#he pays so much attention to Queequeg

[weedhorse69]

"But as for Queequeg—why, Queequeg sat there among them—at the head of the table, too, it so chanced; as cool as an icicle. To be sure I cannot say much for his breeding. His greatest admirer could not have cordially justified his bringing his harpoon into breakfast with him, and using it there without ceremony; reaching over the table with it, to the imminent jeopardy of many heads, and grappling the beefsteaks towards him. But that was certainly very coolly done by him, and every one knows that in most people’s estimation, to do anything coolly is to do it genteelly.

We will not speak of all Queequeg’s peculiarities here; how he eschewed coffee and hot rolls, and applied his undivided attention to beefsteaks, done rare. Enough, that when breakfast was over he withdrew like the rest into the public room, lighted his tomahawk-pipe, and was sitting there quietly digesting and smoking with his inseparable hat on, when I sallied out for a stroll."

-Moby Dick

[baronessblixen]

Fictober Day 2 | Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2022 @xfilesbingo | Wc: 1413

bingo square: animals

Maybe One Day

“You want a puppy with that coffee by any chance?” The waitress, whose name tag reads Lorene, asks them, giving them a sweet smile.

“Excuse me?” Scully stares at her, baffled.

“Is that a kind of pie here in Nebraska?” Mulder asks, exchanging a look with his partner. A smoky, loud laugh spills from Lorena’s lips.

“No, honey,” she says. “I mean actual puppies. My husband wasn’t paying attention one night and now we have a litter of them. Feel free to take one. You look like good people.”

“I, um, I think just coffee for now,” Scully says and Mulder bites his lip, nodding. The waitress just shrugs.

“At least look at them before you leave. They’re cute little fuckers.”

Their case being done and their flight not leaving until the next morning, they have way too much time on their hands, and Mulder knows how much Scully loves dogs. He gives her his own puppy expression, hoping it will work on her. When she sighs and smiles at him, he knows he has her.

“Let’s go look at some puppies,” he says with a grin.

“I told my husband not to name them,” Lorena says, leading them outside to a barn. Scully’s steps become uncertain and Mulder puts a hand on the small of her back, hoping to ease her discomfort.

“It’s just puppies, Scully,” he whispers against her hair so only she can hear him.

“What happened to trust no one?” She asks him with a wink.

“So here they are,” Lorena says, cutting into their moment. As soon as she opens the door to the barn, the six puppies start whining and crying for attention. Their little tails waggle hard and Mulder catches Scully smile at them.

“Sally, their mom is over there. She’s a beagle. We don’t know who the father is. It’s all right, love. You can touch them.” Lorena ushers Scully inside and one of the puppies licks her hand, gently biting into her finger with its pointy teeth.

“Take whichever one you like. I gotta go back to work.” She waves at them before she disappears back inside.

“They really are cute,” Scully says, holding one of the puppies in her arms. Another one is scratching at her leg, wanting to be held, too. She picks it up easily, looking at Mulder with a gentle expression. One of the puppies keeps running back and forth so Mulder scoops it up before it can go another lap. It starts licking his face, restless in his arms.

“Hold on there, buddy.” He scratches the small dog behind its warm, soft ears and it relaxes in his arms. “So which one do you want?” Mulder asks.

“You’re not serious.”

“Why not?”

“They don’t stay puppies forever, Mulder. They need more time than we- a dog is a lot of work.” He caught her wanting to say we. As if adopting one of the puppies would mean it was their dog. Not hers, not his. Theirs. The puppy in his arm is falling asleep against him, the slight weight turning heavier.

“You had Queequeg,” he reminds her.

“And look how that turned out.” He shouldn’t have mentioned Queequeg. Even years later the small dog is a sore spot.

“I named this one Elvis,” Mulder says to distract her. “He looks like a king, don’t you think?” Scully puts the two puppies she’s been holding back with their siblings and stands. She scratches the puppy’s back and it sighs happily.

“He does,” she says softly. “We should go, Mulder. We looked at the puppies and now we should leave.” The sadness in her eyes hits him unexpectedly. Just another thing she can’t have. He presses a kiss to the puppy’s head before he puts it back down.

“Maybe one day,” he says quietly, not wanting Scully to hear. From the look she’s giving him, however, he is certain that she did.

Lately, Mulder has been making himself at home in Scully’s hotel room, no matter where they are or what the case it. At least until she throws him out. Sometimes she forgets and falls asleep before she can ask him to leave and then he tiptoes out of her room, or, just on occasion, he will stay and sleep on the couch, if there is one. Tonight, Scully neither seems tired nor talkative. She’s packing for their trip back home tomorrow.

“What would you have named the puppy?” He asks, still thinking about seeing her with the dogs. “Another name from Moby Dick?”

“Maybe.” Is her short reply. She doesn’t even look at him.

“Have you thought about getting another pet?”

“Mulder,” she says, sounding exasperated. “It’s not a good idea with our work.”

“But you thought about it.”

“Yes,” she admits. “I have.”

He watches her, cracking sunflower seeds between his teeth. Things could be different now. If the IVF had worked last year, they would be parents now. Actual parents. Where would their child be? Would they even have taken the case? Would Scully have stopped working? The possibilities are endless.

In the weeks after, when his hopes were high, he imagined it all. Their baby. Sometimes it was a girl with Scully’s smile and auburn hair, and sometimes it was a boy with hair like his own and her eyes. He imagined their child growing in his fantasies, being smart, being kind, being theirs.

If it had worked, would they have called their child from this hotel room? Tell them goodnight and how much they missed them? Would he and Scully crawl into bed together, sharing not only their work but also their personal lives with each other?

“Are you still thinking about the puppies?” Scully asks him zipping close her suitcase. That probably means that any minute now she will say how tired she is and how they have an early morning, meaning that he should leave her alone and go mope in his own room.

“Among other things,” he says truthfully. “Samantha and I weren’t allowed pets as children.”

“Why not?” Scully sits down on the bed, crossing her legs and watching him.

“My parents didn’t want animals in the house,” he says with a shrug. “My dad used to joke that Sam didn’t need a pet since she had me. Her own Fox.” The memories pour out of him, burying him under an avalanche of grief.

“I’m sorry, Mulder.” He glances over at her and catches her warm smile. “Is that why you have fish?”

“They may not be as cute as puppies, but they don’t need much.”

“I thought you didn’t even like dogs,” Scully says.

But you like them, he thinks.

“I know you loved him, Scully, but Queequeg was…,” he trails off, not wanting to hurt her. To his surprise, she’s smiling.

“I miss having a dog around. Like you said earlier, maybe one day.”

“You heard that, huh?” He wishes he could tell her that he wants her to have a dog. That he wants her to have everything she ever dreamed of. A dog, a house. The kid that lived in his imagination. She should have it all. And he wants it, too. Selfishly, he wants it to be him she comes home to, who she thinks about having children with, or adopting dogs with. It should be him.

“I heard you too, you know,” he says, the cracking sound of the sunflower seed loud in the room.

“What do you mean?”

“You said we. You were going to say that puppies need more time than we can give them.”

“Well, our job is time-consuming. It’s getting late, Mulder, and we have an early morning tomorrow, so-” She doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Whatever is happening between them, whatever has been shifting ever since she’s asked him to be her sperm donor, she’s not quite ready yet. She’s a master at this. He is, too, he thinks. Maybe one day they’ll both get it right at the same time.

“I'll leave,” he says, disappointment slipping into his voice.

She’s quiet and he catches her eyes. He wonders if she’s aware that she’s chewing on her lower lip, obviously trying to make up her mind about something.

“If you want,” she says. “You can stay. Make sure we don’t oversleep tomorrow.”

“The couch is very comfortable,” he says, trying to suppress his grin. “I’d love to stay.”

Forever, he thinks.

Maybe one day they’ll be ready for that.

[sigritandtheelves]

hi! for the prompts — 18. “This was not part of the plan.” 🙏🙏

500 wds | PG | post-“Quagmire”

Summary: Poor Queequeg.

A/N: So this was meant to be for fictober, but I found myself just unable to write for so long. Trying again, trying to write something every day this year (though I surely won’t post/publish every day). So this is just a little scene, sad and sweet.

—

“I’m sorry about the dog, Scully.”

She looks up, startled by his voice, then glances at the empty back seat. The dog’s tiny collar and leash are still in her coat pocket, and she can’t help the quiver of her bottom lip. Scully wants to tell him she’s sorry about Big Blue, but the loss of her little fuzz-ball of a dog feels suddenly too raw. She looks at Mulder, whose eyes are on the long stretch of highway back to Washington.

“I had a little crate for him,” she says. “A little bed.”

Silence hangs for a long moment. Mulder chews his bottom lip, fingers drumming the steering wheel.

“I know you didn’t like him for whatever reason, but…” She shrugs. She always wanted a dog, even when she was little. It was hard with so much moving, with her father away so often and her mother drowning in kids. She could hardly care for a houseplant, how could she care for a—

She feels tears at her eyes, her nose reddening.

Oh.

Not just about a dog, then. She shakes her head and looks hard out the window. She won’t let herself think about how there’s no room in this life for dogs or anything else alive she would need to care for, how she couldn’t even keep a six-pound Pomeranian safe.

“I’m sorry about Big Blue,” she finally gets out, by way of a change in subject.

Mulder nods. He’s been watching her from the corner of his eye, trying to parse her thoughts. He knows it’s not just about the dog, but he can’t quite get at what she’s thinking.

At the next rest stop, he pays while she pumps. He buys seeds, two sodas, and a little stuffed thing that he thinks is supposed to be a dog. Anyway, it has as much hair as Queequeg.

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” he says after her gives her the toy. He could see her torn between rolling her eyes at him and crying when he pulled it from behind his back. “I didn’t want to get rid of him, I…” A half-hearted shrug. “He was cute. Maybe I was jealous.”

“Of the dog?”

He meant it as a joke, but there’s a ping of truth in it that startles him, either because he wants her attention to himself or… or maybe he wants any dog she has to be their dog. The thought is madness, but ones like it have been creeping up on him for months. Another shrug. “I want you all to myself,” he says with a corny leer and those wiggly eyebrows. He settles for the first explanation, and it makes her smile for the first time since they got into the car.

Scully reaches across the console and takes his hand, just for a moment. He feels warm, grateful, sorry. And then she lets go.

“Thank you,” she says, petting the fluff of the stuffed toy and turning it to face front. It rides between them the rest of the way home.

[scullydubois]

What about a time when mulder meets up with scully to go for a walk with queequeg?

i may have gone overboard here, but how could i not? this prompt is so precious, thank you.

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

Friday Night with Queequeg, 2.4k--set in season three

“I can’t, Mulder,” his partner insists, her voice dialed up a few intervals for dramatic effect. “I’ve got Queequeg to worry about.”

Mulder drops his Washington Nationals tickets on the desk in disappointment. How lame to be overshadowed by a dog. “That fluffy little guy?” he whines. “Or girl, I'm not sure.”

“He’s a boy.”

“Okay well, he reminds me of one of those Tamagotchi things, have you seen the commercial?” Mulder rambles while shuffling various stray papers from his desk into a single incoherent stack. He’s careful not to sweep the tickets into it. “It’s a pocket pet--”

“I know what it is, Mulder. I have a godson.”

“And is Queequeg not just a glorified version of one of those?”

“Yes, I suppose you could say that. He needs food and attention and care. But, in case you didn’t know, he is also real and capable of giving much of that back to you.”

“Eh, reciprocated affection is overrated,” Mulder jokes, though life would be a lot damn easier if he believed that. “And it’s one of the few Fridays where we’re not traveling or jet-lagged or wholly tired of each other.”

Scully purses her lips. “I see significantly less of Queequeg per week than I do you,” she mutters, and Mulder wonders whether some of her feigned contempt might be genuine. He’s used to being subtly disliked, but the thought sure makes him sad.

Seeing the passion in his face dissolve, Scully realizes that he’s backing down. It’s not like him to back down, no matter how frivolous the issue is. She knows this about him if she knows anything. It’s as if he’s giving up, and that strikes her more than anything.

“Haven’t you ever had a dog, Mulder?” she asks, ignoring the chair in front of her to perch on the edge of his desk.

“Once. After Samantha.” He laughs out of pure scorn. “I think it was my parents’ way of trying to replace her.”

Scully frowns. She should know by now that any journey into his past will turn into a probe of his eternal wound, and that’s no fault of his own.

“What was its name? And were you fond of it?” Scully feels like a therapist--hopefully a kind and supportive one.

“Sparky. I’ve got no clue where the name came from, or the dog for that matter. He was just kinda there one day when I got home from school. And then in a few months, he was gone in the same way. Taken to my uncle’s cause my parents couldn’t stand all the upkeep.”

A thought pops into Scully’s head that is evidently shared by her partner. “No, he didn’t “go live on a farm’ or whatever, I was old enough not to fall for that,” Mulder insists. “He really did go live with my uncle. Lived like seven more years.”

Scully raises an eyebrow. “But did you like him? Were you sad when he was gone?”

“I was sad about a lot of things at the time, Scully.” He opens his desk drawer and pops a piece of gum in his mouth. He’s out of sunflower seeds. “But about the dog? Eh, he was fine to have around but it wasn’t a quintessential boy and his dog moment. He was already a couple years old and well into his grumpy old man phase, if I remember correctly. And he was a mutt, so I think my parents hated him because he didn’t match the furniture.”

“Mmm.” Scully rolls her tongue over the roof of her mouth. It would be a shame to put Mulder through this whole conversation only to insist that she can’t attend the game. But she wasn’t just making excuses. Queeqeug has been home alone all day. and she always takes him for a walk when she gets home from work. He’s used to their routine now, sitting there at the door when she unlocks it like he’s got an alarm set. He gets his dinner when they get back home and falls soundly asleep. Scully’s convinced this is the only thing keeping him from rebelling for being on his own for ten hours a day, and she doesn’t want to test that theory.

Mulder glances at the office clock. 5:46. First pitch is at 7:05.

“How about this...” He props his feet up on the desk to give himself the air of confidence that he’s lacking. “I’ll run over to your place, walk him, make sure he does his business...the whole shebang. You can finish up here then take a taxi to the park, and I’ll meet you there. Sound good?”

The edges of Scully’s lips turn downward. Mulder notes that today, they are brushed over with a very nice coral. Must be a new shade.

“Do you really care that much about me attending this game?”

Mulder shrugs. Yes he does, but he’ll be nonchalant about it. “I bought the tickets cheap through a newspaper ad. I just thought it would be nice for the two of us to do something that’s not chasing phantoms.”

“Phantoms?” Scully’s left eyebrow arches. “Have I finally broken your spirit?”

Mulder smirks. “Sorry, I thought flattery might get me somewhere here.”

Scully taps a heel against the ugly linoleum floor. He’s so adamant about this...boyhood loves stick, she supposes.

“If it means that much to you, go ahead. But don’t come crying to me when you’re late for the start of the game. Queequeg takes his time.”

Mulder claps his hands together. “That’s fine, that’s fine!” Surely he can hurry the canine up. “You take one ticket and head to the seats, and I’ll find you.”

Scully pulls her lips into a thin line, a hint of humor gleaming in her eyes. “Okay, Mulder. Do you have your key?”

He nods, pulls on his jacket, and edges toward the door. “See you there, Scully!”

“Bye.” Scully smiles at the empty office. Her partner’s enthusiasm is endlessly endearing.

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

Mulder has no time to register that he has no clue where Queequeg’s leash is, or if he’s supposed to bring some sort of bag to pick up any...ehm, droppings, or if there’s some special trick to walking a dog that makes it look easy when it’s secretly hard. In fact, he can’t recall ever walking Sparky. Thirty years old and never walked a dog before...surely that qualifies him for the Guinness World Record books.

Queequeg is alert at the door when Mulder opens it, and he’s glad the thing is more teddy bear than canine--he doesn’t have to deal with any barking or biting. He checks the coat rack for a leash, then begins rummaging around in the front table when he comes up short. It’s all old issues of girly magazines he never would have expected Scully to subscribe to.

Begrudgingly, he looks into Queequeg’s beady eyes. “Where’s your leash, boy? You wanna go for a walk? Show me where your leash is.” He uses a baby voice he didn’t even know he had.

Queequeg does nothing but paw the ground in annoyance.

“I know the feeling,” Mulder quips. He pulls out his phone and chooses Scully’s name from the speed dial list.

It rings and rings, then goes to voicemail. Mulder ends the call, grumbles, then tries the office number instead. She picks up after one ring.

“Hello?” her dainty voice projects through the line.

“Scully, you haven’t left yet?”

“I was just locking up the desk. Is there a problem?” she asks like she knew there would be.

“I can’t find Queequeg’s leash.”

“It’s by the pantry, next to his treats.”

Mulder sighs, heads into the kitchen. “And I suppose I have to take his treats too?”

“Uh-huh. And there’s plastic grocery bags in there that you can use to clean up after him.”

Mulder opens the pantry, sees the hoard. “I feared so.”

“We always go left down the block,” Scully tells her partner. “There’s a patch of grass that way he likes to chew on.”

“And how much does he pay you for such indelible service?” Scully doesn’t listen to a word he says, but she’s at the dog’s beck and call apparently.

There’s a bit of silence as Scully decides not to reply with a smartass remark. Then--”I’m leaving the office now,” she murmurs into the phone. “Better hurry up or I’ll beat you there.”

During this teasing, Mulder attached Queequeg’s leash to his collar. Now, as he tries to lead him into the living room, the dog refuses to move.

“Uh, Scully?”

“Yes?”

“I put his leash on, but Queequeg won’t budge.”

“Do you have the treats?”

Mulder shakes the treat bag and makes kissy noises to encourage the canine. (How humiliating.) Still, nothing.

“He doesn’t want to come with me,” Mulder says. “Even the treats won’t lure him over.”

“Are you sure it’s the right treats?” Scully asks.

“Since when are dogs picky about their treats? Treats are treats. And these are the only ones in the pantry.”

“Huh.”

“If you’re rolling your eyes, I can’t see it,” Mulder mutters.

“I’m not rolling my eyes, I just--we’ve never had this problem.”

“Has anyone else walked him?” Mulder wiggles the leash, which does nothing.

“My mom.”

“Well, maybe he doesn’t like men,” Mulder remarks.

“He lived with Clyde Bruckman…”

“Exactly.”

Scully takes a quick exhale. He has a point. “I’ll head over, okay? But I doubt we’ll make the game.”

“We’ll see.” Mulder sighs. He’s being...well, cockblocked isn’t the right word for it--but something like that--by a dog.

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

Scully arrives half an hour later to find Mulder crouched on the kitchen floor rubbing Queequeg’s belly.

“Am I interrupting something?” she teases. The dog rolls over and leaps into excitement at the sound of her voice, abandoning Mulder altogether.

“Hi buddy.” She scratches his ears and dodges his attempts to lick her face. “You ready to go for a walk?”

Queequeg whimpers and sits as if she commanded him to.

Scully looks to Mulder with a brilliant, taunting smile. “I think he’s ready.”

Mulder stands up, every disk in his back rebelling against him. “That thing--” Mulder jabs a finger in Queequeg’s direction--”has a Jekyll and Hyde situation going on.”

“Really, cause you seemed to be having a great time until I came in.”

“No, no, no, don’t spin this. I had to get down on the kitchen floor because he wouldn’t move! What was I supposed to do while we were waiting for you, ignore him?”

Scully shrugs, tries to hide her smirk. “Well, if you were so bothered by him…”

“Whatever, whatever. Let’s just go for the walk, okay? I don’t want to miss this game, it’s against the Red Sox. It should be good.”

Scully takes Queequeg’s leash from her partner, gestures for him to go ahead. “After you.”

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

It’s a beautiful spring night--the perfect occasion for a baseball game, Scully will give Mulder that. The sun is drifting down the cloudless horizon, and the chill that has hung in the air for months is finally admitting defeat. The sidewalk is crowded with other dogs and their humans, eager to end the week on such a lovely note.

Queequeg trots blissfully in the usual direction. Scully lengthens her stride to keep up with him--for once she and Mulder are walking at the same pace.

“So this is DC on a Friday night, huh?” Mulder says, glancing around at their fellow pedestrians and bicyclists.

Scully nods. “If you got out of the office before seven, you’d know.”

“Doubtful. My usual impression of DC on a Friday night is the traffic on the 14th Street bridge, and I’m pretty sure I can witness that at all hours.”

Scully allows herself a sidelong glance at her partner. She had never realized someone could be too dedicated until she met Mulder.

“Have you ever considered getting a pet?” she asks tentatively.

His gaze snaps to her. He chuckles and sticks his hands in his pockets. “My complex has a hefty monthly pet fee. Rent is already bad enough.”

“Well it’s not like you go out often…” Scully starts, knowing this is short of a compliment. “You’re not a big spender, surely you have the extra cash on hand.”

“Ha, thanks,” Mulder responds. “Should I put that on my resume?”

“I just mean that…” Queequeg finds his beloved patch of grass, and they pause to let him chomp at it. “...you could use the companionship of a dog. Or cat, if that strikes your fancy.”

“I have enough companionship, Scully. More than I know what to do with. Have you heard my answering machine?”

“A woman from an 800 line is not companionship, Mulder. And you never actually answer any of your messages. Friends don’t count if you never see them.”

“Ouch.” Queequeg finishes up, and they resume the walk. “And what are your plans this weekend, Scully?” he asks, hoping to catch her in her own hypocrisy.

“As a matter of fact, I’m going to visit my mother tomorrow afternoon.”

Mulder busts out laughing. “You’re a real party girl!”

She ignores him, focusing on Queequeg. “But you get my point, don’t you? It’s not good to be alone all the time.”

“I seem to recall being told that we spend more time together than you and your dog,” Mulder wisecracks.

“That’s different,” Scully swears. “That’s work.”

“That’s the bulk of modern life, my dear.” He delivers this statement in an old-timey mid-Atlantic accent like some leading man of the 40s. It makes Scully smile.

“I have an idea,” she says, her eyes sparkling.

“Oh boy.” Mulder glances at his watch. 6:51. Damn it. “We’re gonna miss the game.”

Scully nods. “Let’s go to the animal shelter instead.”

Mulder stops. It makes Queequeg, and therefore Scully, stop too. “What?”

“You could make some dog very happy, you know. And Queequeg would have a playmate...I think it would be really good for you, Mulder.”

“Come on, I can’t just adopt a dog on a whim.”

“I did.”

“Shit.”

Scully laughs. “You’re realizing there’s no way out of this, aren’t you?”

Mulder grins. “Yeah, I--” He looks down and sees Queequeg taking a dump in the middle of the sidewalk. Scully readies the plastic bag she brought, then bends down and scoops the pile up like it’s nothing.

Mulder screws up his face. “On second thought…”

“Nuh-uh.” Scully ties the bag and taps it against Mulder’s arm. “You’re empty-handed, take this. It’ll be good practice.”

Mulder frowns but takes the bag. His partner’s huge smile is not lost on him, and it makes him smile despite himself. She knows how to get what she wants, and he has a feeling this one will benefit him too.

[gaycrouton]

prompt idea I thought you would do excellent on: pre relationship, scully ends up getting another dog, a big one this time that she takes out on runs with her and basically is her guard dog on runs and at home, mulder is jealous of said dog :)

Hey! Thanks for sending to me, this is so cute!! XD I hope it turned out okay, I’m still new to experimenting with this vingette combo style and I also never interact with dogs.

msr / pre-relationship / fluff / au

1)

“His name’s Stubb,” she explained with a beaming smile as he was being mauled by what had to have been a descendent of Sasquatch. Or, at least, he thinks she’s smiling - he lost sight of her when the mutt licked his eyes, seemingly wanting to explore Mulder but not finding anything that intrested him.

“And, uh, why is Stubb here?” he asked, trying to ease the creature back on all fours. Even when it was, he was still at Mulder’s upper thigh, he must’ve been at least at Scully’s waist.

“I adopted him,” she explained, laughing as Stubb ran back to her and nuzzled against her side, nearly toppling her over. He was right, seeing them side to side, he had no doubts that dog weighted more and, was probably two times bigger than, Scully. She could probably put a saddle on the thing and save on gas.

“...he uh...seems a lot different than Queequeg,” he chuckled, watching Scully get knocked off her feel a few times from the dog’s enthusiasm. Hell, Queequeg was probably as big as this dog’s last bowel movement.

“He’s a mastive, apparently he’d been at the shelter for almost a year because no one wanted him since he’s so big,” she replied, petting the dog fondly behind his ears. Well that explained it - of course Scully would choose the mutt no one else wanted. That was just so her.

“I didn’t know you wanted a dog,” he replied slowly. This was out of left field. It was selfish, this was just a dog after all, but the thought of someone-thing else taking her attention away from him, especially when they’d been so close as of late, made the green eyed monster come out a little in him.

The dog knew that too. Mulder could just see it in his face as Stubb jumped up and licked the cheek Mulder’d placed a kiss on the other night - as if to say she’s mine now in dog terms.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably as her smile faltered, “I just-I thought it’d be nice to have someone here with me.”

Oh.

The realization felt like a bucket of cold water to his face. He could still smell the new plaster they had to cover the bullet hole in the ceiling with, he could still see the fresh bruises left in Pfaster’s wake, he’d seen the way she’d jumped in the office when he moved too fast. She wanted someone here as a form of protection. She was alone when Pfaster attacked her and no one had come. She’d had to save herself. Again.

He was glad she’d gotten someone to come home to at night.

He just wished it was him.

2)

They looked ridiculous, absolutely 100% ridiculous, and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

His attention was drawn to them immediately, even from the other side of the park. A petite woman running while a massive dog simply trotted along to keep up with her was jarring to the eye as much as it was funny - she was covered in a sheen of sweat while the tog looked like he was exuding no effort.

As his eyes adjusted, he realized that the petite woman was noneother than Dana Scully, taking her new dog out on a run.

Picking up his own pace, he started cutting across the grass so he could get on the same trail as her. Had he ever seen Scully in excersize gear? From his vantage point a few yards behind her, her little ponytail jumped in place with every foot fall, and the tight material of her outfit complimented her every curve. God, she looked hot.

Wanting to surprise her, he ran a little faster so he would end up running next to her. She hadn’t noticed him yet by the time he was a foot away, but Stubb sure as hell did. The dog locked eyes with him and let out a low menacing growl, placing his own body between him and Scully. Mulder shot the dog an equally annoyed glace and tried to move to the other side, only to have him follow. 

This game of back and forth went on for a few more feet until Scully noticed someone behind her and stopped slowly, looking over her shoulder to see who it was. “Oh, hey, Mulder!” she exclamied while panting, stopping with the dog at her feet. 

“Hey, Scully,” he panted, jumping when the dog barked at him.

“No! Stubbs, that’s Mulder. Be nice to him,” Scully chastized in a tone he was slightly offended to realize had been used on him before.

“I don’t think he likes me, Scully,” Mulder informed cautiously. 

“What makes you think that?” she asked, petting the dog while looking at him and inadvertenly missing the way the dog bared it’s teeth to him.

“He refused to let me get close to you. Plus, just look at him,” he exclaimed. But as soon as Scully turned, the dog stuck out his tongue and lovingly leaned into her touch. Funny, he thought this type of thing only happened when he was trying to get her to look at a UFO.

“Mulder, don’t be silly,” she laughed. 

The dog nuzzled into her side and Mulder swore the thing was making fun of him.

3)

Last he’d remembered, movie nights were a two person thing. 

In face, last week pre-Stubbs (that’s how he referred to his life now - was it pre or post dog) he’d finally gotten the balls to sit close enough on the couch to Scully that their legs touched. The week before that he’d just accidentally brushed her knee. It might not seem like much, but when it’s taken several years just to get her to want to hand out, this type of development was a rapid progression. 

This week he’d been hoping he might down enough Shiner to get the nerve to wrap an arm around her - apparently the juvenile moves of a middle schooler were now his goals. But instead, he was smashed into the side of the couch while the dog sat in the middle of them. 

The dog in question currently had his head in Scully’s lap and Mulder couldn’t even hold it in this time - he was jealous of a dog. As he sat their and twiddled his thumbs, Stubb got the full brunt of Scully’s affection. Asshole.

Wanting to have atleast had some sort of contact with Scully tonight, he rest his arm along the back of the couch so that his fingers just barely grazed the nape of her neck. Being daring, he let his middle finger peep out and gently touch the skin underneath her baby hairs. Just as he felt a smattering of goosebumps erupt under his touch, the dog was up with a bark.

“What’s wrong, Stubb?” Scully asked leaning forward, not noticing the way Mulder’s jaw clenched out of irritation.

“He doesn’t like it when I touch you. Or look at you. Or exist near you,” Mulder explained, setting his hand back in his lap.

“Not true,” Scully laughed.

Deciding to be bold, he reached over the dog to place his palm on her thigh. As soon as hand touched leg - the dog was headbutting him away. “Huh,” she uttered with uncertainty, watching as the dog jumped off the couch to stand in front of them - watching with intensity.

Emphasizing his point, he put his hand out in front of him and slowly moved it towards Scully, both of them watching the dog’s expression change from curiosity to fierce protection with every millimeter he got closer. By the time he was close enough to feel her body heat, Stubb barked and put his paws on the couch in warning.

“That can’t be right,” she mused.

4)

“Stubb,” he deadpanned.

“No, not like that, Mulder. He can hear you don’t like him,” Scully admonished.

“I don’t mind him, it’s him who doesn’t like me,” Mulder reminded.

She rolled her eyes and tried to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “Try again.”

“Stubb,” Mulder called out with fake enthusiasm, patting his legs. But the dog didn’t move. He stayed latched at Scully’s side like he wanted to build a home there. Not that Mulder blamed him.

Scully frowned and looked from the dog to him specutively. “Try again.”

Putting on a fake smile, he patted his knees and snapped his fingers, “Stubb, come ‘ere.” The dog growled in response and Scully gasped. “See! Did you see that!” Mulder exclimed, pointing at the dog like a tattling child.

“Bad Stubb!” Scully reprimanded. The dog whined at her dissaproval and Mulder couldn’t help but empathize with the way he bowed his head and his ears fell.

Scully walked over to him and, before he could even process, she wrapped her arms around his torso and nuzzled her head against his side. “Stubb, we like Mulder, look,” she called out, getting the dog’s attention. 

Stubb perked up and looked at the pair, immediately standing up in confused alert that she was so close to the enemy. He tentatively put one paw in front of the other and watched the pair, cocking his head. “I think it’s working,” she whispered.

“What is?” Mulder asked, not trusting the mutt.

“Stubb,” she called out sweetly. “Look,” she demanded before raising herself on her toes and pressing a noisy, firm kiss to Mulder’s cheek, bending back down afterwards to nuzzle against him once more. Oh, this was her tactic. Get him to love by showing her own. He had to say, it was his favorite theory of hers yet.

Deciding to participate, just to back her up and all, he raised his hands and hugged her back, pressing their bodies together as they watched the dog. Well, realistically Mulder was barely paying attention to anything other than feeling Scully so intimately pressed to him, while being so affectionate nonetheless.

“Try petting his head,” Scully instructed him when the dog got close enough to touch. Reluctantly letting go of her, he bent down and touched Stubb’s head surprised when the dog let him.

“It’s working!” she exclaimed, squeezing him for emphasis.

“Uh, kinda,” Mulder countered. The dog was letting him touch him, but he was in no way encouraging it. It was like he was wearing a party hat to an event he never wanted to attend, and Mulder’s hand was the hat.

Part of him couldn’t believe she wasn’t seeing that this dog did not trust him, while the other part was touched that she seemed so averse to the possibility that something wouldn’t like him.

5)

Mulder made it his life mission to protect Scully.

Stubb made it his life mission to protect Scully.

Of course this would be what made them see eye to eye.

She’d been distracted, padding around her apartment after they’d finished some take out when she slipped on some water and started falling to the floor - hard. They both noticed at the same time, but Mulder was closer (and a human), so he was able to catch her just in time before she fell. Instead of falling ass-first onto the hardwood, she fell into Mulder who fell back and took the brunt of the fall, the dog running around them while looking for frantic assurance she was okay.

“You alright?” he laughed, ignoring the soreness in his left cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” she laughed, pivoting in between his legs to look at him.

“You’re fine,” he smiled back, watching Stubb lick her face in comfort.

Then, much to his surprise, Stubb turned and licked him too, nuzzling into him while his pink tongue panted in happiness. 

Scully’s face lit up and she set one hand on Mulder’s leg while the other reached up to pet the dog. “He’s licking you!” she exclaimed, as if the five o’clock shadow made of dog saliva wasn’t clueing him in to that fact.

“Thank you, Stubb,” he joked, trying to dislodge the dog from his face which only resulted in him laying across Mulder’s lap.

“I think he’s saying thank you,” she admitted, sending him a beaming smile.

He’d let the dog lick him forever if it meant he could get a smile like that.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

the creature in the deep (part 2 of 2)

Summary: In the aftermath of Scully’s mind control via television, she and Mulder depart to Norway to investigate the Kraken.

the second part of my entry for @wtfmulder’s cryptid challenge. (part one is here.) some warnings up front for some violence and peril.

---

two.

The storm didn’t calm any after Mulder and Scully went back into the cabin of Jacob Kellerman’s boat; if anything, it seemed to rage harder, the rain drumming at the roof so hard, it sounded as if it might come through, and the wind howling and rattling the windows, shaking the boat extraordinarily hard. The cabin was fairly warm and dry, thankfully, considering their shivering state as seawater dripped off of them. Cetus stuck his head out curiously, licking drops of water off the floor.

Jacob wanted to continue to keep an eye on the steering—”In weather like this,” he said, “it’s good to stay alert.”—but he pointed them in the direction of a change of clothes and blankets, folded in a cabinet next to the couch-like seats, all coveralls and workpants and jackets. “It’s a little informal, but it is dry,” he said.

They took turns changing in the small bathroom. Mulder insisted that Scully go first, and she tried to tell him that he should go first, but he won the argument, as he usually did. She changed quickly in the tiny space, her elbows banging against the walls, and slipped out, sitting on a couch-like area near the table where Mulder had the Kraken photos laid out while he took his turn.

Cetus poked his head out from under the table, his eyes still mournful and pleading. Without thinking too hard about what she was doing, she patted the surface beside her. The dog, still fearful, scampered up to lay beside her, resting his head on her lap. He was a large, warm weight in her lap, staring up at her in that dog manner of please give me attention, and tears were welling up in her eyes before she could stop them. She shut her eyes, feeling the tears bud up warmly below her lids, and stroked Cetus’s shaggy head. She’d missed Queequeg so much in these past few weeks. It still hurt to think about. Something else to blame herself for, someone else she’d lost to stupidity. And it felt a little wrong, to be sitting here with a dog so soon after Queequeg, but she didn’t have the strength to move. She was probably the only person on this boat willing to comfort the dog.

“I’m sorry about the mutt,” someone said, and it took Scully a few moments to figure out that it was Jacob Kellerman, confirming her suspicions. She opened her eyes, wiping hurriedly at her cheeks, but Jacob wasn’t looking at her. He was still staring out into the storm, his jaw clenched irritably. “He should get off if you tell him to.”

She swiped a few more times at her eyes, and said in a voice she desperately hoped was steady, “Oh, no, no, it’s okay.” She reached down to scratch Cetus’s head again, petting him in a vigorous way that left his tail wagging wildly. “I like dogs.”

Mulder exited the bathroom, dressed in notably drier clothes. As he turned to her, a familiar expression of concern flickered across his face. "Scully? Are you okay?" he asked softly.

She nodded, looking down instinctively at Cetus's huge paws. "I'm fine," she said, her voice cracking.

She heard footsteps creaking on the floorboards, and then Mulder sliding in beside her, their knees knocking together. Almost as soon as he sat down, Cetus climbed further into Scully's lap, resting his chin on Mulder's thigh, his paws wedged awkwardly between them. "Sweet mutt," he said good-naturedly, tousling the dog's gray fur. The dog huffed happily.

Mulder gave him a few more pats before reaching out to touch Scully's hand where it lay on the dog’s back, and it was too much. She didn't think they'd touched, really touched (aside from falling asleep on him on the plane), since before the incident. She bit her lip hard and murmured, "Mulder, I told you, I'm fine."

His hand was covering hers, in a tentative sort of way, and she didn't want to look at him, but she did, and the guilt and resentment and confusion and affection enveloped her all over again. She could still remember looking into his eyes and thinking about how to kill him, and the memory made her want to throw up. She hated herself immensely. It had been just a few months, and they'd both almost killed each other, and it was too much, and too soon, and she didn't deserve his comfort or his concern, and she was still a little mad at him about Queequeg, and she just wanted things to be normal between them. He was her best friend, and she wanted things to be normal, and she didn’t want to resent him, and she was exhausted and embarrassed, and she pulled her hand out from under his and ducked her head, praying she wouldn't cry again. She wished that she could go somewhere and be alone, but out on the ocean like this, there was absolutely nowhere to go.

Cetus, still lying on top of the both of them, whined and butted his head against Mulder’s elbow. Mulder didn't try to take her hand again. For one long moment, she wished he would.

"There are things for sandwiches in the cabinets, if you're hungry," Jacob said from the front of the boat. "I, for one, am."

Scully cleared her throat and pushed a little at Cetus's side. "Go on, boy," she said gently, and Cetus went amicably, lying near the table he'd hidden under before. She turned to Mulder and offered him a small, shaky smile, but it felt inauthentic, and she looked away quickly. She went to the kitchen area and took out a stale-looking loaf of bread, and jars of peanut butter and jelly.  After a moment, Mulder came and joined her.

They made four sandwiches—Mulder made two for himself, and slathered some peanut butter messily on two pieces of bread, which he gave to the dog. They ate at the table, pushing aside the pictures and papers. Cetus chewed noisily and curled up under the table again. The rain drumming the roof above them seemed to slow gradually, until Jacob finally stood and came over to join them. “I think we have reached the calm in the storm,” he said. “We can drift for a bit.”

“One of us could take over for a while, if you need to sleep,” Scully offered. She wasn’t entirely confident in her boat driving skills after the crash at Heuvelmans Lake, but she also didn’t want to risk crashing because their host was sleep deprived.

“I’m fine.” Jacob Kellerman sloshed together a sandwich that was actually messier than Mulder’s before pulling a bottle that matched the ones Scully had pulled out of the garbage and pouring himself a glass. “Aquavit?” he asked, extending the bottle towards them. They both shook their heads. Jacob took a long swig from the bottle before sitting at the table next to Mulder. “This boat used to be much nicer,” he said. “My mother would clean it, and we’d have days out at sea in the summer, picnicking and swimming. Now my father never cleans, never brings any decent food, and fills the whole place with rotting fish. Wasting away.”

He’d referred to his father in the present tense, Scully noticed, and remembered that he’d said that his father might not be dead. She wondered idly what he thought happened to his father.

Mulder was clearly thinking the same thing. “Mr. Kellerman, you said you don’t believe in the Kraken?”

Jacob took a swig of alcohol and let out a low burp. “I do not.”

“Can I ask why?”

Jacob sighed heavily, letting his face fall forward into his hands. “My father has been obsessed,” he muttered. “Ever since we moved, he’s been obsessed. I don’t know why—maybe he was bored out here at sea, or maybe he needed something to devote time to, and my mother and I weren’t enough. But since I was a child, he’s been single mindedly obsessed with it, to the point of neglect. He only wants to talk about the Kraken, to think about the Kraken. If he reads the book, it will have the Kraken, or something like it, in it. He wasn’t afraid of it; he was fascinated by it. It was all he could talk about, all he could think about, and it only got worse as time passed. He would entertain me with bedtime stories about pirates who had bested the beast, or unfortunate sailors who had not been so lucky. I had nightmares for years.” He lifted his head and took another swig from his cup, wiping futilely at his face. “My mother was sick last year,” he added quietly. “She is better now, but for a while, it looked like she wouldn’t make it. And my father was unable to turn away from his obsession long enough to pay attention to her.”

The cabin was growing darker, and Scully couldn’t see Mulder’s face. She looked down at her hands. Richard Kellerman sounded a little like Captain Ahab, except worse; this was Ahab for no reason, Ahab without a motivation. Revenge for the loss of your leg seemed to make more sense than neglecting your family for a fruitless obsession, and she could understand Jacob’s resentment more than ever now. (She could remember vividly telling Mulder that he was like Ahab, on that rock in the lake, but she didn’t want to think of Mulder like that. He wasn’t like that, not to that degree; she didn’t think he was like that.)

“I’m sorry,” Mulder offered. His voice sounded a little unsteady. Scully wondered if he was thinking of that night on the lake, too.

Jacob shrugged angrily, taking another bite of sandwich and speaking around it. “It looks as if his obsession has finally caught up to him.”

“But you don’t believe in the Kraken,” said Scully, almost surprising herself.

His jaw was quivering, as if he was emotional, on the verge of tears. “No.” He took another gulp of drink, his eyes half-shut. “But I think he was out here looking. And whatever happened to Dad, I think it was because of his own carelessness. A lapse in attention to his duty that was instead focused towards the fucking Kraken.” His voice was full of disgust. “Maybe he thought he saw the beast, and fell overboard trying to get a glimpse. Something like that.”

Scully didn’t know what else to say—she admittedly agreed, but she didn’t want to say that to Jacob. Mulder didn’t say anything, either, and the swaying ship was nearly silent. Cetus had fallen asleep on the floor, and was snoring quietly. A clap of thunder sounded above them, so loud and deep it seemed to shake the boat a little.

“It’s strange that it’s so dark,” said Jacob suddenly. He stood and threw the remainder of his sandwich in the trash, scooped up the Aquavit and poured himself another glass. “It’s getting later in the year, closer to the midnight sun. The sun sets later and later each night. It should still be bright out.”

Mulder nudged Scully, as if to indicate that he found that meaningful. Scully offered, “It’s probably the storm.”

“Yes, but are daytime storms as dark as night time storms?” Jacob waved a hand at the window, where it was nearly pitch black. She could see the white railing of the ship, and then nothing past it.

A particularly large wave hit the side of the boat, swaying it nearly on its side, and Mulder made a small sound of discomfort. Scully’s hand immediately went to his arm, almost automatically. “Seasick?” she asked, and he nodded. “Do you have any more Dramamine?”

“Ran out,” he muttered, and she could nearly see him wincing. When had it gotten so dark in here? Places always seemed to get dark without anyone noticing. “Stupid of me not to bring more.”

“I have some,” Jacob offered. He finished his cup of Aquavit in one gulp, and turned to rummage through a drawer. “Do you also want some?” he asked, tipping his chin in Scully’s direction.

“Oh, no, thank you,” she said.

Jacob came up with something and crossed the room, handing Mulder two white, round pills and the Aquavit bottle. “To wash it down with,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Mulder, and swallowed the pills dry. Aside from the fact that they stayed sober when they were on duty—and this certainly felt like duty—they both knew it was a bad idea to drink alcohol with pills.

Jacob shrugged and took the bottle back, drinking heartily directly from it. “What about you?” He was addressing Scully now, extending the bottle to her. “Are you sure you don’t want some? On a wild night like this, some spirits might be useful. Help to ease your mind.” He thrust the bottle towards her hand, sloshing a bit on her shoes.

“No, I’m okay,” Scully said with a sigh. “Thank you, though.”

Jacob sighed, as if she had annoyed him, and took a long swig from the bottle, finishing the last of the liquid. “I should go and check the outside of the boat,” he said, burping again and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was getting close to being drunk, if he wasn’t already there. “Make sure everything is okay. No damage. You two should get comfortable; we are in for a long night.”

“By the way, your tarp blew off the boat earlier, while we were outside,” Mulder said as Jacob stepped towards the door.

He turned towards them in confusion or in recognition; Scully wasn’t sure. “T-the tarp covering up the lifeboats?”

There was only one lifeboat, but Scully dismissed it to a mishearing, or more likely to Jacob’s drunkenness. “Yes, the one overtop of the lifeboat,” she said. “It blew overboard.” She could remember the awkwardly flapping edges, the way it bent in on itself like a large, crumpling piece of paper.

"Shit.” Jacob shook his head wildly. “I will be back,” he said, before stepping out into the stormy night. Between the door opening and closing, a harsh breeze blew in, leaving Scully shivering.

“You cold?” Mulder asked, attempting to stand up. “Jacob said there were blankets.”

“Oh, no, I’m okay, Mulder.” She put her hand on his arm to stop him. “I don’t want to get too comfortable; I don’t want to fall asleep.” The sweater she’d taken from the drawer was probably too warm as it was, but it was incredibly comfortable, despite the lingering smell of fish.

Mulder yawned loudly as he sat back down. “I’m not sure I can join you,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. “I guess the jet lag is getting to me.”

“We’re six hours ahead of home, Mulder,” said Scully. “You should be more awake, not more tired. It’s still the middle of the day to our bodies”

He shook his head hard, as if to wake himself up. “Maybe the insomnia is catching up to me.”

“Or maybe Jacob gave you the drowsy type of Dramamine.” She folded her arms over her chest. Mulder rubbed a hand over his face. “Go on to sleep if you’re tired, Mulder,” she added. “I’m not tired. I’ll keep watch.”

“N-no, you don’t have to stay up,” he said, immediately sitting up straighter. “I’m okay. I’ll stay up.”

“Okay, Mulder,” she said a little indulgently, not really believing him and not really caring. He slept so sporadically, and she was always encouraging him to try and get on a regular schedule; the least she could do was let him sleep when he was tired.

“The dog’s snoring will probably keep me up, anyway,” he added, gesturing to the place where Cetus was lying with a flick of his chin.

“You’ll be fine.” She slid down in her seat, getting comfortable.

“It’s very loud.” He was silent for a moment as he slid down a bit in her seat, his shoulder nudging against hers. She didn’t pull away. She didn’t want to pull away. She shut her eyes and felt that same bit of self-loathing rise in her throat. She didn’t know if she’d ever forget how close she came to shooting her best friend. She didn’t know if she’d ever forgive herself for having done it already.

As if he’d read her mind, he spoke sleepily from beside her, saying, “I’m sorry, Scully.”

“What?” She was startled, turning to look at him. “Sorry for what, Mulder?”

His eyes were closed as he spoke. “Sorry for… for bringing you to Norway.”

She clenched her fingers tight around her elbows. “Oh, Mulder,” she muttered. “That’s okay.”

“I keep fucking up,” he mumbled. “You didn’t want to come to Norway.”

“It’s just a case.” Or a research trip, she corrected silently.

“I almost get you killed. I-I keep almost getting you killed. I don’t pay attention, and it’s your dog, it’s your sister… it’s you.”

The words hit her in the chest like an anvil, and she felt herself tearing up. So much resentment, and yet she couldn’t really blame him. She followed him, and she kept on doing it, and she didn’t know how to do anything different. She wanted to follow him, to be with him, and it was her fault, not his, and tears were sliding down her cheeks. It wasn’t his fault, but she’d thought that at one time or another, and she’d blamed him. She had blamed him for Melissa. Blamed him for her abduction. She could remember it; the memory was hazy, but it was there. The weight of the gun in her hands. Her best friend. She wanted to apologize, but all she could get out was, “Mulder, no.”

“Thought I lost you,” he mumbled. His head lolled heavily on her shoulders, and the weight of it was such a relief.

She bit back a shaky sob, wiping her eyes and taking a deep breath, blinking so hard that her eyes hurt. Her stomach hurt. She bit her lower lip and whispered, “Mulder, I am the one who should be apologizing, okay? Not you.”

But he didn’t respond. He was already asleep.

---

Scully didn't remember falling asleep. But when she woke up, Mulder was still asleep, slumped against her, her head against his. The cabin seemed darker, somehow; someone had turned off the light. And Cetus was barking.

She blinked foggily, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. Mulder, still dead asleep, fell back against the leather of the booth. "Hush," she murmured automatically, a reflex from Queequeg, before she remembered and winced.

Cetus did not hush. He was barking in an insistent way, a way that indicated that something was wrong.

Scully blinked a few more times, getting to her feet. She ran her hand along a wall and found a light switch, flipped it and let the dim overhead light sparkle to life. Cetus was standing at attention, turned towards the door, barking insistently. "Hey," she whispered, kneeling beside the dog and putting her hand on his head. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Cetus broke off into growls, still staring at the door. She ruffled his fur absently and scanned the cabin. Everything looked normal, if dimly lit. The boat was still rocking with a steady precision. The counter where they'd made their sandwiches was still littered with jars and dried peanut butter; a couple of the coolers on the floor had overturned, spilling fish corpses across the floor. It took Scully a few look-throughs to realize what was wrong: Jacob Kellerman wasn't in there.

Cetus snarled, scratching at the door desperately with his large paws. Behind her, Mulder said groggily, "Scully? What's going on?"

"Jacob Kellerman is missing," she said, her mind racing. Things were starting to piece themselves together, just a little bit; she wasn't sure, but she was suspicious enough. She was remembering how annoyed he’d seemed when she refused the Aquavit a second time. She got to her feet and ran first to the drawer that Jacob had gotten Mulder Dramamine from and yanked it open. There was no Dramamine—maybe he'd run out, maybe not—but there was an empty wrapper for sleeping pills. Sleeping pills. More sleeping pills, that looked like the little white pills they’d thought was Dramamine.

"What?" Mulder was asking. "Where is he?"

She rummaged for her gun instinctively before she remembered she didn't have it. It was at home, in her apartment in DC. She hadn't thought she would need it, she hadn't trusted herself to have it. Maybe she still wouldn't need it; maybe she'd misjudged him, or maybe she was wrong. Still, she said, "I think he's outside," and ran for the door, yanking it open and letting it slam behind her. She had to know for sure.

A fog had settled over the boat, so thick that Scully could barely see two feet in front of her. She stumbled forward a few feet, a little blindly, before a light became visible, rising dimly out of the thick fog. She heard the door behind her open, and Mulder call out, "Scully?"

She kept walking, following the light until she got close enough to see its source: an electric lantern, balanced on top of the bright orange lifeboat, suspended over the ocean, ready for boarding. And Jacob Kellerman, wearing a life jacket. "Jacob," she started, but stopped immediately when she felt a knife point bite lightly into her stomach.

"Don't come any closer," Jacob growled, clutching the handle of the knife. "Hold still."

Scully held up her hands slowly, an attempt to seem nonthreatening. "It's okay," she said slowly. "I don't have a weapon. Let's just stay calm, okay?"

"Scully?" Mulder stepped beside her before freezing, his eyes wide. "What's going on?" he asked in a careful, concerned voice.

"Don't move. Don't move, or I will hurt her," Jacob said in a frantic, angry voice. Mulder nodded, his eyes wide, raising his hands along with her.

"I really wish the two of you had stayed asleep," Jacob muttered, his hand clenched harder around the knife. The point ripped a bit at her shirtfront, and Scully tried not to wince, tried to keep her breathing level. (At least it was her, she thought for one wild moment, and not Mulder.) "I could be halfway gone by now."

"Why do you need to leave? Where are you going?" Mulder asked carefully. "I don't understand what's happening, Jacob."

Jacob's eyes shut, and he shook his head rapidly, like a stubborn child. Refusing to speak. So Scully took a deep breath and spoke, in the same careful manner as Mulder. "He's behind his father's disappearance, Mulder," she said steadily.

Mulder looked at her with astonishment, but Jacob winced, his face reddening, his hand shaking. "Don't say it like that," he whispered, his words slurring. "I did not mean for it to go this way. I didn't want to hurt him."

"What are you talking about?" Mulder asked, looking between them.

But Jacob wasn't listening. He opened his eyes and looked at Scully. He looked like a man being sent to his death. "How did you figure it out?" he asked softly. His hand was still shaking; she could feel the quivering knife blade against her stomach with every uneven breath.

"Little things didn't add up,” she said. She was thinking about distracting him, about giving them time to come up with a plan to get out of this. “The fact that your father's boat ended up back at the harbor despite supposedly being empty. It seemed strange that there was almost an entire roll of unused duct tape in the trash. The tarp covering your lifeboat seemed too large for just one boat, and you referred to the lifeboat like there was more than one earlier. I also saw that there were empty cables adjacent to the lifeboat. You kept offering us Aquavit in the cabin earlier, and Mulder seemed to fall asleep awfully quick after you gave him those pills. When I looked in the drawer, I found sleeping pill packets." Jacob was nodding, his chin trembling. "You… you hid on the boat, didn't you?" Scully continued. Her own hands were shaking a little, driven by the anxiety of the situation. "You subdued your father and put him onto the lifeboat, setting him adrift. You drove the boat back to shore, and snuck back to your home, and left people to discover that your father was missing. And when you brought us out as a favor to your mother, you hoped you would be able to get us drunk or asleep and abandon the boat yourself."

Jacob's chin was trembling. "I-I didn't think you would figure it out."

Mulder took a deep breath beside her. "Why did you do it, Jacob?"

"Why the hell wouldn't I do it?" he nearly shouted, his hand shaking even harder. Scully winced again as the knife nicked her, just a little, and she felt Mulder tensing beside her. She hated this constant trend they had of being held at gunpoint (or knife-point). At least this time, one of them wasn't the one holding the weapon.

Jacob was still shouting, ranting. "That bastard neglected me all my life! Made everything revolve around a fucking squid! And it didn't even stop when I grew up and moved out! I couldn't get a life of my own! My mom—his wife—gets ill, possibly fatally, and he can't even look up for long enough to take her to treatments! That responsibility goes to me! He never gave a fucking shit; he only pretended to. He would've left my mom alone to die while he was off chasing the fucking Kraken. He deserved to learn a fucking lesson." He took a step closer to Scully and the knife shifting, the sharp, long edge of the blade lying flat against her jacket.

"Jacob, calm down," Mulder said sharply, an edge to his voice. "I know you're upset, but you don't need to do this. You don't need to kill again."

"Again?" Jacob laughed wildly, shaking his head. "I didn't kill him! I wanted to punish him, but I never meant to kill him! Never! I just wanted to scare him. I thought if I set him adrift for a little while, scared him, I-I might… be able to… make him into a better man. A better husband for Mom." His eyes shut again; in the dim, foggy light, Scully thought she saw tears glittering under his eyelids. "I didn't kill him."

"Okay, Jacob," said Mulder quickly, trying to calm him. "Okay. But what's going to happen if you kill her?"

"You don't understand a goddamn thing." The knife blade wasn't quivering anymore. It was a cool, hard presence that was steady and sharp, and Scully was finding it harder to stay calm. "I lied to you, before," Jacob said, and his voice was the steadiest it had been since they'd came out here. "About the Kraken."

"What about it? What about the Kraken?" Mulder's voice was sharp, his worried eyes on Scully. The sky crackled ominously with thunder, a cold wind washing over them.

"It killed my father." Jacob's voice was equally sharp. He met Scully's eyes; his expression was somehow steely and fearful all at once. Looking at the man, Scully wondered how she didn't see that he was guilty sooner. He'd hid his tracks well, to the point where her theory seemed a little off base, but his shifting moods should've been a clue-in from the beginning: his anger, his standoffish behavior. She wondered how drunk he was. She wondered how much of his sanity was left.

"I watched my father's lifeboat floating out in the ocean, and then I saw that… thing rising out of the waves." Jacob's voice was suddenly quivering. "It was enormous. Unbelievably enormous. It rose up out of the depth, and it grabbed my father and the lifeboat all at once, and it swallowed him whole. I saw it. It was fucking real, and it happened on a day just like today."

The thunder clapped again. The skies opened up, the rain and the fog enveloping them both. The lifeboat swayed, the lantern quivering. Scully didn't know what she believed about the Kraken—she could barely think about that now—but she knew that she was scared. She was terrified that Jacob would kill them both. "Jacob…" she started in a soft voice.

"And it's coming for you now." His voice was low, warning. "I have to get out of here. I was going to leave you for it. It takes the two of you, and it will leave me alone, right?"

Scully took an unsteady breath, shivering in the rain. The boat was rocking, harder than before, and her stomach rolled unexpectedly. Inside, she could hear Cetus barking frantically. "Jacob, there is no such thing…"

"How do you know that it won't come for you?" Mulder's voice was tight, angry. "It came for your father in the lifeboat. Why wouldn't it come for you?"

Jacob was breathing raggedly. "I got away from the motherfucker once, and I can do it again," he snarled. His wrist moved, and the knife bit into Scully's stomach, just a bit, slicing the fabric. She gasped with the sting of pain—the knife hadn't penetrated the skin past a small cut, but it hurt.

That must have struck a nerve with Mulder, because he yanked out his gun in one swift motion, aiming it straight at Jacob. "Drop the knife and get the fuck away from her."

"You drop your weapon." Jacob spoke coldly, his eyes steely. "I'll kill her. I'll kill your partner if you don’t let me leave. I am getting out of here. I will not fall victim to that beast."

Cetus was snarling and whimpering, his large paws hitting the cabin door. The sea was churning around them, the boat rocking wildly, to the point where Scully was a little afraid she would fall on the knife. Her heart was pounding so hard. "Y-you really think it's coming?" she stammered in disbelief.

Before he could answer, something hit the boat. Scully could hear the hard smack of it, could hear something crack. The boat tipped, sending Scully sprawling backwards; she rolled, instinctively, and managed to miss the tumbling Jacob and his knife. She heard Mulder's panicked call: "Scully?!" and answered quickly, "I'm okay!" She fumbled across the wet deck until her hand curled around the hilt of the knife, and she pulled it to her.

But Jacob didn't seem to be looking for the knife. He pulled himself up, a grim, resigned look on his face. "It's already here," he said softly.

Something hit the boat again, harder this time, and Scully went tumbling again, letting the knife go for risk of cutting herself. She could hear it skittering across the deck as she slid haphazardly into Mulder, scrambling for purchase; he grabbed her hand and held tightly, steadying her and whispering, "You okay?"

She nodded, but her eyes were glued to the deck before her, to the wildly swinging lifeboat. She watched as the electric lantern tumbled from its perch, watched it fly through the air. Watched as its flickering light illuminated something on the other side of the rail, something massive. Something with almost scaly skin, a massive torso. One bright yellow eye.

The lantern died as it hit the deck, leaving their vision in darkness. Scully couldn't breathe. She still could feel Mulder's hand in hers.

In the darkness, she saw a large shape rise and, purposefully, fall. She heard the crunch of what sounded like the deck of the ship. She heard Jacob's panicked shout.

She heard Mulder fumbling, his hand scraping the fabric of his pocket, and she turned slightly towards him as he pulled out a penlight. He switched it on, the tiny light catching Jacob's face. He was sprawled on the deck, his face full of pain and fear. Around him, there was a large gap on the deck, as if something had smashed right through it. Scully wondered wildly how long the deck would last.

Jacob's fingers scrabbled wildly at the deck. He turned his pleading eyes towards them, and said in a quivering voice, "Please—"

Before he could finish, a tentacle so enormously large, Scully could barely believe it—a tentacle half the size of the boat itself—slammed down beside Jacob's prone body. It coiled around him like a snake as he screamed, and its massive edge slammed down mere feet away from Mulder and Scully, who scrambled back, clutching to each other's arms as they stumbled to their feet. Mulder's pen light went off in the struggle, but Scully could still see the wriggling, dark shape of Jacob Kellerman as he fought, the sharp motion of him being dragged into the ocean. It's real, she thought in one panicked moment, and she couldn't believe it.

"We have to get out of here," Mulder whispered frantically. "W-w-we have to… Scully, the lifeboat…"

Scully heard a wild, high whimper and barely even thought; she just moved, towards the door to the cabin, stumbling over splintered and broken-up boards. She yanked open the door and grabbed Cetus as he bounded out, rubbing his neck soothingly. "Shh, shh, it's okay," she whispered, gripping him gently by the scruff of his neck. She would not leave another dog to the mercy of a dangerous creature. She wouldn't. "C'mon, boy," she whispered, pulling Cetus along as she moved towards Mulder.

Mulder was trying to get to the lifeboat; he flicked his pen light back on and waved it in her direction, motioning her over. She tugged Cetus gently, stepping gingerly, but she froze in her tracks when she saw it. The monstrous tentacle rising over Mulder, directly over his head.

Her chest tightened, and she screamed, "Mulder, look out!" She let go of Cetus to dive at Mulder, shoving him hard out of the way as the tentacle slammed down. It caught her hard in the side, sent her sprawling in the mess of debris and slimy skin. She cursed instinctively; it felt like she'd cracked a rib. She tried to get to her feet, but something wrapped hard around her ankle and yanked her back down. She yelped with pain, kicking frantically at the tentacle as it tugged her backwards, towards the unforgiving ocean—or, if Mulder's stories were right, the beast's jaws. She gripped anything she could grab, the hard edges cutting into her palms, but the force was too strong, its grip crushing on her ankle. She was going to be pulled in. She wondered, briefly, if this was what Melissa felt.

"Scully!" Mulder's voice, anguished and desperate. She gripped the jagged edges of the broken rail of the boat, her heart pounding, her leg aching. She saw him standing on a patch of undisturbed deck, his gun aimed towards her. Her breath caught in her throat. For a millisecond, he was back in that hospital room, Mulder's eyes wide and teary and his finger tightening on the trigger.

And then he shot, the bullet hitting wetly behind her, and she felt relief and shame wash over her. The grip loosened, just a bit, and Scully heard an almost otherworldly shriek from down below them. She gripped the rail harder, trying to climb back up, and Mulder lunged forward, his knees cracking the weak material below him as he landed, his hands wrapping around hers. He tugged her up, fighting against the tug of the grip around her leg; she kicked out again, and felt the grip loosen slightly. Mulder's fingers tightened around.her wrists, and he pulled her up with one hard yank, scrambling backwards and tugging her with him in case the force came back. "You okay?" he gasped, his hands on the back of her shoulders, almost but not quite holding her.

She nodded, an instinctive hand to her side. "I think I cracked a rib," she said with a wince.

"C'mon." He helped her to her feet, the two of them moving towards the lifeboat, still miraculously hanging, ready to be lowered. The deck was in pieces, the cabin looking as if a tornado had torn through. Cetus sat on an unharmed piece of deck, quivering and whimpering.

A sudden, hard jerk threw them off balance, knocking them backwards onto the splintering deck. Scully felt her stomach roll as the ship began to move sharply, spinning in a circle, shaking rapidly. It felt as if it was moving downwards even as it sounds, being sucked under. "Maelstrom," Scully whispered, remembering what Helsing and Weberg had said on the dock.

Mulder helped her back to her feet, his hand curved around her elbow in support. Water sloshed over the deck, swirling black around their ankles  In a stumbling, sideways gait, they managed to get to the lifeboat. He laced his fingers together and gripped her foot, giving her a boost up, and she pulled herself onto the boat, lying sprawled briefly on the orange deck. She sat up with a pained grunt, reaching over the side for Mulder, to help him up, but he wasn't there. "Mulder?" she called in confusion, looking around desperately and finding him, moving away from the boat.

The water was still filling the crumpling deck, rising as she could feel them sinking. The water was up to Mulder's knees now. She called his name again, but he was still walking away. Her eyes jerked to follow his motion, his movements, and saw that he was headed for the dog. Cetus, halfway submerged in water, barking urgently and pleadingly. Mulder reached the dog and gripped him gently, moving him back towards the boat as the water level rose. Scully's eyes filled unintentionally with tears.

By the time Mulder reached the lifeboat, the water level had risen even further, lapping at his shoulders and nudging the lifeboat back and forth. Scully fumbled over the edge, grabbing for Cetus and pulling him over the side with effort. He whimpered, huddling in a ball against the side. Scully reached for Mulder next, and he took her hand and half-rolled over the side of the boat. He fumbled at his pocket again and came up with Jacob's knife, which he used to begin to saw at the cables holding up the boat. "Scully, can you working the steering?" he shouted over the roar of the water.

The ship was sinking into the maelstrom, but they might have just one wild chance to get out. Scully ran across the boat to the small steering wheel console, equipped to motor the boat back to shore. She prayed that the lifeboat had gas, prayed that it would somehow be enough to escape whatever the hell was trying to kill them. She tried to tell herself that Richard Kellerman had likely been restrained in that lifeboat, and wouldn't have been able to drive off anyway, that the fact that they could drive this lifeboat might give them more of a chance.

Mulder sawed at the cables quickly, severing one and running across the small deck to sever the other. Scully let her foot hover over the gas, her hands clutching the steering wheel. As soon as she felt the boat drop, she yanked the wheel hard, pulling it out of the wreckage of the larger boat and hitting the edge of the whirlpool full on. She could feel the tug of the maelstrom, but it only made her push the gas harder. The front part of the boat broke into clearer waters and she steered that way, feeling the back part go into a spin as it broke free. And then, suddenly, she felt a force slam down behind them into the ocean, a large wave pushing at the back of the boat, almost flipping it over. Scully cursed under her breath, keeping her foot plastered to the gas. She could hear Cetus whimpering. Behind her, she could hear the popping sound of Mulder firing his gun.

She looked over her shoulder, gingerly, and saw it. The thing that Mulder called the Kraken. She couldn't see the whole thing, but she could see the crest of its head, rounded with its glittering yellow eyes. Could see the dark, waving shape of an unspeakably massive tentacle, risen shadowily in the air, looming over them. Debris littered the dark, churning water around it. Jacob Kellerman was nowhere to be found.

Mulder pulled the trigger again, and he must've hit that time because Scully heard that same otherworldly shriek. Whatever it was, it was mad. The tentacle yanked back.

Scully looked away; she couldn't watch anymore. She kept her foot pressed to the gas and looked out on the horizon, foggy and pitch black.

---

The rain had stopped. Scully didn't know how much time passed before they knew they were safe, before Mulder started to comfortably move around the boat again. He came over to the spot where she was driving and touched her shoulder gently. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

She nodded, turning slightly towards him and wincing as she did. "Fine. My ribs hurt a little, but I'll be okay until we get back to the mainland."

He nodded, his face serious. The two of them stayed silent, their eyes meeting, until he seemed to realize that he was still touching her shoulder. He took his hand away, so quickly Scully wondered if he was thinking about that moment on the boat. "Here, I'll drive for a while," he offered, tapping the dashboard with the flat of his palm.

"I'm okay, Mulder," she tried.

But he shook his head and motioned her away. "Get some rest," he said gently. "I've got this."

She nodded, only a little reluctant, and stepped aside, sitting gingerly with her back against the side of the boat, wincing as she went. Almost as soon as she'd say, Cetus was at her side, curling up beside her, warm despite his soaked fut. She draped an arm over his back, grateful for his presence. She still couldn't believe Mulder had gone back to save him. Cetus moved his wet paws to her lap and she relaxed, her hands tangled in his wildlife fur. She shut her eyes, exhausted. She could still hear Mulder, his foot on the gas, propelling the boat back to shore.

"Thanks for saving me back there," she murmured, and the memory made her face flush with shame. How the hell could she ever have thought he would shoot at her, even in an irrational split second? He'd resisted a man who could control people's actions in order not to shoot at her, and he'd been so distraught and horrified in the aftermath… the same way she had been feeling ever since her own incident. She bit her lower lip and opened her eyes to look at Mulder, his still face against the gradually lightening sky.

She looked at Mulder, and saw his hands shaking, just a little, on the wheel. "Thanks for knocking me out of the way," he said softly.

"I had to," she said immediately, without thinking. She looked down at her hands in Cetus's fur, her chipped nail polish, and added quickly, "I didn't have my gun. So I wouldn't have been able to…" She trailed off, feeling foolish. It was incredibly stupid not to bring her gun. She hadn't thought she'd need it, but look what happened. She had managed to save Mulder, but she still needed her gun. If she'd had her gun while confronting Kellerman, they might've made it out of there sooner.

"You saw through Jacob Kellerman," said Mulder. "You figured him out. If you hadn't done that, who knows what would've happened? Or if we would've made it out?"

"It was pure luck," she said quietly. "I only figured it out because of the sleeping pills."

"Still, you figured it out. I didn't."

She shrugged, her muscles tense, her hand limp on the back of Cetus. "You were right about… that thing," she said quietly, and heard Mulder chuckle amusedly. "Still, it was irresponsible for me not to bring my gun. It was an inexperienced move, and I should have known better, even if it wasn't an official case."

Mulder was quiet for a moment, the only sound the slosh of waves against the boat and the buzz of the motor. "Scully, I want you to take all the time you need… if you're not ready to work cases…"

"I am," she said quickly. "I am. It was just… difficult to have my gun on me. After everything." Her jaw locked into place, and she looked away quickly. She could still see it, her gun pointed right at him as she accused him of all of these things.

Mulder took a shaky breath. "It was… it was like that for me, after Modell," he said. "I understand."

"Yeah," she said softly. As if sensing her mood, Cetus got to his feet and licked her cheek.  

"It's been a long few months," Mulder added, his head bent forward over the wheel. "A long year. A hard year. I…" His voice cracked, trailing off. "It's been hard."

“It has been,” she agreed, her voice husky. It was easy to forget at times, but Mulder had lost his father right around the same time she’d lost Melissa. He had been on the other end of every horrible thing she had said a few weeks ago, and with Modell, he had been the one holding the gun. He was probably in as much pain as she was.

She remembered, suddenly, the conversation they’d had the night before when he was half asleep from the sleeping pills Jacob had given him. Something he’d said right before falling asleep. “Mulder,” she said softly, gingerly, “last night, you said that you thought that you lost me.”

There was a long moment of silence. When Scully looked up, she could see Mulder staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched. His hands shaking on the wheel. “Muder,” she said again, gentler this time, “did you… did you think I was going to leave, after what happened on the last case?” It was perhaps the only thing that made sense, because as far as she could tell, she had never been in danger; he had been the one to almost die, this time. She was speaking earnestly, quickly, because she needed him to know. “Mulder, I would never have… I didn’t mean those things I accused you of,” she said, because she’d told him in the hospital, but she needed to tell him again. “I don’t blame you for any of it. I hope you know that I would never willingly hurt…”

“Scully,” he was saying, holding up a hand, and then he was stopping the boat, letting it drift. He was taking his foot off the gas and turning to her, sitting down across  from her with his back against the control panel. The space was small; his feet lay on the deck next to her calves, his hands limp on his legs. His face was white. “Scully, you don’t need to apologize for any of that.”

“Mulder…”

“They thought that they found your body.” The words startled her; she froze, her fingers automatically clenching in Cetus’s fur. Mulder wouldn’t meet their eyes. “While you were missing,” he murmured. “They thought that they found your body, and they wanted me to identify it down at the morgue.”

Her chest tight, all she could manage was an uneasy, “Oh.” Mulder nodded.

The memory of thinking him dead last year was crowding her mind, in the period just before she lost Melissa, and she couldn’t imagine what he must have been feeling. Thinking she had lost him last year had been bad enough, but a part of her had believed that he was still alive. She couldn’t imagine going to the morgue to identify his body. “Mulder,” she said softly, and she leaned across the space between them and took his hand. “I’m okay. I’m still here.”

He squeezed her hand, holding it tightly. She didn’t let go. A part of her didn’t want to let go. They sat that way for a long moment, holding hands stretched over their small space.

Finally, Mulder spoke. “I’m sorry I took you to Norway.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “You said that last night.”

“I’m still sorry,” he said, but he was grinning a little, too, just slightly.

“We got out of it alive,” she said. “That’s what matters.”

“We’re still out at sea, Scully,” he pointed out, and she nudged him hard with her knee. He shrugged. “At least we got to see the Kraken.”

“We almost got killed by a giant squid,” Scully retorted. “I wouldn’t call that something to celebrate.”

“Or we survived a monster that few people actually escape. That’s worth celebrating in my book.”

“Mmm.” She slipped her fingers out of his gently, stroking the sleeping dog’s head. “It’s like you said, Mulder. The monster is just a species that hasn’t been discovered yet.”

“Too bad we didn’t get a picture of some sort.” Mulder tapped his foot against her leg. “We could’ve published an article.”

“Mulder, we’ve seen what looking for this animal does to people. Making its existence public would just send more people into a dangerous situation.” She sighed, her head falling back against the side of the boat. “Not to mention that we’re going to somehow have to explain to Norwegian law enforcement, and Mary Kellerman, what happened to Jacob Kellerman. I have a feeling the Bureau is not going to be very happy with us.”

“We have evidence on our side, even if it’s not a lot,” Mulder said. “I still have Kellerman’s knife, which hopefully still has Kellerman’s fingerprints on it. And Mary Kellerman can hopefully explain the reason she brought us here. Maybe Richard Kellerman’s friends can vouch for us, too.”

“Hmm.” Scully closed her eyes, utterly exhausted. “You’re going to explain this one to Skinner.”

He nudged her with his foot again, his leg warm against hers. “I will. I swear.”

---

They got picked up by the Norwegian coast guard a few hours later, as the sun began to rise above the horizon. Onshore, they were met by the Norwegian police investigating Richard Kellerman’s disappearance, who had apparently already talked to Mary Kellerman. They didn’t seem overly happy of Mulder and Scully’s involvement in the case, but they didn’t seem overly distrusting, either. One officer drove Scully to the hospital to have her ribs looked at, at Mulder’s repeated insistence, while Mulder gave his statement to the others.

Scully gave her own account of the night to the female officer, including her conclusion that Jacob Kellerman had been behind his father’s disappearance. The officer didn’t look surprised. “We actually suspected him as well,” she said. “He had no alibi for the night that Richard went missing, and Mary Kellerman said that she couldn’t get in touch with him.”

The part she found the most suspicious was the part about the animal attack. “You think that… a giant squid attacked you?” she asked, a little incredulously.

“It was… something,” Scully said uncomfortably. “Some hit the side of the boat. It was so dark out that it was hard to confirm anything, or really see what it was… but it destroyed the ship, and it pulled Jacob Kellerman overboard.”

She couldn’t tell if the officer believed her or not, but she let the line of questioning end and left Scully to wait for the doctor. After she was confirmed to have two cracked ribs (she winced, remembering the weight that sent her flying), and had the small cut made from Jacob’s knife cleaned bandaged, she was released, and found Mulder waiting for her downstairs. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?” he asked as he got to his feet and came to greet her. He was dressed in his own clothes now, having shed the wet, borrowed fishing clothes Scully was unfortunately still clad in.

“I’m fine. They gave me some painkillers,” she said, shrugging it off. “What happened with local law enforcement?”

Mulder shrugged. “They at least believe that Jacob Kellerman’s death was an accident,” he said. “They found traces of the sleeping pills in my system, and traces of your blood on the knife, and the Coast Guard found the wreckage of the boat. They apparently were investigating Jacob themselves, and suspected he was on the boat with his father; Mary said that they questioned her about his whereabouts.”

“You talked to Mary already?” Scully asked, sympathy immediately flooding her at the thought of Mary. She couldn’t imagine losing your husband and your son so close together like that.

Mulder nodded grimly. “She was very upset, particularly at the fact that Jacob was responsible for Richard’s death. She said she couldn’t believe he would do that.”

“It seems like everyone in her family failed her in one way or another,” said Scully, wincing. She’d write Mary a letter of apology when they got home. She at least owed her that. She was sorry they couldn’t save her son, sorry that they’d revealed that he was the one to kill his father. Despite Jacob’s denials, she knew that he’d at least taken away his ability to try to escape the beast, if not doomed him completely. “I feel horrible for her.”

“She was very shaken. A friend of hers came to pick her up, so at least she’ll have someone to stay with.”

They fell into a solemn silence as they began walking towards the door together. Mulder reached for Scully’s arm to try and support her as they walked. She sighed and let him; it was easier than arguing. “Have you talked to Skinner?” she asked.

He nodded, opening the door. “They called him, I guess to confirm that we were United States FBI agents. He vouched for us, but he’s not very happy.”

“Meaning?” She raised her eyebrows, encouraging him to get to the point.

“Meaning we might have some extra vacation days when we get back to DC.”

She sighed again, heavier this time, but she couldn’t be completely annoyed. As much as she was dying to get back into the field, she could probably use the extra time to recuperate from her latest injury, and to get in the right mindset for working in the field. Get used to having her gun again. “I should’ve known this little vacation would get me suspended,” she said, poking him in the arm. “You owe me one.”

“You can pick the next case, when we come back,” said Mulder. They were most of the way to the car; Scully’s forehead wrinkled in slight confusion when she saw that the back window was open. “Our flight’s in two hours. I went by the hotel to get our stuff; too bad we never got to stay there. It was a nice place.”

Scully nodded in agreement, remembering the sprawling view of the water. She looked down at her feet briefly and saw the gray fur still all over her borrowed pants. She remembered Cetus, then, and asked, “What happened to Cetus?” She was hoping that Mary Kellerman took him, for the company, before she remembered that Mary was allergic to dogs. She hoped that Mulder hadn’t just dumped him back at the docks.

“Oh, yeah,” Mulder said, a little sheepishly. “About that.”

They reached the car, and he motioned towards the back window. When Scully looked into, she saw Cetus sprawled across the floor of their rental car, adorned with what must’ve been a new collar and leash. When he saw her peering in, he opened his mouth wide in a goofy, canine grin and wagged his tail wildly. She smiled despite herself. “Mulder, what did you do?” she asked incredulously, opening the door and letting Cetus bound out.

“Whoa!” Mulder caught the dog by the paws before he could jump on Scully and lowered him to the ground. “I thought you might like to take him home with you,” he said tentatively, addressing her. “Mary Kellerman couldn’t take him—I asked, but she’s pretty severely allergic. And I didn’t think we should drop him back at the dock.”

“Oh, Mulder,” she muttered, not sure whether to thank him or roll her eyes at him. Cetus bumped his large head against her leg and she reached down to pet him.

“Scully, I-I know he’s not Queequeg,” Mulder offered, “and I’m not trying to replace him. We can take him back if you want. I just thought… considering everything, you might want some company.” Cetus licked her hand, and she smiled again. “And you know, this guy has already survived a cryptid attack,” he added. “Seems like good luck to me.”

“Mulder, you should quit while you’re ahead,” she told him, turning to shoot him a look. He shrugged in an apologetic manner, and she added a quiet, “Thank you,” her voice choked with gratefulness.

Cetus leaned over to lick Mulder’s hand affectionately. Mulder wiped his hand on his pants and patted the dog on the head. “At least this one actually likes me,” he said lightly, grabbing the leash and motioning Cetus in the car.

She bumped her shoulder against his, reaching in to give Cetus one last pat before she closed the door. “I suppose that is a perk.”

---

They made their flight. Mulder figured out where to take Cetus so that he could travel on the plane, and paid the extra fees for his travel. Scully tried to convince him not to, but he insisted on it. “I’ve got to be nice to you so that you’ll pick a good case when the time comes,” he teased, and she rolled her eyes.

The flight was as long as the last one, stretching into the night, and Scully decided to take sleeping pills, hoping that sleeping for the flight would help with jet lag and stave off the pain. She fell asleep before takeoff and woke up in an awkward position, bent halfway over in her seat with her head lolling against Mulder’s shoulder. He must’ve taken her seatbelt off, because she couldn’t feel it cutting into her stomach or neck.

She sat up, with effort, and stretched gingerly, her eyes and mouth fuzzy, adjusting to the dark of the cabin. The pain in her ribs wasn’t as bad as it had been this morning, which she was grateful for. She’d thought Mulder was asleep, so it was a big startling when he turned to her, his eyes wide open in the dark. “Hey,” she murmured, yawning.

“Hey,” he whispered in response. He reached down to tap on the small window next to him. “I think I saw the Kraken down there.”

She yawned again, rubbing at her eyes. He was ridiculous, she thought with absent affection. “Somehow I doubt that, Mulder. We’re thousands of miles away from Norway, and we’re very high up. And it’s dark.”

“I think I saw a tentacle or something,” he said, leaning his seat back and motioning to the window. “Look.”

She leaned over him, gingerly, and looked. She didn’t have a very good view, but she could see the sky. And far below them, the endless black waves of the sea.

“Do you see it?” Mulder whispered. His arm pressed warmly against hers, leaning towards the window so he could look, too.

“No,” she whispered back. But she didn’t move. She stayed there with him, looking out the tiny window down at the sea, watching.

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Twelve → in which Lilac is a Disaster Lesbian

“Is everyone okay?” Lilac asked. 

The Baudelaires shakily looked to each other as they stumbled down the ladder. They heard the echoey voice beneath them, shouting instructions, but they weren’t really paying attention; Nick had once again strapped Solitude to his back, and Lilac was struggling to reach the ground with Sunny in her arms. 

“As good as we can be.” Klaus said. 

“How’s your arm?” Violet asked. 

“I’ll be fine.” Lilac said, glancing down. “It’s not even that bad.” 

The voice got louder as they descended, and they could hear, “Aye! Don’t fall! Mind your step! Aye! Don’t trip! Don’t make noise! Don’t scare me! Don’t look down! No, look where you’re going!” 

“Aye?” Sunny asked. 

“Another word for ‘yes.’” Klaus defined. 

“Aye! Keep your eyes open! Look out below! Look out above! Look out for spies! Look out! Aye!” 

The Baudelaires almost found themselves giggling; even Nick, who was not having a good day in the slightest, smirked slightly. “God.” he muttered. “I wish we’d died in the stream.” 

“Shh! We’re almost there!” Violet giggled. 

They reached the bottom of the ladder, finding themselves in a tight passageway. Lilac carefully placed Sunny on the ground but still held her hand, while Nick just shook and grabbed onto Klaus’s arm, still keeping Solitude on his back. “It’s too small.” he whispered. 

Klaus gave him a comforting squeeze. “There’s probably a big room up ahead.” he said. “Let’s go down and see.” 

They started down the hall, still hearing the voice, sounding cheerful and a bit scattered. “Hold onto the railing! Aye, on, hold onto yourselves! No, hold onto your hats! No, hold onto your hands! No, hold on! Wait a minute! Wait a second! Stop waiting! Stop hesitating! Stop war! Stop injustice! Stop bothering me! Aye!” 

When the Baudelaires finally reached the end of the passage, they found themselves stepping into a small, dim room, and standing in the room, a very tall man dressed in a shiny suit with a picture of Herman Melville etched onto it. 

“There are a lot of you aren’t, there?” he said. “Wait, no- there are less than I thought. Is there less than there should be? No, that’s six. There were six of you? Hello! Good afternoon! Howdy!” 

“Um, hello.” Lilac said. “I’m Lilac B-” 

“Baudelaire!” the man interrupted. “I know! I’m not stupid! Aye! You’re the Bauelaires! The six Baudelaire children! Aye! The ones The Daily Punctilio blames for every crime they can think of but you’re really innocent but nevertheless in a big heap of trouble! Of course! Nice to meet you! In person! So to speak! Let’s go! Follow me! Aye!” 

The man whirled around and stomped out of the room, and Nick, still clinging to Klaus’s arm and trying not to cry, said, “Oh, I’ve got a great feeling about this already.” 

“Shut up, Nick.” Klaus said, squeezing his hand again, as they followed the man. 

They went down a hallway covered in pipes, listening to the man ramble on and on. Sunny yawned and rolled her eyes, but Lilac was too tired and stressed to scold her. 

“Let’s see! I’ll put you to work right away! Aye! No- first I’ll give you a tour! No- I’ll give you lunch! No- I’ll introduce you to my crew! No- I’ll let you rest! No- I’d better get you into uniforms! Aye! It’s important that everyone aboard wear a waterproof uniform in case the submarine collapses and we find ourselves underwater! Of course, in that case we’ll need diving helmets! Except Sunny, we don’t have one that can fit her, so I guess she’ll drown! No- she can curl up inside a diving helmet! Aye! The helmets have a tiny door on the neck just for such a purpose! Aye! I’ve seen it done!” 

“Can we kill him?” Violet whispered, looking very annoyed. “I bet I could drive the sub.”

Lilac spoke up. “Excuse me, but could you tell us who you are?” 

The man spun around on his heel, looking aghast. “What? You don’t know who I am? I’ve never been so insulted in my life! No- I have. Many times, in fact. Aye! I remember when Count Olaf turned to me and said, in that horrible voice of his- no, nevermind. I’ll tell you. I’m Captain Widdershins. That’s spelled W-I-D-D-E-R-S-H-I-N-S. Backward it’s S-N-I-H-S-R- well, nevermind. Nobody spells it backward! Except people who-” 

“Is this your submarine?” Nick asked, already tired. 

“What? You don’t know whose submarine it is? A researcher like yourself and you haven’t the faintest knowledge of submarine history?” 

“Actually,” Nick sighed, laying his head on Klaus’s shoulder as Soli wriggled around to try and get a good view of the captain, “He’s the researcher, I’m an… well, I…” 

“Of course this is my submarine! It’s been my submarine for years! Aye! Have you never heard of Captain Widdershins and the Queequeg? Have you never heard of the Submarine Q and its Crew of Two? That’s a little nickname I made up myself! With a little help! Aye!” 

“Um-” Violet began. 

“I would think Josephine would have told you about the Queequeg! After all, I patrolled Lake Lachrymose for years! Poor Josephine! There’s not a day I don’t think of her! Aye! Except some days when it slips my mind!” 

“Nottooti?” Sunny asked, as Nick finally moved to unstrap Soli from his back. 

Captain Widdershins looked down at Sunny with a frown. “I was told it would take me some time to understand everything you said! I’m not sure I’ll find the time to learn another foreign language! Aye!” 

“What my sister means,” Lilac said, “Is that she’s curious how you know so much about us.” 

“How does anyone know anything about anything?” Widdershins replied. “I read it, of course! Aye! I’ve read every Volunteer Factual Dispatch I’ve received! Although lately I haven’t received any! Aye! That’s why I’m glad you happened along! Aye! I thought I might faint when I peered through the periscope and saw your damp little faces staring back at me! Aye! I was sure it was you, but I didn’t hesitate to ask you the password! Aye! I never hesitate! Aye! That’s my personal philosophy!” 

The captain stopped in the middle of the hallway, and pointed to a brass plaque attached to the wall. A large VFD eye was carved into the top, and beneath it, the words THE CAPTAIN’S PERSONAL PHILOSOPHY. 

Widdershins read the words underneath for them. “He who hesitates is lost!” 

“Or she.” Violet added, pointed to a pair of words in scratchy handwriting. 

“Ah, aye,” the captain said absently, leading them down the hall again, “My stepdaughter added that! Aye! And she’s right! ‘Or she’! One day I was walking down this very hallway and I realized that anyone can be lost if they hesitate! A giant octopus could be chasing you-” 

“You know,” Nick muttered to Klaus, as Widdershins prattled on, “I was kidnapped, tortured in practically every way and then shoved into a statue-” 

“If you say, ‘but I’d rather be there than listening to this shit,’” Klaus said, “I’m going to slap you.” 

“Well, I was going to say ‘bullshit’, does that count?” 

“I’m glad you’re past your ‘let’s kill everyone’ spurt,” Klaus said, “But this dark humor isn’t gonna help.” 

“What are you, a therapist?” 

“I’m just-” 

“Maybe if I hadn’t hesitated,” the captain continued over the boys’ argument, “The Queequeg would have been repaired by now! Aye! The Submarine Q and its Crew of Two is not in the best of shape, I’m afraid! Aye! We’ve been attacked by villains and leeches, by sharks and realtors, by pirates and girlfriends, by topedores and angry salmon! Aye! That’s why I’m glad you’re here, Lilac and Violet Baudelaire! We’re desperate for someone with mechanical smarts!” 

Lilac bit her lip. “We’ll see what we can do.” 

“Though Lilac’s better at repair than I am.” Violet added. 

“Well, take a look!” Captain Widdershins shouted, before walking to a large metal door and swinging it open. 

The Baudeaires followed him into an enormous room, filled to the brim with pipes, between all of which were either panels of knobs, gears and tiny screens, or tiny signs saying things like DANGER! WARNING! or HE WHO HESITATES IS LOST! Here and there were a few green lights, and at the far end was a huge wooden table piled with books, maps and dirty dishes, underneath a large porthole. 

“This is the belly of the beast!” Widdershins announced. “Aye! It’s the center of all operations aboard the Queequeg! This is where we control the submarine, eat our meals, research our missions and- hold on!” 

He strode over to a panel and ducked his head beneath it. “Fiona! Come out of there!” 

Lilac glanced around the room, starting to tie back her hair. “I could probably work with this.” she said. “I’ve seen panels like these before, and I read a book on-” 

She immediately stopped speaking and her face went a bright scarlet as a girl swung herself out from under the panel. 

A girl about the same age as Lilac slid out, rushing halfway across the floor on a small wheeled platform. She had a suit just like Widdershins’s, and she tossed a thick braid over her shoulder as she handed a pair of pliers to her stepfather before grabbing a pair of triangular eyeglasses off of the shelves. 

“Baudelaires,” the captain said, “This is Fiona, my stepdaughter. Fiona, these are the Baudelaires.” 

“Charmed.” Fiona smiled, extending a gloved hand towards Lilac. 

Lilac stared, completely frozen at the sight of her. 

“Um, hello.” Violet shook her hand, shooting Lilac a concerned look. “Sorry, we’re all a bit shocked.” 

“That’s understandable.” Fiona said, shaking Klaus’s hand. Nick also flinched back, so she knelt down to shake hands with Solitude and Sunny. “You’re probably very tired. Stepfather-” 

“We haven’t received telegrams in quite some time, but Fiona can’t quite figure it out, aye!” Widdershins said. “Lilac, get to work!” 

Fiona flinched. “You’ll have to get used to the way my stepfather talks.” 

“We don’t have time to get used to anything!” Widdershins cried. “This is no time to be passive! He who hesitates is lost!” 

“Or she.” Fiona corrected quietly. She turned to the Baudelaires. “I’ll help you find uniforms, and then you can help with the telegram machine. I can’t make heads or tails of it.” 

“Me and Lilac might be able to figure it out.” Violet said. “Right, Li?” 

Lilac still had her eyes glued to Fiona, and her face was somehow getting redder. “Um…” was all she could say. “Um… I…” 

Nick realized what was going on first, and, to his siblings’ shock, he burst into a grin. “Oh.” he said. 

“I’m sorry.” Fiona narrowed her eyes. “Is something wrong?” 

“Come on, Lilac will be fine in a minute.” Nick said, elbowing Klaus. “She just needs to time to adjust. You know. Like Sappho.” 

Klaus and Violet gaped, suddenly understanding, and then they grinned, too. 

“What does-?” Fiona looked confused. 

“It’s not…” Lilac began. 

“Hurry up and get suited!” Widdershins bellowed. “Don’t hesitate! Aye! He-” 

“Is that Herman Melville on the suits?” Klaus interrupted, looking at the portrait. “He’s one of my favorite authors.” 

“Really?” Fiona asked. 

Klaus nodded excitedly. “I really enjoy the way he dramatizes the plight of overlooked people, such as poor sailors or exploited youngsters, through his strange, often experimental philosophical prose.” 

“Aye! He is a great author indeed!” Widdershins announced. “You’re a researcher, Klaus Baudelaire, is that correct? You and your brother can look over these tidal charts!” He gestured to a pile of papers on the table. “A certain taxi driver managed to smuggle these to me, but I can’t make head or tail of them! We have to figure out the exact course of the predominant tides at the point where the Stricken Stream meets the sea! Find uniforms and get to work immediately! Aye!” 

Nick bit his lip and glared. “We just got out of a raging river.” he said. “We fell off a waterfall.” 

“Yes, so you must get new clothes! Aye!” 

“I?” Sunny asked. 

“What can we do?” Solitude translated, grabbing onto Nick’s leg. 

“Perhaps you can look over the marine life in the area, aye!” Widdershins said. “You’re a biologist, right?” 

“Herpetologist.” Solitude said, and Babbitt chirped from her pocket. The sound went unnoticed by Widdershins, though Fiona gave her a curious glance. 

“As for Sunny, you can help in the kitchen! Aye!” Widdershins said. “Our second crewman has been in charge of cooking, but all he does is make terrible damp casseroles! I’m tired of them! I’m hoping your cooking skills might improve our meal situation!” 

“She’s a baby.” Nick said. 

“I see that!” 

“Stepfather,” Fiona began, “Perhaps-” 

“I like your glasses!” Lilac burst. 

Everyone fell silent, turning to stare at her. If Lilac’s face went any more red, it might explode. She grabbed a loose strand of hair- it was almost completely fallen from her pigtails- and pulled it over her face. 

Fiona bit her lip, and then gave her a smile and adjusted her glasses. “Thank you. I make them myself, we wouldn’t be able to trust optometrists even if we could get to the surface often.” 

Lilac pulled her hair even more over her face, and Violet giggled as Klaus said, “Oh, we get that. That’s very impressive.” 

“Yeah, I thought the triangular design-” 

“That’s enough!” Widdershins said impatiently. “You have to get them into uniforms! Aye! So Lilac and Violet can fix the telegram! Aye! And Nick and Klaus can read tidal charts! Aye! And Solitude can study marine life! Aye! And Sunny can help Cookie! Aye!” 

“Someone call for me?” 

The children heard quiet, uneven footsteps, and then a man limped through the door, wearing the same uniform as the captain and a wide smile on his face. “Baudelaires?” 

“Phil!” Violet cried. 

Klaus dragged Nick behind him as they ran over to Phil, and the toddlers followed closely; Lilac, still completely red, just glanced over and bit her lip. 

“Hello!” Phil said excitedly. “How are you all doing? I bet you’re doing great!” 

“What are you doing here?” Klaus asked. 

“He’s the second in our Crew of Two, aye!” the captain cried. “The original second in the crew of two was Fiona’s mother, but she died in a manatee accident quite a few years ago!” 

“I’m not so sure it was an accident.” Fiona said, but her stepfather ignored her. 

“Then we had Jacques!” the captain continued. “Aye, and then what’s-his-name, Jacques’s brother, and then a dreadful woman who turned out to be a spy, and finally we have Phil! Although I like to call him Cookie! I don’t know why!” 

“I was tired of working in the lumber industry,” Phil said, “And I was sure I could find a better job, and look at me now! Cook on a dilapidated submarine! Life keeps on getting better and better!” 

Violet smiled a little, as Nick clung a bit harder to Klaus’s arm. “I see you’re still an optimist.” 

“We don’t need an optimist!” Widdershins said. “We need a cook! Get to work, Baudelaires! All of you! Aye! We have no time to waste! He who hesitates is lost!” 

“Or she.” Fiona sighed. “And do we really have to start right this minute? I’m sure the Baudelaires are exhausted and confused. We could rest a little-” 

“Rest?” the captain said in astonishment. “We don’t have time for that! Aye! Today’s Saturday, which means we only have five days left! Thursday is the VFD gathering, and I don’t want anyone at the Hotel Denouement to say that the Queequeg hasn’t performed its mission!” 

“Mission?” Solitude asked. 

“Aye!” Captain Widdershins said. “We mustn’t hesitate! We must act! We must hurry! We must move!” 

“We must shut the fuck up.” Nick muttered under his breath. 

“We must search! We must investigate! We must hunt! We must pursue! We must stop occasionally for a brief snack! We must find the Sugar Bowl before Count Olaf does! Aye!”

[exploding-plastic-inevitable]

Ishmael/queequeg! 9, 18, 22 (feel free to just pick one if thats too much)

:D

18. As Encouragement. this kinda got away from me, hope it still fits the prompt enough for your liking!

CW for bad eating habits bordering on disordered eating

Ishmael had continuously thought of himself as a well built short of lad, having been shipped on a number of merchant vessales and pulled his weight just fine, finer, if he shall be so bold, than a number of his fellows.

But that was before his stint as a school teacher, a rather sedentary business, in which he had rather quickly lost track of the passing of months.  And, often, the passing of hours elapsing between meals.  Or how much his wallet could stand another volume or several of books on just the most fascinating of subjects before he’d reduced it to naught but an empty rag.

He’d never been much good at keeping track of anything by himself, and many where the nights he spent curled up with a candle and a good book and a gawing pain in his stomach working in tandem with the nagging feeling of danger, that so often came after sundown in all the long years before he’d met his soul’s mate, to keep him from any semblance of rest.

Being easy enough to ignore the loosening of this clothing, he’d never been one to pay much mind to fashion, and the jutting of his ribs and collarbone, for he was not vain and saw no reason to assess his own body wence it was not wounded in any bloody sort of way, it was not till he’d shipped once more that he’d truly known the tole those nights, and books, and hours, and months, had taken on his earthy form.

So it was to come that he had found himself, as the first evening on the Pequod dipped into night, under his bosom husband’s massaging hands, frail form making protestations in every aching muscle, for he’d been forced into overexertion on only their first day of laboring

Normally, such close attention from those firm, calloused didgets would excite him, but given the circumstance, and his exhaustion, they tipped him further towards the autoclave of despair. 

Queequeg may have seen the deep worry cress his husband’s face, or else sensed it in the way Ishmael had oft read true soulmates can feel the emotions in their counterpart, for he brought their foreheads together as he was of the habit of doing when his affection swelled beyond what his somewhat rudimentary grasp on the English language would allow him to express.  Perhaps, beyond what any spoken word would ever allow even the most eloquent to express through it alone.

Sighing as he leaned in, Ishmael felt, as was so common in his lover’s company, a degree of worry melt away.  Tormented he still was, yet the future already felt less certainly a mountain of trouble looming ahead of him.  Surely, with  Queequeg at his side, he was not to be cast off or met with some other unspeakably dreadful fate for his bodily weakness.

“Tomorrow, I bring food from harpooners to you.”

Ishmael nodded against him. Of course, Queequeg’s superior statues as a harpooner granted him superior access to food.  And if he was to grow stronger, his best bet would be to eat more, and better than his meals his own simple sailor statues granted him, which where hardly more than gruel.  “But what says the mates won’t catch wind? I can scaresly say the risk-”

“No risk.”  Queequeg smiled his rueful, deadly smile.  “They want catch whale, they keep me happy.”

Ishmael met his simple with his own, thin lipped and pleased.  There where certain benefits to a marriage to the greatest harpooner most hands on board had ever clapped eyes on he did not predict. 

“Tomorrow, you eat good.”  Queequeg declared, and so vigorous was Ishmael’s responding nodding that their heads where knocked apart.

With a laugh Queequeg brought them together once more, this time by the lips, nipping Ishmael just enough to prick his bottom lip, his own personal variety of a teasing lovebite.

They slept well that night, both of them, certain of their future’s path.  That it could hold nothing that together they could not face and surpass.

[vowel-in-thug]

so i’m reading Moby Dick for the first time ever and I really know nothing about it except it takes place on a whaling ship, and it’s all one long, giant metaphor.

I also pretty much assumed it would be pretty homoerotic, since it’s about sailors in the 1800s, and I’ve read Billy Budd, Sailor, which was written by Hawthorne, aka Melville’s boyfriend.

So I was expecting it to be pretty gay. But I’m only about 70 pages in and what has emerged is:

THE LOVE SONG OF ISHMAEL AND QUEEQUEG

Here are some examples:

Ishmael arrives at an inn and is told he’d have to share a bed with a stranger. Like I know bedsharing happened all the time in the past, but, this isn’t your average bedsharing. Oh no. Just you wait.

Ishmael spends his whole evening having a panic attack, because all he knows is his bedmate is a “harpooner” who is out trying to sell the last of his shrunken heads from his previous expedition. 

Human heads.

Ishmael does not want to share a bed with a guy who sells heads, but figures it’s late and this harpooner won’t be back for the night, he accepts the bed, but can’t sleep.

In comes the harpooner, Queequeg. Poor, innocent Queequeg, who wasn’t able to sell his last shrunken human head, and just wants to go to bed in peace and quiet. 

Ishmael is a giant FREAK and just lies in bed silently, pretending he isn’t there while watching Queequeg undress and homeboy is fucking WRECKED by Queequeg’s look, as he’s covered in tattoos and has a shaved head and generally looks like a fucking badass. Like Ishmael is lying there just DYING.

Then poor Queequeg gets into bed and RIGHTFULLY has a fucking meltdown because there is some weird quiet guy in his bed and nearly kills Ishmael with a tomahawk.

Then when everyone calms down and stops freaking out, Ishmael discovers Queequeg is a nice sort of chap, after discovering he is also a cannibal, and agrees to share a bed with him.

And his tomahawk. He willingly gets into bed with a cannibal, and his tomahawk.

And he “never slept better in my life.”

I’ll just quote the next morning: “Upon waking next morning about daylight, I found Queequeg’s arm thrown over me in the most loving and affectionate manner. You had almost thought i had been his wife.”

So yes I know men shared beds all the time but ya don’t bring spooning into it unless you WANT to bring spooning into it, ya feel me

“It was only be the sense of weight and pressure that I could tell that Queequeg was hugging me. My sensations were strange.”

He then goes on at length to describe a feeling he’d felt similar as a child of “weight and pressure” in the middle of the night that is either supposed to be a night terror, his stepmother molesting him, or the hand of God i don’t really know but he says he likes the feeling of Queequeg better.

Ishmael spends a good amount of time trying to get up and Queequeg keeps holding him tighter and grunting. Then when he finally wakes up they just stare at each other awkwardly like every fucking bedsharing fic I’ve ever read in my goddamn life. 

Queequeg gets out of bed and tells Ishmael he’ll get dressed first so Ishmael can get dressed privately, and so Ishmael watches him get dressed with the same level of creep as he watched him undress, especially when you consider Queequeg kept forgetting to put on his fucking pants.

“I begged him as well as I could...and particularly to get into his pantaloons as soon as possible.”

Then Ishmael goes to church and stuff, whatever. Queequeg is there but Ishmael spends too much time describing the chapel that he misses him leave.

Later they’re hanging out in the inn and Queequeg is minding his bizz, counting the pages in this book and not paying attention to Ishmael at all and Ishmael is like WHY WON’T SENPAI NOTICE ME

“Considering how sociably we had been sleeping together the night previous, and especially considering the affectionate arm I had found thrown over me upon waking in the morning, I thought this indifference of his very strange.”

Ishmael is getting pretty clingy already.

He then goes on to say he has “strange feelings. I felt a melting in me.” and thought “soothing” Queequeg has “redeemed” the world for him.

Finally Ishmael stops playing hard to get and approaches him and Queequeg asks if they’re going to be bedmates again and Ishmael is like YES ABSOLUTELY. 

“I thought he looked pleased, perhaps a little complimented.”

Then the spend the whole evening together, smoking and reading and talking, etc having a nice date.

“He seemed to take to me quite as naturally and unbiddenly as I to him; and when our smoke was over, he pressed his forehead against mine, clasped me around the waist, and said that henceforth we were married, he would gladly die for me, if need be.”

And Ishmael is super happy about this.

Then, before bed, Queequeg starts to pray and Ishmael gets jealous someone else is being worshipped. Then this quote, out of context BUT:

“And what do I wish this Queequeg would do to me?”

“AND WHAT DO I WISH THIS QUEEQUEG WOULD DO TO ME?”

Then Ishmael prays with him and kisses Queequeg’s nose.

I’m quoting the last paragraph in full because it all is too much and this is already long enough:

“How it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning. Thus, then, in our hearts’ honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg -- a cosy, loving pair.”

This book opens with Ishmael talking about how all men yearn for the sea but like, buddy, pal, friend-o, I don’t think that’s the only THIRST we talking about here.

Anyway, this book has exceeded my homoeroticism expectations and I’m enjoying myself quite a bit. 

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Thirteen → in which I bang my head against a table because I have to pay attention to Widdershins

Nick flinched back and grabbed even harder onto Klaus’s arm, enough that he let out a cry. 

“Shiver me timbers!” Sunny said, giggling. 

“The Sugar Bowl?” Klaus asked. 

“Aye! The Sugar Bowl!” Widdershins bellowed. “Do you think the Queequeg made its difficult way up the Stricken Stream just for fun? Aye? Do you think I would risk such terrible danger just for my own amusement?” Fiona raised an eyebrow there and shot Lilac a disgruntled look, which made Lilac blush harder. “Do you think it was a crazy coincidence you ran into our periscope? Aye?” 

“You were… looking for us?” Nick asked quietly, not looking very pleased. 

“For you! Aye! For the Sugar Bowl! Aye! For justice! Aye! And liberty! Aye! For an opportunity to make the world quiet! Aye! And safe! Aye! And we may only have until Thursday! Aye! We’re in terrible danger! Aye! So get to work!” 

“Bamboozle.” Sunny said, eyes wide. 

“My sister is confused, and so are we.” Violet said. “If we could just stop for a moment-” 

“Stop for a moment? I’ve just explained our desperate circumstances, and you’re asking me to hesitate! My dear girl, he who hesitates is lost! Now let’s get moving!” 

Nick and Violet both inhaled sharply, sharing identical looks of frustration, while Klaus took a deep breath, Solitude hmmphed and stomped her foot, and Sunny groaned. Lilac, meanwhile, was still staring at Fiona, who sighed. “Stepfather, why don’t you start up the engines, and I’ll show the Baudelaires where the spare uniforms are?” 

“I’m the captain!” the captain announced. “Aye! I’ll give the orders around here! Aye! I will start up the engines, aye!” He walked towards a small rope ladder and hoisted himself into the ceiling. 

“You must be overwhelmed, Baudelaires.” Phil said. “Why, I remember my first day in the Queequeg! It sure made Lucky Smells seem quiet!” 

Fiona waited until her stepfather disappeared, and then she burst into a grin. “Phil, you go get the Baudelaires some soda while I bring them to the spare room and get the uniforms!” 

“The soda’s for special occasions.” Phil said. 

“It is a special occasion! We have six new volunteers!” Fiona was practically bouncing. 

Nick flinched. “I’m not a volunteer.” he said quickly. 

“It’s alright, we’ll deal with formalities later.” Fiona said. “What soda you prefer?” 

“Anything but parsley.” Violet said. Then she glanced at Lilac and said, “Though, if you have coffee, Lilac is gonna need that, she hasn’t had her fix in days.” 

“I don’t think we have coffee.” Phil said. 

“No, no, we do!” Fiona looked ecstatic, and Lilac let out a squeal as Fiona grabbed her hands. “One of our previous crewmembers, the one who later turned out to be stealing information on VFD headquarters, she stockpiled a shitton- oh, sorry, I mean a lot of coffee.” 

“No, no, you’re fine.” Klaus said. “We swear all the fucking time.” 

“Thank fuck.” Fiona sighed. “Stepfather thinks it’s unladylike.” 

“Fuck that.” Solitude nodded, then she held out her hand, and Babbitt wriggled onto her palm. “This is Babbitt, my frog!” 

“Very fascinating.” Fiona knelt down. “That’s a rare species. Where did you get them? Wait, don’t tell me, from Dr Montgomery.” Solitude nodded. “You should be proud. This frog looks well taken care of, even though you’ve been on the run for so long.” She stood back up and said, “Well, like I was saying, I found a bunch of coffee stuff under her old bed, and while there’s not a lot of it left, there should be enough at least for today.” 

“Oh…” Lilac’s eyes widened. “If- if there’s not a lot-” 

“No, no! I’ll make you some coffee!” Fiona cheered. “This is a huge celebration! Come along, you can rest a bit while Stepfather’s not looking.” 

“I’ll get the rest of the drinks, then.” Phil said. He turned and started limping away. 

Klaus flinched. “I’m sorry about your leg, Phil.” 

“What?” Phil glanced down. “Oh, that wasn’t from the lumbermill. I was bitten by a shark last week! It was really painful, but most people don’t get the opportunity to see such a deadly animal up close!” 

He limped back through the kitchen door, and Fiona said, “Was he always this optimistic?” 

“Yes.” Violet said. 

“Honestly, I find it a bit tiresome.” Fiona shrugged. “Come along, Baudelaires. I’ll see if I can answer your questions as we walk - Lilac, come on.” 

The other Baudelaires had started following her down the corridor, but Lilac just stood and stared after her. Fiona sighed and grabbed her hand, which made Lilac look about ready to pass out. 

“Now, I’m sure you have lots of questions.” Fiona said as they walked. 

“Definitely.” Nick said. “Number one, how d-” 

“How did you know so much about us?” Klaus interrupted. 

Fiona smiled. “Your exploits aren’t exactly secret, Baudelaires. Nearly every day there’s been a story about you in the newspapers. Of course, those aren’t very trustworthy, but sometimes we can get the truth from them. We knew you’d been at the Village of Fowl Devotees, and at the Heimlich Hospital and Caligari Carnival, and that you must have figured out the secret message on the map that would lead you to Headquarters. I assumed you’d be heading down the mountain once you realized it was destroyed, so I set a course for the Stricken Stream.” 

Violet blinked at her. “You came all this way just to find us?” 

Fiona looked down. “Well, no. You weren’t the only thing at VFD Headquarters. One of our Volunteer Factual Dispatches- coded telegrams- told us that the Sugar Bowl was there was well.” 

Lilac finally spoke up, very quietly, as they maneuvered around a pipe. “We, um, didn’t see it in the ruins.” 

“It got thrown out the window when the fire began.” Fiona answered. “If they threw it from the kitchen, it would have landed in the Stricken Stream and been carried by the water cycle all the way down the mountains. We were seeing if it was at the bottom of the stream when we happened upon you.” 

“The stream probably carried it much further than this.” Klaus said thoughtfully. 

“I think so, too,” Fiona said, “And I’m hoping you can help me read my stepfather’s tidal charts. I can’t make head or tail of them.” 

“Nick and I can show you how to read them, it’s not difficult.” 

“That’s what worries me. If those charts aren’t difficult to read, then Count Olaf might have a chance of finding the Sugar Bowl before us. My stepfather says that if the Sugar Bowl falls into his hands, then all of the efforts of all the volunteers will be for naught.” 

They stopped at a small door, and Fiona said, “This is our supply room. You should be able to find enough uniforms for all of you. We have one that shrunk when stepfather tried to wash it that might be able to fit Solitude, though I’m afraid we might not have anything that would fit Sunny.” 

“Pinstripe.” Sunny said. 

Fiona let go of Lilac’s hand in order to open the door, and Lilac blushed again and translated, “What my sister means is that she’s used to ill-fitting clothing.” 

“Don’t worry, I know what she means.” Fiona smiled over at Lilac. “I used to speak similarly, and I remember a bit of it. You’ll also need diving helmets, in case this submarine springs a leak.” She sighed. “This submarine used to be in wonderful shape, but without a mechanic, it’s not quite up to its former glory.” 

“Well,” Violet said, smirking, “Good thing Lilac’s here. She’s great at fixing things.” 

“Violet.” Lilac muttered, trying to get her to stop talking. 

“Fiona?” Nick said quietly, looking over at her. 

His siblings gave him a worried glance, and Fiona said, “Yes?” 

“If… if you and your stepfather have been following our progress- or lack thereof-” he stared at her, a soft accusation in his eyes. “Why didn’t you help us?” 

Violet and Klaus flinched; Klaus subtly squeezed his hand tighter, and Lilac and Violet stepped a bit towards him, remembering how furious he got the last time he encountered someone who could have helped them. He simply stared at Fiona, who looked very, very sad. 

“I wanted to.” she said. “Especially after we found out that you… nobody should be under the control of the firestarters. But my stepfather said we couldn’t do anything about it. That your troubles were too enormous.” 

Nick kept staring at her. “I don’t understand.” 

“I don’t, either.” she assured him, glancing down at Solitude, who had moved to hug her brother’s leg, and Sunny, who was curiously blinking up at her. “My stepfather said that the amount of treachery in this world is enormous, and that the best we could do was one small noble thing. That’s why we’re looking for the Sugar Bowl. You’d think accomplishing such a small task would be easy, but we’ve been looking for ages and still haven’t found it.” 

“What’s so important about the Sugar Bowl?” Solitude asked. 

Fiona sighed again, looking even more sad. “I don’t know.” she whispered. “He won’t tell me.” 

“Whyno?” Sunny asked. 

“He said it was better I don’t know. There are some secrets in the world too terrible for young people to know.” 

“If you’re risking your life for this thing,” Nick said, “You should know why.” 

Fiona swung the door open. “I think so, too. But I can’t do anything about it, can I?” She gestured for the Baudelaires to step inside the room and find their uniforms. “Your rooms are to the left, down the hall. You can share, or there’s two you can split.” 

They didn’t move for a second. Then Lilac reached forwards and grabbed Fiona’s hands in a comforting gesture, as Nick said, “You deserve better.” 

Fiona sighed, pulled away from Lilac, and left them alone. 

“So. Lilac.” Violet said, smiling as she rolled up the sleeves on her uniform, “What do you think of Fiona?” 

They had moved into the room with the most bunk beds, and Lilac had thrown up a curtain to give them some privacy while they changed. Solitude and Sunny were behind it now, with Soli helping her little sister get into her large uniform, as Lilac and Violet rolled back their sleeves- which were a bit too big- and Klaus adjusted his boots. Nick was still in his sweater, sitting on a lower bunk and hugging his knees. 

Lilac blushed and glared at Violet. “What do you mean?” 

Violet and Klaus shared an excited look. “She’s real pretty, isn’t she?” 

“Stop it.” 

“You like her.” 

“Stop it!” 

“Thought we were too young to date.” Klaus giggled, sliding his commonplace book into a waterproof pocket. 

“No, no, dear brother,” Nick said, actually smiling a little. “That’s just us. Lilac’s fifteen, that’s practically an old maid.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Are you gonna marry her? Is she gonna be our new big sister?” Violet asked. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” 

“It’s karma.” Klaus giggled. 

“Also,” Nick added, “We’re your baby siblings, it’s our job.” 

“I will kill you.” Lilac huffed, sitting beside Nick in order to start braiding her hair back. 

“Good luck trying.” Violet sat on another bunk bed, fiddling with her ribbon. 

“Done!” Solitude called, pulling back the curtain as Sunny toddled through. “We just rolled up the pants a bit!” 

“Looks great, Sunny.” Lilac smiled. “Nick, you head back.” 

Nick flinched. “Actually, um, I… I kinda want to stay. In the sweater.” 

They all gave him sad looks, knowing why. “Well…” Lilac said. “You do need a suit. I… I can grab one a size bigger. You can probably put it over your clothes. It might be a bit loose-” 

Nick bit his lip. “I… um…” He shut his eyes and sighed. “Nevermind, it’s fine.” 

“Nick, really-” 

“I’ll just take this one. I don’t want to be any trouble.” 

“But-” 

“It’s fine.” Nick reached into his pockets, pulling out everything he had there- the handmirror, a box of Verdant Flammable Devices, and a small photo. 

Lilac eyed the picture as he put it on the table, next to the other items his siblings taken out of their pockets. “You still have that?” 

“You never asked for it back after the carnival.” he shrugged. “You can take it, it’s your baby picture.” 

“It’s… fine.” 

“It’s honestly a miracle it’s not wet.” Nick laughed slightly. “We were in that stream forever. Anyway, I’ll… I’ll just put my clothes under a bunk somewhere. Klaus, don’t leave that spyglass on the desk, we could need it. Might make a useful weapon if we have to make a quick getaway.” 

“Why?” Sunny asked. 

Nick didn’t answer. He just took his suit and stepped behind the curtain.

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Sixteen → in which the Crew goes swimming

They were awoken by another crash. “God.” Nick threw a pillow over his head. “Fiona, I hate your stepdad.” 

Fiona groaned and sat up, rubbing her eyes. “We must’ve hit something. We better go see what the situation is.” 

“Or,” Violet suggested, staring at the top of her bunk, “We could stay here and wait for death to come for us.” 

They groaned, but eventually got up and moved through the submarine halls. Nick picked up Solitude and held her close as she tried to fall asleep against his shoulder, Babbitt hopping onto his other shoulder and letting out a small yawn, while Violet held a bleary Sunny. 

They heard what sounded like a very suspicious watery noise, and Nick said, “If this submarine is flooding, I’ll take one for the team and die first.” 

“Nobody’s dying.” Lilac sighed, not looking him in the eye. 

They walked into the main hall, where Widdershins and Phil were looking out the porthole at an inky blackness. 

“Are we in hell yet?” Nick asked. 

“Aye! No! We’re in the Gorgonian Grotto!” Widdershins announced. 

“What was that crash?” Solitude asked, rubbing her eyes. 

“The submarine is damaged! Isn’t that exciting?” Phil said. 

“Wonderful.” Violet sighed. 

“Well, it’s not damaged that badly!” Widdershins said. “She’ll hold for now! We reached the Gorgonian Grotto an hour ago, and I was able to steer us inside with no problem! But the cave got narrower and narrower as we maneuvered further and further inside.” 

Nick slowly reached out to grab Violet’s arm. “So we’re stuck?” 

“No, no.” Klaus reassured him. “The book said that the Grotto was conical, which means it’s shaped like a cone; we’ll be able to back out with no problem.” 

“Aye!” Widdershins said. “But that means it’s too narrow for the submarine to travel further! If we want to retrieve the Sugar Bowl, we’ll have to use something smaller!” 

“Periscope?” Sunny asked. 

“No!” Widdershins replied. “Children! Aye!” 

“What?” Nick flinched back, horrified. 

“Aye! We have diving suits! We may just have enough for all of you! That way you have a better chance of finding the bowl! Aye!” 

“No.” Nick shook his head, gripping Violet’s arm harder, and Solitude hugged him. “No, I can’t go in there.” 

“Of course you can! Aye! It’s for the Sugar Bowl!” 

“If Nick doesn’t think he can go in there, he doesn’t have to.” Lilac said.  

“This is for the Sugar Bowl! Aye! It’s for VFD! Aye! It’s-” 

“I am not,” Nick spat, “Throwing myself into a narrow cavern I could get trapped in just for your stupid fucking cult.” 

Widdershins narrowed his eyes. “You don’t sound like a very good Volunteer!” 

“Good.” 

“How about some of us stay here and do more research,” Violet suggested, squeezing Nick’s hand, “And the rest of us look for the Sugar Bowl? I can stay with Nick and try to work with the submarine. Nick, maybe you can dig through books and see if you can find anything on the Gorgonian Grotto, or the Great Unknown, and read it to me while I work.” 

“Sure. Maybe.” Nick shrugged. 

“Ekab!” Sunny said, which meant, “I can stay here and cook!” 

“I’ll go, then.” Solitude said. 

“No!” Nick said. 

“They may need someone really small.” Solitude shrugged, reaching over to pet Babbitt. “And if Sunny stays here, I’ll go. Can you watch Babbitt for me?”  

“I…” Nick hesitated. “I don’t want you to go.” 

“The rest of us will go with her.” Klaus said, watching as Soli slid to the ground, giving her frog a wave. “They might need an expert in tidal charts down there.” 

“And,” Lilac said, “I’ll be there. To make sure nothing happens to anyone.” She glanced at Fiona. “Are you going?” 

“Of course.” she nodded. “You could need a mycologist. I’ll show you where the diving suits are. Don’t worry, stepfather, we won’t be long.” 

“You better not! Aye! We need to get to the Sugar Bowl before Count Olaf does! Aye! Hurry up! Aye! Don’t hesitate! Aye! He who hesitates is lost!” 

“Or she.” Fiona sighed. 

“Or they.” Klaus said. 

“The point is, hurry up! Aye! We don’t have much time!” 

“I’m going to find some books.” Nick sighed. He moved over to his siblings, giving them tight hugs. “Don’t die.” 

“We’ll be fine.” Solitude promised. “And we’ll be back soon.” 

The waterproof uniforms were heavy and only barely fit- Solitude’s was only movable because it had also been shrunk in the wash. As they trudged along, Fiona said, “Don’t worry, these suits are completely safe. Uncomfortable, yes, but safe.” 

“As long as we can breathe,” Lilac said, holding Soli’s hand as they walked down the hall, “I don’t care how uncomfortable they are.” 

“Of course you’ll be able to breathe!” the captain said. “Aye! The oxygen systems in your helmets provide plenty of air for a short journey! Of course, if there’s an opportunity to remove your helmets, you should do so! Aye! That way the system can recharge itself, and you’ll have more air!” 

“Where would we find an opportunity to remove our helmets in an underwater cave?” Klaus asked. 

“Who knows! But I do have good news! You won’t have to carry flashlights! The tides should push you right along!” 

“That seems like an awfully passive way to travel.” Fiona noted. 

“Aye! It does! But there’s no other solution! And we should not hesitate! He who hesitates is lost! I’m going to tell VFD all about this! Aye! All four of you volunteers will receive citations for bravery!” 

“Perhaps you should wait on contacting VFD.” Lilac said, her thoughts drifting towards Nick’s hatred for the organization. 

“I won’t hesitate! Aye!” Widdershins said. “Now, climb this ladder and give a holler when you’re at the hatch! Then I’ll activate a valve own here, so the submarine won’t flood with water when you open it! Then just let the current carry you all the way to the Sugar Bowl!” 

“And you still won’t tell us why the Sugar Bowl is important?” Lilac asked. 

“It’s not the Sugar Bowl,” the captain said, “It’s what’s inside it. Aye! I’ve already said too much! Aye! There are secrets in this world too terrible for young people to know!” 

The Baudelaires sighed, but nodded. Fiona went up the ladder first, followed by Solitude, Klaus and Lilac. 

Once they reached the hatch, Fiona called down, and Widdershins shouted differing instructions for several seconds, before they heard a loud clanging, and then Fiona opened the hatch. Lilac instantly grabbed onto Solitude, as water flooded the passageway, and the children drifted out of the submarine and into the blackness of the Gorgonian Grotto. 

Traveling by the tide was certainly a terrifying experience. 

Lilac held tight to Soli as the currents carried then far away from the submarine, but it was almost impossible to tell how fast they were going, or what was around them, or if they were upside-down or not. They didn’t dare try to scream for each other and waste oxygen, so they just floated along and tried not to be too scared. It took a long, long time before the journey abruptly stopped. 

In one curling, fluid motion, the tide pushed the children onto something that felt like a beach, and they crawled forwards, stumbling onto the wet sand, with Lilac pushing Solitude in front of her. 

“Klaus?” Lilac called, sitting up. “Klaus? Fiona? Are you there? What happened?” 

“I don’t know…” Klaus responded. “We couldn’t have reached an actual beach. Where’s Solitude?” 

“Here!” Solitude called. “Fiona?” 

“Here.” Fiona said. “But where are we? There’s water still around us?” 

“Are we on another submarine?” Lilac asked. 

“Light!” Solitude called. 

The travelers looked up, and saw several lights up ahead, which took a moment to realize were lamps. Against the wall were three floorlamps, each with a letter on its shade. 

V, F, D. 

“What is this place?” Fiona asked. 

The youngsters managed to step forwards, finding that they were in a narrow room. There were an assortment of objects in the sand, some half-buried, some bobbing in the water, and some almost completely destroyed. There were some bottles and cans, and soaked books, and a few small cases that looked locked. A roller skate bobbed towards Solitude, and a deck of cards was against the wall. 

“This must be a passage of some sort.” Klaus said. “Straight up to dry land- an island, maybe, or maybe it curves to the shore.” 

“We must be underneath the ruins of Anwhistle Aquatics.” Lilac said. 

“Does that mean we can take these helmets off?” Solitude asked. 

“Yes.” Klaus said, removing his helmet. He paused a moment, and then said, “Yes, we can breathe.” 

“This place looks abandoned.” Fiona said, as she removed her helmet and helped Solitude with hers. 

“It can’t be.” Lilac moved towards the lamps, her eyes narrowing. “These lamps have bulbs, those would have to be changed. All this junk must have been washed up by the tide.” 

“Like the Sugar Bowl.” Klaus nodded. 

“We have to find it and get out of here.” Fiona shuddered. 

“We’ll have to fight the current to get to the Queequeg.” Klaus said dimly. “That won’t be fun.” 

They all awkwardly shrugged and got to searching. 

“We should’ve gone with them.” Nick muttered. “We should’ve gone, we should’ve gone, we-” 

“Shut up.” Violet said, sliding out from under an air conditioning unit and sitting up, pulling her ribbon out. “They’ll be fine. Lilac won’t let anything happen.” 

“But what if something does?” 

Nick was sitting on the table, several books spread around him, but he was having trouble paying attention enough to read aloud to Violet, like they’d thought they  could do. He’d found something that seemed to be filed under the Great Unknown, but it was probably misfiled as it just talked about a tearoom and a roadster. Violet had decided to check and see if the air conditioner was dead or if it just wasn’t working well, but even she was distracted. 

“We should’ve gone with them.” Nick repeated, curling up. 

“Stop repeating yourself. Babbitt already got sick of your shit and ran off to- where did they go, anyway?” 

“I want to go get Sunny.” 

“She’s in the kitchen with Phil, she’s fine.” 

“Do you know how many things can kill you in the kitchen?” 

“Yes, Father informed me and you multiple times.” she sighed. “Just trust them, okay?” 

“Oh, I trust them.” Nick said. “I don’t trust- oh, speak of the devil.” 

Widdershins entered. “Good news, aye! The group of volunteers is out for the Sugar Bowl! Aye! We’ll have it before lunch!” 

“They’re not volunteers.” Nick hissed. “And they’re going into a grotto filled with deadly mushrooms. They could die.” 

“Aye! No time to think about that! No time to hesitate! He who hesitates-” 

“Those who hesitate fucking survive.” 

“Nick’s just concerned.” Violet said quickly, moving to stand beside the table, putting a hand over her brother’s. “I’m sure you know he was recently abducted, so-” 

“Aye! I do! We received the newspaper report and a Volunteer Factual Dispatch!” Widdershins waved his hand. “That was a messy business, aye! We thought we’d lost you!” 

“You might’ve if my siblings didn’t find me.” Nick curled up a little. 

“No, no, I don’t mean we thought you were dead!” Widdershins sighed, as if Nick was an idiot for not understanding. “Aye! Olaf wouldn’t have killed you! He needs your fortune! No, we were concerned that you’d joined the arsonists! Aye!” 

Nick and Violet both gave him horrified looks. “You weren’t concerned about him?” Violet asked. 

“Well of course! Aye! We know the arsonists are evil! Aye!” 

“You knew they had me.” Nick said blankly. “And you did nothing.” 

“Well, we didn’t know if you were a recruit or a captive! Aye! And we’d have to find you, too, which was difficult-” 

“You knew they had me.” Nick repeated, and Violet shuddered as his voice grew as dark as it had when he had abducted Esme. “And you… did… nothing.” 

“Don’t look so glum, aye! It wasn’t our mission!” 

“You knew they had me!” 

“I mean, we’re not entirely sure how they got you.” Widdershins said, not even paying attention to the cold glares from the Baudelaires. “We were surprised, aye, that he only managed to capture one! Especially since reports said you rarely separate!” 

“How… how long have you been watching us?” Violet asked, terror gripping her. 

“Very long! Aye! But it’s not as if volunteers could get into Dark Avenue-” 

“How long could you have been helping us?” Violet gasped. 

“Never! Aye! I just told you, that wasn’t our mission!” 

“But you knew we were in danger!” 

“There were volunteers at the carnival.” Nick gripped the edge of his shirt. “Weren’t there? Other than Olivia. And the docks.” 

“What docks?” Violet asked. 

“And the forest. And…” Nick shut his eyes tight. “I bet there were your fucking cultists everywhere, and they didn’t do a single thing.” 

“Well, we’re not everywhere! Aye! The organization has fallen into hard times! Aye!” Widdershins said. “But we’re still gathering knowledge, aye!” 

“Sure you are.” Nick huffed. “You wanna know how I got captured? Esme said the telephone was broken, and I stopped to check on our way out, and one of his fucking henchpeople grabbed me. I bet one of your lot could’ve broken me and the Quagmires-” 

“Ah, see! That’s where your problem was!” Widdershins somehow had the audacity to look smug. “You hesitated! Aye! And then you were lost! He who hesitates is lost!” 

Nick gaped, and his voice grew very quiet. “Are… are you saying this is my fault?” 

“No! No, it’s not your fault!” Violet said. “Captain Widdershins, why didn’t a single volunteer try to help us?” 

“I’m sure someone did, aye.” Widdershins waved his hand. “Whoever got assigned the job. Perhaps R, or her daughter, they may have been nearby at the time. Or Larry, aye! We weren’t told about who was in charge of you, just that we needed to document information and track the Sugar Bowl!” 

“Or if there was anyone in charge of us?” Nick snapped. “What if no one was in charge of us?” 

“Why, that’s VFD’s decision.” 

Nick started to shake. “Even if you knew what was happening to me?”  

“Don’t you worry, Nicholas! Everything’s for the Greater Good! Besides, VFD wouldn’t abandon you! Aye! You’d be a great volunteer! You’re a dedicated researcher! Aye! You’re a saint! Aye! You’re an angel! Aye! You’re a-” 

Nick stared at him in horror, and then said, “I have to go!” and took off running. 

“Nick!” Violet shouted after him. 

“Aye! Get back here!” Widdershins said. “We need-” 

“You know what?” Violet spun on her heel, giving the captain a dark look. “Fuck you!” 

She flipped off the astonished captain, and then ran off after her brother. 

“Okay, so, I found a box of rubber bands.” Lilac sighed, sitting atop a chest. “And half a gun, a broken mirror, what might be a microphone, and a scattered notebook with sketches of some kind of snake.” 

Solitude peered over her shoulder, her arms full of bottles. “I don’t recognize it.” she said sadly. “Also, it’s not a snake. It’s got legs, see there?” 

“I found an earring, a broken clipboard, a book of poetry, half a stapler, and three swizzle sticks.” Klaus said. 

“And I found bottles with messages.” Solitude said. “And also some food cans for Sunny to use! She’ll love these!” 

“I’m sure she will,” Lilac sighed, “But we need the Sugar Bowl. Fiona, have you found anything?” Fiona didn’t answer. “Fiona?” 

They turned, and saw the mycologist staring past them, her eyes wide with fear. 

“Fiona? What did you find?” Lilac asked. 

Fiona slowly pointed down towards the sand. Sprouting out of it, quickly and silently, were the stalks and caps of a dark gray fungus, splotched with black and drifting ever closer. 

“Mycelium.”

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

(asoue-sideblog) Do you have headcanons for autistic ASOUE characters, to complete the trifecta?

oooooh absolutely let’s do this thing

For starters- I should mention that it’s pretty easy to assign special interests to the ASOUE characters, seeing as most of them have one (1) interest that defines them, so I’m just gonna list that at the top to get that out of the way and then go for other headcanons :D

Violet {gifset of her own here}

Special Interest: Inventing, but she probably had other minor SIs like Female Finnish Pirates and Nikola Tesla

Her hair in her face normally doesn’t bother her but becomes a sensory issue when she’s thinking too hard, and tying up her hair when she’s thinking has become part of her Inventing Routine

Tends to hyperfocus on her inventions/plans to the detriment of basically everything else around her 

Really dislikes being put into social situations; during parties she’d hide in the corner with a book or a watch to take apart and put back together

Figured out how to sew just so she could make her and her siblings weighted blankets; she’s found that Sunny tends to like them best, but they all love them

She’s definitely got insomnia, and would stay up all night working on a new invention if her siblings didn’t keep track of her and help her get to sleep

Klaus {gifset of his own here}

Special Interest: General Literature, but he definitely gets hooked on a lot of topics he reads about. And I feel like during the canon timeline he got a special interest in the VFD Mystery

Blunt AF and literal to a fault

Literally infodumps all the time, and often doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until it’s been an hour and the conversation has moved on three times. His sisters, the Quagmires, and Fiona (for the brief time he knew her) were the only ones who weren’t really bothered by this 

Often doesn’t understand verbal instruction, and definitely has trouble understanding metaphors and sarcasm

Unlike Violet, who was a bit more social, before the fire Klaus didn’t have many friends aside from his sisters. He couldn’t pass as neurotypical as well as Violet, and so a lot of the other kids saw him as the “weird” one. He usually didn’t care, especially since he preferred to stay inside and read, but he did get a bit lonely sometime. He considers Violet his best friend, as they understand each other much better than they can understand anybody else 

Most of his minimal social skills were learned by watching his parents talking to their friends, which means he’s talked like an adult from a very young age

Sunny {gifset of her own here}

Special Interest: Cooking! Though it’d also be cool if at some point Sunny becomes interested in snakes, trying to figure out all about her bff Inky

Cannot focus on anything at any point; she gets distracted incredibly easily and tends to triple-task herself 

Overstimulated by noise quite a lot - in the books, that’s the reason the rattle’s noise scared her 

Is incredibly blunt, to the point where she can’t remember the last time she lied. This isn’t as much of a problem when she’s still speaking in baby-talk, but once she starts using actual words, Violet and Klaus have to figure out how to keep her from straight-up telling people they’ve burned down a building

Wears a lot of weighted clothing, and even as she gets older she still stims by biting 

Has absolutely no sense of time - can’t remember if that conversation with Klaus over Bea’s birthday cake happened last week or last month, also she was talking to Vi ten minutes ago… wait, no, an hour… or two… 

Duncan 

Special Interest: Journalism of any kind, thinks he wants to be an Investigative Journalist someday 

Definitely the least social of the triplets, social interaction kinda gives him anxiety and he’d much rather go over compare newspaper stories than attend parties or join clubs

Tends to infodump about Dorothy Parker or the different types of Journalism on anyone who will bother to listen, usually Isadora. As much as Quigley wanted to listen, he really couldn’t pay attention to anything at all 

In contrast, Duncan is actually very good at paying attention, mostly because he takes notes on everything he’s heard and every conversation he’s had

Absolutely hates Prufrock for more reasons than just the obvious; he hates having to sit still for so long, be around so many other people who all seem to understand interaction better than him, and be judged more on test-taking than actual knowledge. Also I can guarantee that Prufrock did not have any accommodations for neurodivergent children 

Has a very strong sense of justice, which is definitely why he especially hates corrupt newspapers and will rant on how much he hates The Daily Punctilio to anyone who will listen 

Isadora 

Special Interest: Poetry, probably specifically the works of Ogden Nash and Lord Byron (and Sappho, let’s be real)

Poetry is really the only outlet she has to emotional expression; for the life of her, she can’t figure out how she feels about anything any other way

Verbally stims by repeating famous poems to herself, or sometimes throwing in her own work and reciting it on repeat

Incredibly good at memorization, almost better than Klaus- she can recite the entirety of Rime of the Ancient Mariner if need be

Brutally honest, especially to people she considers rude; she will not hesitate to tell Carmelita exactly how much she hates her 

She and Quigley were both disasters when put together because they were both Incredibly Impulsive, though in different ways: her impulsivity tended to manifest in rushing into situations without thinking through the consequences or doing something without reading instructions, while his impulsivity tended to be more “our parents are gone so i’m cutting the sleeves off of all of my shirts, they’re like 85% of my impulse control”

Quigley 

Special Interest: Cartography and Geography, he definitely used to have a collection of cool-looking globes and maps 

The most obviously autistic of the triplets, he tends to completely ignore social cues, forget that people have boundaries, and stim whenever he gets nervous 

Waaay too trusting of people, and easily deceived because he kinda forgets that people would just lie to each other 

Has intense difficulty sitting or standing still and paying attention; if he’d been sent to Prufrock, he probably would’ve tried to run away before the first week was up

Needs mental stimulation at all times, or else he’ll go do something wild like try to bungee-jump off the roof with glued-together rubber bands while Isadora cheers him on and Duncan desperately drags him back inside 

Sleep is a Foreign Concept 

Hand-flapping and jumping up and down are his main stims, but Modern!Quigley 100% has a million of those sequin pillows to run his hands through and shares them with Sunny, who also adores them 

Fiona 

Special Interest: Mycology, but she also sometimes gets intense fixations on types of marine life, which is to be expected when she’s constantly surrounded by the ocean 

Unfortunately Widdershins never really pays attention to her when she infodumps, so she gained a habit of talking to herself. The Baudelaires and Phil were among the first people to actually listen to her when she talked about her favorite fungi 

Incredibly fascinated by how the Queequeg works and all the details of how it functions, which is how she ended up being the Chief Engineer, even though she’s not super great at actually fixing things  

Gets really bored by things that don’t interest her, and often will find a way to distract herself, whether she wants to or not (see: “When I want her to research the life of Herman Melville, she works slowly, but she’s quick as a whip when the subject is mushrooms”) 

Actually very sensitive to touch, especially from people she doesn’t know. Will really only make physical contact with people she trusts 

Even though she’s technically pretty introverted, she’s very codependent, and panics when she thinks she might have to be alone

When she’s not in uniform, Fiona wears mismatched clothing and doesn’t care how bad it looks; it feels good and that’s what matters to her, so who cares if she’s wearing a pink sweatshirt with a green skirt and two different kinds of shoes? 

so yeah, the vfd kids are very autistic and i love them

{stranger things autism headcanons} {losers club autism headcanons}