her heart back.” She leveled Stella’s gaze with the one eye she had left. Stella slid down the wall until she was sitting against her cabinet, and Scully couldn’t help but wonder if this is how she’d looked when she cut out her heart in the first place.

“Mulder, give her the knife,” Stella said hoarsely. She reached for Scully’s hand. “Are you still chasing the horizon?” she asked under her breath, and a grotesque laugh escaped her.

Mulder handed Scully the knife. She got down on one knee in front of Stella. “I love you more than I ever loved the horizon.”

Mulder looked away but didn’t dare leave the room. Scully reached for the hem of her shirt and tore off a strip, handing it to Stella. “Bite on it,” she ordered.

Stella raised her brow. “I don’t feel pain.”

“You will soon.” She was surprised at the steadiness of her own voice, the sureness of her hands. “Mulder, bourbon.”

Mulder passed her a bottle of bourbon from the table, still facing away, out of fear or respect Scully wasn’t sure. She poured the alcohol over the blade of Padgett’s knife and wiped it dry on her shirt.

“Mulder, the heart.” He gave her the box. Stella’s heart thumped against the side.

“Are you ready?”

“Do it.” Stella’s fingers gripped the hilt of her sword. She closed her eyes and craned her neck to the sky. Ye dead man’s fingers never touch the Dutchman’s heart.

She plunged the knife into Stella’s chest.

[peppered-imps]

5 & 16, both Mulder and Scully?

5. guilty pleasures

Mulder. Iced tea so sweet it’s almost syrup. Scully in thigh highs (even if it’s just in his fantasies). Hard liquor. Leonard Cohen records. Bouncing a basketball in his apartment to annoy his downstairs neighbors (who play their TV about 80 decibels too loudly and whose dog never shuts the hell up). Grunge music. Scully in her red and maroon suits. Relenting when the Sox score on the Yankees with a really great play (After all, baseball is the key to life). Scully in black leather and lace and fishnets (even if it’s just in his fantasies). Curling up in his softest blanket. People-watching with binoculars from his living room window. The primal, possessive rush that comes when his hand is at Scully’s back (and especially when he feels her press closer to him). Pineapple on pizza. Ketchup on hotdogs. The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Splurging on the Armani suit that’s probably gonna be ruined by some mutant’s body fluids. That one fantasy, especially, of Scully riding him with her hands wrapped around his throat. Coming with her name on his lips.

Scully. Double chocolate cake or ice cream (once a week if she’s being good, twice if she’s feeling a little naughty or sad or PMS-ing). Feigning sick to her mother on an occasional Sunday morning so she can sleep in another hour or two. Mulder’s innuendoes. The pack of Morleys she keeps for a sporadic thrill of nicotine and rebellion. A half a bottle of Pinot with dinner. Proving Mulder wrong during non-life threatening or conspiracy-ridden cases. Horror movie marathons. An expensive manicure even though she’s likely to break a nail on any given case. Mulder’s perfect, glorious torso. Skipping her morning run. Eavesdropping on office gossip and sharing the latest rumors with Mulder. A thick layer of full-fat cream cheese on her everything bagel. Popping in London Calling and somehow singing more off-key than Joe Strummer. Imagining Mulder’s hands instead of her own in her bed, in the shower, in motel rooms.

—

16. dark secrets/skeletons in the closet

(general trigger warnings here)

Mulder. Samantha’s collarbone broke when she was six after he took hold of the rope swing and shook it violently while she tried to hang on. His first kiss was in a treehouse full of stolen dirty magazines with a boy named Mark when they were 11 (just for practice, they said, so girls wouldn’t think they were lame; they couldn’t come up with a good excuse the first time they gave each other handjobs at 13, so they just didn’t talk about it). As a teenager, he would purposely rile up his father until he got beat with a belt (self-flagellation by proxy, he figured later). He flirted with the idea of suicide at 22. He’s furiously jacked off under his office desk more than once after a heated argument with Scully, imagining her shoved belly down to his desktop with her skirt around her waist and her wrists behind her back. Sometimes, he wishes he would just find his dead sister so he can get on with his life.

Scully. She finds an acute pleasure in certain kinds of pain, like the prick of a needle or a firm hand around her wrist. She stole last bottle of her dead father’s cologne off her parents’ dresser then played dumb when her mother called her, hysterical, because she couldn’t find it. When she was 17, she and Marcus forgot protection once; she forced it and all possible implications out of her mind when she got her period a week later than she should have. She wasn’t sure if she believed in God anymore, at least a merciful and loving one, not after Cancer Man or Donnie Pfaster or the countless evils she’s witnessed on the job. She never slept with Daniel Waterston but it didn’t make her feel like any less of a whore.

send me a character and a number and i’ll tell you my headcanons for it.