#i do love mulders tone of speaking too

[just-spacetrash]

👽

[atths--twice]

Hello!! For the WIP ask game: Arcadia :)

Ohhhh this is a fun one I started a few years back.

It’s different from my other stories as it’s in first person present tense, and it will be solely from Scully’s perspective. We will see the in between moments we didn’t see on the show. Moving in, unpacking of sorts, how they handle the aspect of living together and dealing with one another that way, and get Scully’s thoughts about it all.

Now, I know not everyone loves first person, but I thought it would be fun to explore.

Because I know it will be awhile before I post this, I’m going to include two little snippets.

The first is from their arrival to the neighborhood.

The second is from a discussion they have in bed when Mulder comes back to the room, claiming that the couch had been uncomfortable the night before.

Hope you enjoy!

______________

February 24, 1999

I hear Mulder humming, and immediately I’m back to loathing this assignment, my recent feeling of being okay with it, although a little nervous, disappearing.

I’m trapped in a minivan with him, on our way to an undercover assignment, and the thought of running away as soon as I possibly can sounds like a fantastic plan.

He’s been humming “Here Comes the Bride” and “Chapel of Love” sporadically under his breath for the past couple of days, and it’s beginning to drive me insane. I’ve tried glaring at him, telling him to stop, and even threatened him with physical harm, and yet he has continued.

With a wink to me no less.

The bastard.

“Mulder, seriously,” I say with force, as I simultaneously scowl at him, hoping that will be what does the trick.

“Scully, we are going to be portraying ourselves as a happily married couple. I’m just trying to lay the groundwork for us. Get us in the mood, so to speak,” he explains with an innocent tone.

But I know him, and that aw shucks attitude of his isn’t going to stop me from wanting to smack that cheesy grin off of his face. I sigh and he smiles, obviously believing he has proven his point and won this battle.

Looking out the window, I sigh again as I think of spending days and nights with him pretending to be his happy little wife. I know he was not exactly thrilled with the assignment, but in the past couple of days that we have been here in San Diego, he seems to have gotten into the spirit of it.

At least the ‘annoy the shit out of your pretend wife’ spirit of it.

He’s called me honey more times than I can count and every one of my admonitions have fallen on deaf ears. Seeing how gleeful he is when he gets a rise out of me, I’ve seen a glimpse into my very near future.

I wonder if I would be hurt too terribly if I just jumped out of the car now.

_____________________

He looks at me and I stare back. He nods his head and then looks away. The room is silent again as we both contemplate what it would be like to have someone waiting at home for us while we lay in this bed, together, though not together.

“These rings, though,” he says with a tone of changing the subject. “Mine is fine, but is that ring something you would pick? It hardly seems like a Scully type ring to me.”

“God no,” I say in horror. “It’s a beautiful ring, but it’s not my taste at all. I would want something much more…”

“Simple,” we say simultaneously, and I look at him as he grins at me.

“We should go on the Newlywed Game,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “We would make an absolute killing. We would beat all the other couples hands-down. I know my wife.”

I laugh and shake my head. “And yet, you were the one who picked out this ring for me to wear.“

“Hey, I did exactly what I was supposed to do. I picked out the most un-Scully like ring I could find,” he says defensively. “Because you’re not Scully, you’re Laura and that is exactly the type of ring that Laura would want.”

“Oh, so you know Laura pretty well?” I tease him and he nods vigorously. “So what else do I need to know about Laura?”

“Well, for starters, Laura likes to sleep in the nude.” He looks at me with a sly expression and I laugh again, shaking my head and raising my eyebrows.

“Keep dreaming, buddy,” I say to him, still laughing at where his mind would go immediately.

“I’m just letting you know in case you wanted to get into character,” he says by way of explanation.

“Mm-hmm.”

____________

I really am enjoying putting this one together. Yes, it’s been a few years, but… I think it will be good once it’s all done. ❤️

[skelavender]

She takes a breath, “Was Jason someone you’d normally be interested in?” “Yeah.” Scully is silent for a moment. “Did you–” he glances over at her, “Did you not know I’m bisexual?”

read the finale of heartbeats on ao3, or below the cut!

Thankfully, the Bureau allows them to fly out directly from Las Vegas. The flight is smooth, and they touch down in DCA that evening. It had been Mulder’s turn to drive them to the airport, so they fetch his car out of long term parking and head towards Georgetown to drop Scully off. They chat idly until they’re a couple blocks from Scully’s apartment. 

“Mulder,” she says, “The rest of the victims said that their attackers were their type, that they were actually attracted to them. Was that guy–”

“Jason.”

She takes a breath, “Was Jason someone you’d normally be interested in?”

“Yeah.”

Scully is silent for a moment.

“Did you–” he glances over at her, “Did you not know I’m bisexual?”

Scully blinks repeatedly. “Um. No.”

“Oh. Well, uh,” he removes his hands from the wheel to do jazz hands and forces a small laugh, “Happy coming out to me, I guess.”

For a moment, Scully just stares at his profile, at how the passing streetlights dance across his face in a rhythmic fashion as they weave through the tight streets of Georgetown. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

Mulder clears his throat and speaks. “You don’t… have an issue with that, do you Scully?”

Scully’s voice has tied itself in a knot at the back of her throat. At the very least she manages a “No.” She wants to say more, wants to tell him about her own experiences, but she can’t manage to get it out.

“Are you sure? You’re acting kind of–”

“I am too,” she blurts, her mouth finally managing to form some actual words.

“Oh.” Mulder’s voice is laced with genuine surprise, a tone she doesn’t usually elicit from him.

Scully takes in a ragged, uneven breath. “I– I’ve never told someone about it before.”

“Oh,” this time, softer, “Thank you for telling me, Scully.”

“I’m not doing the jazz hands.” She does a poor job of breaking the tension, but Mulder gives her a laugh anyway.

“You really didn't know? About me, that is.” He asks.

“No, how should I have?”

“Well, I kind of thought it was an open secret. And you’ve seen me interact with the Gunmen, they flirt with me as much as they do with each other, and vice versa.”

“They– what?”

“You’ve— Jeez, Scully you’ve never noticed that either? Next you’re going to be telling me you didn’t know they were dating.” Scully is oddly silent. Mulder breaks his eyes away from the road to look at her with raised eyebrows. “ Seriously ?”

“Which ones?”

“All of them! All three of them! They’ve been together since ‘91!”

“Oh. No, I didn’t know. Is there anyone else we know in a relationship I’m unaware of?”

Mulder takes a deep breath, and speaks entirely deadpan, “Well, I should probably tell you about my sordid affair with your brother.”

“Yeah, Mulder? You and Charlie?”

“No, don’t be silly. Me and Bill .”

Scully laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

“What, I’m not good enough to boink a Scully?”

That makes her actually snort. Oh buddy, if only you knew . “Please never, ever use the word boink again.”

“Noted,” Mulder laughs as he pulls into a conveniently located parking spot in front of Scully’s building. 

Scully’s eyes are soft when they land on him. “Are you going to be okay tonight, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, Scully, I’ll be fine.” He waves his hand dismissively, “I mean, I don’t love the fact that I’ll have to walk around for who knows how long with the last person I kissed having been on a dare like I’m in middle school again, but I’ll be okay.”

He turns to Scully and they lock eyes. She considers him for a moment and lets an idea roll over in her mind. Her eyes fall to his lips.

Fuck it.

“I’m going to kiss you. If you don’t want me to, you better tell me now.” 

Mulder sucks in a surprised breath before letting out a shaky “Alright.” Scully brushes her palm across his cheek to pull him in, and presses her lips to his.

The kiss is so light it’s barely there. The very tips of their lips brush, chaste, but it fills her body with a buzzing sensation, like every one of her cells has been electrified. 

She wants so badly to lean in closer, kiss him harder, deeper, to press into his skin, to climb into his lap, shit, everything . She’d let him fuck her right here. 

But she can’t.

Scully pulls away from her partner after just a moment, putting a couple inches between them. She can’t have it. She can’t let the dynamic change, can’t risk entering a relationship that endangers her job, his mission. More importantly, she can’t risk the rejection. A kiss is a kiss, especially one as feather-light as that one, and people do it meaninglessly every day. The potential of anything more goes hand in hand with the potential of him not wanting that and messing with the dynamic, or, worse, to her losing him entirely. She couldn’t bear it. Their friendship and partnership have to come first. 

She removes her hand from his cheek and pats him on the shoulder casually, as if she hadn’t just crossed the line in the sand. “There you go, Mulder.” she hopes her voice doesn’t sound as fucking wrecked to Mulder’s ears as it does to her own. “Now the last person you kissed isn’t a freaky sex gambler.”

“Uh-huh.” Mulder’s eyes are wide, his voice starstruck. “Thanks,” he adds absently. 

She shifts back into her own seat and grabs her things. “Goodnight, Mulder.”

“‘Night, Scully.”

She closes the car door behind her, and as she walks up into her building. She can feel his gaze on her back as she walks up to her building, but doesn’t turn to meet it. The image of his wide eyes, full of something she can’t name, is burned into her retinas as she makes her way into her apartment. 

When she peeks through the blinds, his car is still there on the street.

***

Two hours later, the two agents find themselves in very similar positions, with Scully curled up in her bed and Mulder on his couch. They go through the same waves of missing each other, of longing for the other’s touch, across the ten miles between their apartments. The chill of the emptiness next to them. The hollow silence, which should be filled with another heartbeat.

Mulder makes it two hours before calling Scully. He should be more concerned about waking her, but she hasn’t held it against him thus far. He dials the phone. 

As it rings, he reflects on their time in his car that evening. The awkward coming out, her concern for him, the kiss. 

Damn, the kiss.

It had barely even happened. Mulder’s not entirely convinced he didn’t make it up. Her lips were so light on his, but it left him lightheaded and swaying on the way home. He needed to wait in his car for nearly half an hour before he was present enough in his body to drive home. 

She kissed him. She kissed him.

Mulder will hold the memory close to his chest forever. He doubts he’ll get the chance to kiss her again, doubts he would ever let him, so he’ll take the sense memory – the smell of Scully’s faded honeysuckle perfume and her soft palm against his cheek – and weave it between his ribs so he could keep it close to his heart, tuck it in with his–

“Mulder?” A voice comes through the tinny speaker of his phone, breaking him from his reminiscing. 

“Hey, Scully,” he says, “Did I wake you?”

“No. No, I haven’t, uh, I haven’t been able to sleep.”

“Me neither. It’s… I don’t know, too quiet or something? I guess I got used to Vegas pretty quickly.”

“The streets of Alexandria aren’t as exciting at night?”

“Not quite.” He smiles into the phone. “Hey Scully?”

“Yes, Mulder?”

“If I can’t sleep, and you can’t sleep, can I…”

“Come over?” she requests quietly, her tone almost grateful, as if she hadn’t wanted to be the first one to bring the idea up.

“Yeah.”

“Yes.” It comes out like a sigh of relief.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

A mere 15 minutes later, Mulder raps his knuckles lightly against her door, not wanting to disturb her neighbors. It swings open almost immediately, revealing a robe-clad Scully with her hair tied back. She ushers him into the apartment with no greeting. 

He follows her to the couch, and they take their places a couple feet apart in front of the tv playing a nondescript medical drama. 

“Something specific keeping you up?” Mulder asks, breaking the silence.

She shakes her head, “No. It’s just… one of those nights.”

“I know the feeling. I have a lot of those nights.”

The medical drama fills their lull.

“How accurate are these things?”

“Medically? Not at all. Regarding interpersonal drama…” She makes a so-so gesture, wiggling a flat palm back and forth. 

“Really? Did you have interpersonal drama when you worked in a hospital setting, Dr. Scully?”

She stiffens a little, and scoffs in an attempt to cover it. “You’re going to have to get me pretty drunk if you want me to tell you about my med school sexcapades, Mulder.”

“Sexcapades? I’ll put it on my to-do list.”

Scully shakes her head looking down at the clasped palms in her lap. The right one is laid over the left, hiding the wedding ring she had slipped onto her finger almost as soon as she walked in the door, but forgotten to remove before Mulder had arrived. She doesn’t think he’s noticed it yet. 

He has. He’s just too tired to bring it up, and figures it’s a conversation for when they’re both better rested. 

That’s the same reason he hasn’t asked her why she kissed him in the car. If it had felt as… jeez, felt as magical for her as it had for him. If it had meant as much. 

Mulder breaks his eyes away from the neutral territory of the tv to look over at his partner. A travel day’s worth of puffiness lines the skin under her eyes. He’s used to seeing her this late at night, usually on cases and stakeouts; he’s not used to seeing her this tired this late at night. 

“Is there anything I can do to help you sleep?”

Scully’s eyes flit to his for a moment, but settle on her hands, shy. “No, it’s okay Mulder, I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

He snakes an arm across the back of the couch, fingers brushing the back of her neck. Her eyes flutter closed. “C’mon Scully, lay it on me. What can I do to help?” 

Scully catches the sigh before it leaves her throat, but just barely. She leans her head back into Mulder’s hand, his fingers tangling in the loose bits of hair that are too short to be captured by her bun. Practically reading her mind, Mulder runs his hands through it. When she speaks, she can’t hold back the sigh, “ That. ”

“That’s nothing.” 

When Scully opens her eyes to look at him, he pats his thigh. As she shuffles down to put her head in Mulder’s lap, his nails scrape up through her hair into the bun, and remove her hair tie. He snaps it wordlessly onto his wrist, right next to the one she used to propose to him mere months ago, and continues his ministrations, twirling and scratching and petting her slightly tangled copper locks. 

Scully does not squeak. Really, she would call it more of a dignified sound of contentment. Not a squeak. She certainly does not press further into the soft cotton of Mulder’s sweatpants. 

Absently, she speaks. “I haven’t had someone do this since…” she trails off, trying to think back to the last time someone other than her hairstylist had put their hands in her hair. “Shit, since Ethan, I think.”

“Ethan?” Mulder inquires, curious.

“Guy I was dating when I first got assigned to you. It didn’t last long, he didn’t like all the travel. Didn’t understand how important it is to me.” She pauses for a moment, considering whether or not she should disclose the next piece of information. “I’ve only ever had boyfriends do this.”

“Well you’ve upgraded, Scully. Now you’ve got a husband doing it.”

She hums sleepily, “Thanks, Mulder.”

“Of course. Anything.” It comes out like both a promise and a confession. He means it; she could tell him to jump and he would just ask how high. He would bury a body for her. He would give, and give, and give. Running his hands through her hair doesn’t even register as a favor. If anything, being this close to her and being allowed to touch her like this, so intimately, it’s a selfish act. He would beg on his knees for her to let him do this, to let him care for her like a boyfriend, like another kind of partner. Like he yearns to. 

Scully smiles into his thigh, perfectly content, and closes her eyes. She’s asleep within a couple minutes, and when Mulder notices her breath evening out, he lays his head on the back of the couch. His pinkie settles gently onto her pulse point, counting the steady thadump thadump thadump of her heart, and he follows her to sleep.

<- previous chapter

[phillippadgettwrites]

Post Paper Hearts. That laugh and belly hug Scully gets as she tells him to get some sleep. I've always wondered what if Scully does something later that evening to a. Help him sleep that good post physical exertion sleep and b. Make sure that whatever that something is that she does, is something that ensures his sleep is filled nothing but the best kind of explicit non trauma inducing dreams.

Get Some Sleep

Rated X / 2266 words / posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“Mulder.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

He smiles, moving the phone to his other ear and pinning it in place with his shoulder.

“How do you know I wasn’t?” he retorts as he swipes the remote off the coffee table and mutes the TV.

“I can tell by your voice,” she says plainly, clearly unashamed of knowing the difference between the cadence of his voice rough with sleep versus on hour six of a History Channel marathon.

But of course he knows every shade and tone of her voice, and could catalog them by mood. Scully fresh from sleep and irritated, Scully fresh from sleep and happily surprised to hear from him, Scully groggy at 3 am versus 6 am, Scully when she calls after waking from a nightmare, unsuccessfully hiding it behind an unlikely excuse. One ‘Mulder, it’s me’ and he knows if she’s excited, afraid, exhausted, annoyed, or—sparingly—flirtatious. He lives for those ones.

“Well, I had hoped this series on World War II would do the trick, but no dice. You got anything stronger than war documentaries, Doc?” he teases, nestling down further on the couch so that his head is propped against one armrest and his feet the other.

“Yeah, I have some Temazepam, but last time I gave that to you you said some questionable things I’ve yet to fully recover from,” she teases right back, and he feels his cheeks get hot.

He does recall the morning after that episode, and the way she avoided his eye. He was too embarrassed to ask what he’d done, and she was too embarrassed by whatever happened to make fun of him for it. All she would say was that no, he did not do anything inappropriate that he needed to apologize for, and asked that they leave it at that. But that was over a year ago, and time has a way of dulling the edges of shame.

“What did I say?” he asks, tucking his fingers under the waist of his sweatpants like they’re a giant pocket. “You never did tell me.”

There’s a dry, uncomfortable laugh from her end of the line. He pictures her lying in bed, wearing one of those practical silk pajama sets that she’s so fond of, the covers tucked up under her arms. Her face would be bare, freckles dusting her cheeks like sprinkles. One of these days, he might just have to throw caution to the wind and taste them.

“Nothing, Mulder. Do you have any melatonin?” she says, and he hears the rustle of blankets as she changes position.

“Come on, tell me,” he goads. “It was a long time ago, the statute of limitations on embarrassment has surely expired.”

“Oh, I’m not too sure about that,” she says on an exhale, and his cock twitches at the breathy quality of her voice. It’s the same one he imagines murmuring, ‘Harder,’ as he drives into her.

“Okay, I’ll play,” he says. “Did I hit on you?”

A pause.

“What makes you say that?” she asks. Not a denial.

“Well, in my experience, that kind of medication has a way of…removing your filter, so to speak,” he explains. “If I had to guess, which I do because you won’t tell me, I’m thinking that maybe some of the thoughts I typically keep in my head came out of my mouth.”

He feels nervous, though he hopes she can’t tell. Because if that is the case—that he vocalized any or all of the things he thinks about when he’s around her—he may have said anything from ‘I love you’ to ‘I want to know if your pussy tastes as good as I’ve imagined.’

Another pause.

“I’m not sure that any of those thoughts were in your head, Mulder,” she says softly, hesitantly. “I think maybe you were just high and spouting off nonsense.”

“Tell me what I said and allow me to clarify,” he implores, more curious than he is afraid to hear it. Whatever it was, it wasn’t bad enough that she behaved any differently around him afterward, aside from that one awkward morning.

He hears her swallow, and another shuffle of sheets. She clears her throat, and he waits, his heart beating steadily in his ears.

“Um,” she starts, haltingly. “You asked me some questions. About myself.”

He closes his eyes, hoping it wasn’t along the lines of ‘Do the carpets match the drapes?’

“You asked me about my underwear, actually. I think that’s how it started,” she adds.

“Oh,” he answers lamely, feeling exposed. Maybe asking for details was unwise.

“I believe the exact wording of the question was, ‘What do you got on under those baggy suits, G-Woman?’” she says, her tone much lighter.

“Oh,” he says again, his cheeks burning. “I’m sorry, that’s…”

“Inappropriate, yes,” she finishes for him. He can hear the coy little smirk on her mouth as she realizes she has the upper hand. “And then you told me that they must be thongs, because you have rarely detected a panty line.”

He sinks down further into the couch, trying to disappear.

“Jesus, Scully,” he says, wincing, and she laughs.

“It’s fine, Mulder. It didn’t bother me,” she insists. “I happened to be going through a bit of a crisis at that time regarding my lack of anything resembling a love life, so it was nice to know that someone out there was noticing my panty line—or lack thereof.”

He perks up a little, surprised and intrigued that she might receive such a gauche comment with anything but disgust.

“Hey, happy to be of service,” he jokes. “Anything else I should know about?”

“Well,” she says, considering. “You spent some time guessing my bra size, then admitted that you’d looked at the tag on one of them when packing my bag,” she says evenly. “And then…Actually, nevermind, I think that’s enough for one day.”

“What were you gonna say?” he demands, too curious to let it go. “I can handle it.”

His ears ring with anticipation, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“You just—you were very complimentary, Mulder,” she says carefully.

He wonders if he told her how he’s always been drawn to large-breasted women, but he finds her comparatively modest set insanely beautiful. Because they match her perfectly, just like her tight little ass. His cock twitches again, and he squeezes it over his sweats.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he says, straining to listen for the meaning between her words.

“You didn’t,” she assures him. “Like I said, it was the Temazepam talking. No harm done.”

“Right,” he agrees, though he knows that the only role the Tamezepam played was to make him stupid enough to say it all out loud. “What else did the Tamazepam say? Just out of curiosity,” he tries. A long, drawn out sigh from the other end of the line. “You’re killing me here, Scully.”

“You asked me…about…my hair?”

It comes out as a question, and he immediately knows what she means. He did ask her that stupid fucking question that every pervert she’s crossed paths with in her life has asked her with a greasy leer.

“Scully…no,” he says, bringing his hand up to cover his face.

“Yes,” she replies simply. “But I answered, which certainly encouraged you, so I do have to take partial responsibility for that.”

He pulls his hand away from his face, sitting up a little.

“You answered?”

His groin is starting to feel heavy again.

“Well, I think I knew you probably wouldn’t remember,” she says drowsily. This conversation appears to be having very different effects on them.

“So you just spouted off a bunch of salacious information knowing that I’d have no memory of it?” he asks, returning his hand to rest over his thickening cock.

“Maybe,” she mumbles.

“Tell me more,” he requests, trying not to sound too excited.

“Is it true that you looked through my underwear?” she asks, sounding detached.

He remembers doing it the first time, which is probably what he told her about. Perhaps even his drugged self knew that making her aware that it’s become a habit might be a disclosure too far. He’d been awestruck by the miniscule thongs and bikini briefs—even her granny panties were practically microscopic. Most of the things toward the front of the drawer were modest and made in neutral colors like beige or white cotton. But in the back? Black. Red. Satin. Lace. Even now he’s ashamed of how long he looked, how closely. How he ran his thumb over the cotton gusset of a pair of briefs and thought about how it had rested right against her cunt, snug between her legs. He’d never been jealous of a scrap of cotton before.

“I think ‘looked through’ is a bit of a misnomer,” he lies. “A passing glance. I’m a curious guy. And an apologetic one.”

She hums, and he can feel her smiling. There’s another rustle of fabric, and the plasticky tick of her repositioning the phone.

“You said…you heard me once. At a motel,” she says cautiously, slightly more alert. “Is that true?”

His mouth drops open and his cock surges, stiff and impatient. He slips his hand under his sweats and holds it lightly, giving it a few squeezes. There’s no way he told her about that; she must mean something else.

“What do you mean?” he asks, feigning ignorance.

Surely she doesn’t mean that he told her that he heard a sharp gasp and rushed to their adjoining door. Surely she doesn’t mean that he told her he was about to knock when he heard a long, low moan. Surely she doesn’t mean that he told her he sat on the other side of that door and jerked off while he listened to her make herself come. Surely he would never be that stupid.

“Um…in Seaside?” she offers, and he grips himself tightly.

“Wow,” he says, stupefied. “I…cannot believe that I told you that.”

He’s embarrassed, sure. But more than that, he’s amazed that she wasn’t disgusted, or offended, or violated. At least not enough to mention it or treat him any differently.

“Me neither,” she says lightly.

“That’s really…awkward. I’m sorry,” he says, but he’s stroking himself while he says it. His body is at odds with how to feel.

“Don’t be,” she says. “It didn’t bother me.”

He’s starting to wonder if ‘it didn’t bother me’ is Scully for ‘I liked it’.

“What if I told you that’s not the only time it’s happened?” he asks, his fist moving languidly up and down his shaft beneath his sweats.

“What if I told you that I already knew that?” she counters breathily, and a bead of precum makes a wet spot blossom over his lap.

“I would find that…surprising,” he answers, careful not to move his hand so fast that it jostles his voice.

“But not offensive?” she asks, and her voice is so tight, so breathy….he lets himself believe that it is what it sounds like.

“No,” he says firmly. “Definitely not.”

“Oh,” she answers, almost a gasp.

“Hey Scully?”

“Uh huh?”

“What did you say? When I asked you about your hair?”

He’s so close already, somehow. Given, sex has been the furthest thing from his mind the last several days. He can’t even remember the last time he came.

“What do you think?” she asks coyly, sounding like she’s ascending a mountain.

“I think yes,” he suggests, and he’s picturing it. Her nude body, tiny waist and narrow hips, sweet little breasts, and a healthy patch of carmine hair at the apex of her thighs. She wouldn’t be the type to shave it all off. Armpits and legs, maybe, just for optics’ sake. But he can practically hear her arguing about the function of pubic hair, and the patriarchal roots of women’s beauty standards. She’d leave it all just as it grows, daring any man lucky enough to catch a glimpse to make mention of it.

“That is correct,” she says in her perfectly clinical, measured way.

That is correct, that the hair between her legs is just as red as the hair on her head. That is correct, that she has known for over a year that he listens to her touch herself from the other side of their shared motel wall, and that she keeps doing it anyway. That is correct, that she knows he’s prone to long looks in her top dresser drawer, and she’s never made any attempt to hide the contents as a result.

His mouth hangs open, silent, as he comes in his pants, the wet spot growing steadily as his hand slows and he draws it out. He bites his lip, his eyes squeezed shut tight.

“Mulder?” she asks, again sounding drowsy.

“Yeah?” he answers in his best ‘definitely did not just have an orgasm’ voice.

“Think you’ll be able to sleep now?” she asks, an edge of a smile in her voice.

“Uh, yeah. I think so, maybe,” he answers, looking down at his ruined pants.

“Good. Night, Mulder.”

“Night, Scully,” he answers, customarily waiting until she hangs up before he ends the call.

“Oh, Mulder?” she says, trying to catch him.

“Yeah?”

“I seem to be missing a red lace thong, if you happen to know of its whereabouts. I’d like it back.” His mouth opens, but no sounds come out. “Just whenever you get a chance,” she adds, and then the line goes dead.

[amplifyme]

All That Our Senses Can Perceive

The X-Files. MSR. UST. Teen and up. Seasons 4-6. WC: 4,957. Read on AO3.

Tagging @today-in-fic

“And then Jesus took his beloved Mary Magdalene in an embrace, an embrace not of God and woman but of man and woman. And Jesus said to Mary, 'Love the body, for it is all of the soul that our senses can perceive.'" Cardinal O’Fallon ~ Hollywood A.D.

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1.) It starts with sight, doesn’t it? Unless we are born into blindness it all comes in through the eyes first. We see, we process, we create visual memories; we integrate miniscule pieces into a larger whole. The same image seen through our eyes often enough may eventually become so familiar that any but the largest and most sudden of changes run the risk of being unnoticed.

Scully was young and full-cheeked the first time he’d laid eyes on her. Cute. With all the connotations that description carries. Mulder hadn’t ever been a fan of cute. He’d liked dark and mysterious; slightly dangerous. And look where that had gotten him.

But she soon proves to be so much more than cute. There seems nothing his sight can take in of her that can possibly surpass her intelligence. Perhaps her eyes, though. Yes, her eyes. Bright, sharp, terribly blue. Like the sky had kissed her and left a bit of its eternity in her eyes.

She’s soothing to look upon now; familiar and accustomed. But maybe he’s grown too used to seeing her with comfortable eyes.  

He glances up as she walks in the office, the brief, direct sunlight they manage to get every day illuminating her just so. And the sight of her hits him like a two-by-four upside the head. It dawns on him that she’s gone from soft curves and precociousness to sharply defined and stunningly beautiful in what seems like a matter of hours, overnight. But no, it hasn’t happened that quickly. His memory collects the barely registered glimpses of her slow alteration, and those coalesce in an instant and show to him his partner in the whole of her transformed and radiant glory; a vision bearing cups of coffee.

His eyes reassess the shorter haircut with its soft layers and a slightly different shade than before; the finely cut suit; the manicured brows and meticulous makeup. He’s rendered speechless as the changes sink in all at once. And he finds himself falling just a little bit more in love with her. He likes that she keeps him on his toes and presents him with puzzles to solve. This one he needs to figure out quickly, he thinks. For his own piece of mind. He needs to know that his inattention hasn’t cost him too steep a price.

“Good morning,” she says in greeting, and his eyes drift to her full, autumnal shaded mouth. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?”

He sits up and takes the offered coffee. “Uh, sorry. No, no, I was distracted for a second there. Thanks.”

“Have you had a chance to start the report on the Peacock case? I’d like to get that one wrapped up and on Skinner’s desk by the end of the day. It should go quickly since we seem to agree on the facts. Still want to settle down in a town like Home, Mulder?”

He watches as she perches on the chair at the computer desk, smoothing her well-cut skirt down her hips and thighs. She looks over at him, waiting for a response.

“You get a new tailor, Scully?”

Her head tilts as the skin between her eyebrows crinkles. Color blooms on her cheeks as her eyes dart away and down. “Well,” she says carefully, “in a manner of speaking, yes.” And then a bit defensively adds, “Thanks for finally noticing.”

“Got a new name on your dance card; something you wanna share?” He keeps a teasing, casual tone but he’s aware that his heart has sped up. He takes a sip of coffee to wet his suddenly dry mouth.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. It’s not like I have any room for a social life these days. Sometimes a girl just wants to up her game. Can we focus on the report, please?”

He’s made her uncomfortable. That wasn’t his intent, but he doesn’t mind it so much. Mulder has his own ways of keeping her on her toes, too. He shuffles through the piles on his desk and leans across it, handing her a red and white X-File. “The Peacock’s. My notes are inside. How do we file this one, Scully? Under murderous, inbreeding families or something a bit less lurid?”

“We’ll figure it out. We always do, don’t we?”

He sits back and weaves a pen between busy fingers, studiously holding back a relieved smile just in case she looks up again. So, she’s done it for herself then, and that delights and frightens him in equal measure. Seeing as they spend so much time in each other’s company, she’s also done it for him, in a way. At least that’s what he tells himself. He also decides to start paying better attention, and to do it with more appreciative eyes.

2.) Our sense of smell is the only one of the five universally agreed upon that bypasses the thalamus and travels directly to the emotional center of the brain. The varied scents we take in can affect our mood, trigger memories both old and recent, even precipitate the bonds that tie us to those we love. We will wrinkle our noses at unpleasant memories and seek out those scents that bring us comfort.

She smells like the world to him, and like a day. Like twenty-four hours. Mornings, she is fiery dawn and dewdrops on vivid green grass; the slightly acrid scent of whatever she uses on her hair when ironing away all those waves she battles so stubbornly to tame. And citrus blossoms. The sharp tang of her shampoo merging with the soft floral of her perfume. She is brand new, ripe with possibilities.

By afternoon the false aromas of her morning grooming are beginning to fade, along with the perfume. This is when she begins to exude the scents of a small, tightly packed, hidden old library. The smell of timeworn paper brushed by her fingertips, and the glue of bindings as books are opened, the faint odor of her Earl Grey tea and, oddly, of patchouli. It transports him back to his first year at Oxford and the intoxication of escaping home, and of who he was on the Vineyard. The world opening up for him and offering more knowledge than any one man could ever hope to absorb. Scully is the comfort of an old leather chair on a rainy midday, curled up with a book and utterly content.  

Some afternoons are absent of her though, and he pictures her sharp and precise, surrounded by the smell of death, elbow deep in some poor bastard’s chest, searching for answers. Or perched on the edge of a chair in a witness’s living room, sipping bad coffee as the fabric of her clothing absorbs the stink of burning tobacco that she will carry back with her. She smells like work in those times, like a reminder of the often-tedious nature of the path they’ve chosen to follow.

Evenings are his favorite. When the light fades and shadows come out to play. She smells most like herself after dark. Unadulterated Scully. Stripped of the aura of professionalism, soft and fragrant. The rich and earthy scent of her hair, the slightly sour aroma of the day’s caffeine on her breath, the subtle musk of her skin. And something spicy and exotic that is simply woman. Sometimes he’s lucky and they’ll grab a bite to eat before going their own ways. He’ll sit next to her if he can, and breathe deeply as they share a meal, absorbing as much of her as possible. He banks the memories, and their attendant scents, for those times when he most needs them.

His account though, is sorely lacking of late. Because all he breathes in of her now is her illness. And beneath the new, unwelcome scents of medication and their brutal side-effects, he swears he can smell the singular stench of the cancer pressing into her brain, threatening her beautiful mind, her very life. He is angry and frightened. It feels as though they are crouched helpless under a dark storm cloud of free-floating anxiety, soaked not in rain but in the pungent ozone of impending doom.

Neither speak as they leave Skinner’s office, having just presented a second and much more accurate report on one Edward Van Blundht Jr. and his crimes. The silence accompanies them all the way down to the basement and is broken only after Scully slots the file into its proper location in the cabinet.

“I should have known he wasn’t you, Mulder,” she says quietly as he moves to sit down. Her words make him straighten and their eyes cautiously meet. “Under better circumstances, I would have been able to tell.”

He lifts an open palm her way, an invitation to elaborate, and waits. Her head ducks briefly before she returns her gaze to him. Her head tilts, her chin tips up. He’s familiar with her determined posture.

“I’ve lost my sense of smell recently. From the cancer.” She anxiously wets her lips, flicks her eyes away for a beat. He glimpses unspoken grief as she looks back up at him. “If I could’ve smelled him, I would’ve known. I would’ve known he wasn’t you.”

They both take a step and meet in the middle space, and she surrenders into his open arms. He holds her for a long time and fills his coffers with these new and undesirable scents too, these tragic memories. They are of her, and so are still more precious to him than even the truths he seeks.

3.) Along with smell, the ability to taste is the oldest of our senses. It evolved in order to help us choose which foods to eat and which to avoid. It’s thought that there are five basic tastes: salty, sweet, sour, bitter, and umami. The best of flavors is a subtle blend of all of them. An alchemy that coats our tongues and offers us endless pleasures. Sharing food and drink with a loved one can be an experience both comforting and sensual.

He's gotten his first true taste of her in a hospital hallway in Allentown, Pennsylvania. The kiss on her forehead is tender if fervent, and his lips parted just enough to transfer a bit of her essence to them. He circles his mouth with the tip of his tongue not long after she leaves him in the corridor, and he goes too long without drinking anything afterwards. He doesn’t want to wash away her taste.

He’s greedy those last few days she’s in the hospital, when he’s certain he’ll lose her. He gorges on her, pressing kisses against the velvet of her cheeks and forehead, the corners of her mouth, the boney knuckles of her cold hands, so delicately enfolded within his. He doesn’t care who witnesses it. All that matters is that Scully knows his heart through his caresses. He experiences a kind of withdrawal when her cancer goes into remission. He no longer has an excuse to put his mouth on her, to touch her more freely than he has before. As she heals, he fears she may begin to slip back into her nearly impenetrable shell, and he mourns the possibility of losing the rare vulnerability she’s begun to show him, and the loss of the taste of her.

Tonight, he carries out his plan with military precision. He has a goal and badly wants to achieve it. He casually invites himself to Scully’s motel room over the phone, making an excuse about showing her something on the case they’re working. He does the prep in his room first and stands before her door, bouncing on the balls of his feet, waiting for her to let him in. The door swings open and her attention is immediately drawn to the small tray balanced on his open palm, covered by a thin motel hand towel. And then to the bottle of wine tucked high under his arm.

“Mulder?”

He steps past her and into the room, setting the tray on the low dresser that houses the TV and turns to her. “I, uh, I know it was a while ago, but I was thinking we could finally do that wine and cheese thing I skipped out on in Florida.”

“A memorable night in the forest and stacking bodies in a cave didn’t make up for it?” she asks, coolly skeptical but obviously amused, and he relaxes a little. She’s barefoot and has shed her suit for comfy pajamas, and it strikes him anew how petite she is. He often imagines her twice her actual size, an Amazonian warrior.

He doesn’t answer, instead setting down the bottle and uncovering the tray. There are those half-dollar sized rounds of cheese that come sealed in red wax, slices of Vermont sharp cheddar, small wedges of Gouda and Emmental. A sleeve of Ritz crackers sits nestled next to the neat arrangement. Two clear plastic glasses lay stacked on their sides. He turns them upright and twists the cap open on the bottle, a cheap Chardonnay; the best he could find in the small grocery store at the end of the block.

“It’s not Moet & Chandon,” he tells her. “But it’s passable. Hopefully.”

“Am I to assume your need to share information on the case was a ruse then?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” he agrees with a bashful grin. She settles at the foot of the bed, and he hands her a half-filled glass and then knocks the lip of it against his own. “To things postponed but not forgotten.”

She takes a sip as she eyeballs the selection he’s brought. “Well, where should we start?”

“How about the Gouda? That’s my favorite. Cracker, or no?” He holds a wedge between finger and thumb and gets a response he isn’t expecting as she parts her lips and tips her head up to meet his eye. He carefully places it on her waiting tongue and almost loses his legs as she curls and swipes it across his skin, capturing the wedge of cheese and his undivided attention.

“Scully,” he can’t help but breathe.

She stands and brushes against him as she reaches for the tray and carries it to the small table in front of the window. “Join me?”

He gratefully takes the chair across from hers and waits for her next move. This pas de deux they’ve begun is both tentative and willful. It seems they each have something to prove. She is healthy and back to work, right at his side. And despite being a man who doesn’t believe in them, Mulder accepts that this is nothing short of a miracle. He wants to take every opportunity given to show her that his devotion didn’t stop when she walked out of the hospital.

Scully plucks a slice of cheddar from the paper plate and tears it in two. “This one’s my favorite,” she tells him, and pops the segment in her mouth as her eyes raise to his. She offers the other half to him, holding it out just this side of not-close-enough. Her eyes are sparkling playfully.

He might as well be a helplessly hooked fish, reeled in by her sultry voice and perfect beauty. He leans across the small table and captures her forearm. He closes the distance and opens his mouth for the offered bite, and she feeds it to him. Her fingertips are wet by the time he loosens his hold on her. She’s been licked clean, and she tastes as assertive as the cheese she’s fed him. She is lovely on his tongue.

The seductive dance ends there, both having been satisfied, and the tension rachets down as they slide effortlessly into their usual give and take, tearing into the sleeve of crackers and lobbing banter between bites they feed themselves. Mulder doesn’t want to stay too long, getting up to leave when the bottle is half-empty. He doesn’t want to push any further tonight and doesn’t fully trust himself not to try. But she comes up on her toes as they pause in front of her open door and she softly kisses him goodnight, catching just the edge of his mouth.

He spends the rest of the evening in his own room, slightly buzzed and with a stomach full of cheese and crackers. He doesn’t hesitate to brush his teeth and wash away the taste of her as he gets ready for bed. He knows there’s more where that came from, to be offered less uncomfortably now, and he’s flustered with the thought of opportunities to come.

4.) Hearing is the sense that lets us know what’s going on around us. We have only to stop our progress as we move through a dark and misty forest to know there is someone or something behind, ahead, or to the side of us. We can hear the crunch of the leaves and small twigs snapping beneath their feet. Hearing makes it possible to listen, to laugh, and to enjoy the many things that shape our lives. But not everything we hear is pleasurable. Some sounds we might wish we didn’t have the sense to perceive.

There’s nothing more discordant to his ears than the sound of Scully’s grief, sketched in breathy sobs. It’s not because he doesn’t know how to comfort her, it’s that her tears in his presence are so rare a thing that he knows she’s reached an absolute breaking point.

They’re on a nearly empty redeye flight from Chicago and on their way home when he’s roused from a shallow nap as Scully presses her face into his arm. He blinks quickly awake as she begins to tremble. He can’t see her face - she’s hiding it in his sleeve - but he doesn’t need to. He flips up the armrest between them and she twists towards him as he wraps an arm around her shoulders and tugs her close.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers into her hair. “I’m right here. It’s okay.”

Things have gone straight to hell since the holidays and Emily. They were still unsteady on their feet when she was drawn to Ruskin Dam and nearly died for it. And too recently, the girls they’d tried and failed to save. Compounded by everything else they’ve been dealing with, Mulder is nearing the end of his rope, too.

She recovers quickly, as she always does, and retreats, reaching under her seat and digging through her carry-on for the little package of tissues she keeps on hand. “Be right back,” he says and goes in search of a flight attendant. He soon returns with a styrofoam cup full of steaming hot water and a sealed teabag.  

She’s wiped away all trace of her tears, but her eyes are red and puffy as she glances up at him in thanks. Her tray table gets lowered and it’s not until she’s dunking her teabag with intense concentration that she speaks again.

“I’m just so fucking angry,” she confesses in a raw whisper. “All the time, it seems.”

“Would it be stupid to ask?” He speaks low, leaning close. His hair brushes hers like a caress.

She pulls back and eyes him for a few seconds. “It’s all of it, Mulder. The last year especially. Will it ever be enough for them?”

Ah, the ubiquitous, monstrous, shadowy Them.

“The cancer,” she goes on before he can form a response. “And Emily. That poor child… my child. Even those girls. I don’t know if I should mourn for them or rejoice. Did I have a hand in what happened to them? Am I partially to blame?”

“No, no, not at all. There’s no reason to believe that,” he murmurs. He takes the hand not robotically dunking the teabag. He can do this much for her. He can listen. He can stand witness to her grief for her daughter, for all the lost little girls. He knows that pain well. She finally lets go of the string on the teabag, but only so she can reach up and under the hair at the nape of her neck. His eyes slide shut because he knows where this is headed and is helpless to prevent it.

“This life, Mulder, this life isn’t even mine anymore. It hasn’t been since I was taken and violated with the first implant. I thought I was doing the right thing having it removed. I never considered what that might mean. They own me, Mulder, and they know it. You know it, too.”

“Scully, we’re not certain of anything.”

She pulls her hand free. “You’ve never been one to shy away from the truth. Don’t start now. I need you to acknowledge this. As long as that thing is in my neck, they have control over me. They can call me to my death anytime they choose. And I can’t risk having it removed. If I do that, the chances of the cancer returning... well, I’m dead either way, aren’t I?”

“We’ll figure this out, Scully. I promise.” Even as the words are leaving his mouth, he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. She proves it with her mirthless chuckle.

“I don’t think so, Mulder. I’m running out of reasons to hope otherwise.”

“Then I’ll pick up your slack,” he tells her earnestly. “I’m not giving up. I won’t lose you to them.”

The ubiquitous, monstrous, shadowy Them.

“I think you overestimate your ability to keep me safe. And as soon as you’re no longer useful to them, Mulder, they’ll kill you, too.”

He opens his mouth to dispute her and is dismayed when he finds he can’t form a cogent argument. Not right now. He’s smacking up against the same wall she’s trying to punch her way through. An uneasy silence settles around them like a scratchy and unwanted blanket. Scully sips her tea, and he fidgets beside her. After a while he makes himself slow his breathing and hold the air in his lungs long enough to surface and lift his face above water. He closes his eyes, tips his head back, and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Well, we still have each other, Scully,” he eventually declares. “That’s something, huh? Maybe enough to get us through tomorrow. And the day after. The day after that, too, if we’re lucky. We’ve got that much.”

Her fingers land and curl around his, squeezing gently. He returns the gesture and shifts his hand until they’re palm to palm. He finally dozes off again, waking only when the pilot announces their descent into Dulles International.

5.) Touch. Is there any sense more impactful than this? Studies suggest that our sense of touch is fundamental to communication, bonding, and health. There is research which shows that touch signals safety and trust, it soothes us. The touch of a lover will often activate the body’s vagus nerve, which is intimately involved with triggering feelings of compassion; a simple touch can flood the body with oxytocin, also known as the love hormone.

It's always when she’s sick, dying, or when she’s been hurt. That’s the only time the carefully drawn lines are erased and they allow themselves the luxury of anything beyond their established norm. It vexes him, these lines that seem still so arbitrary between them. Why is an embrace given in comfort more acceptable than one offered up in simple affection? Why can’t a press of his lips against her cheek or forehead shift to become the lover’s kiss he so longs to give her? Deeper, more complex, a testament to their evolving relationship. What are they so afraid of?

He impulsively drives to her apartment Thursday night, when it’s still early enough to not get her out of bed. He knows she prefers to keep her workweek evenings free, just in case, and he’s counting on her being there.

She’s not, in fact, in her apartment at all when he’s lucky enough to snag a parking spot just across from the front entrance of her building. He catches sight of her sitting one step below the wide portico. She’s looking off to her left, elbows on knees, and she’s blowing smoke out of her nostrils like a tiny dragon, a fire-tipped cigarette held loosely in one hand. He snaps his tongue against the roof of his mouth like a disappointed parent even as the primal urge for a cigarette of his own floods through him. They say once you’ve encountered nicotine and fallen into its grasp, even if you quit smoking, the need never really goes away. It doesn’t escape him that the analogy is nearly identical to the way he feels about Scully.

She takes notice of him when he shuts the car door behind him and crosses the street. She studies him as he makes his way up the path and takes the first few steps, and he gives her points for not trying to hide the transgression against her cardiopulmonary system. He stands before her for a second or two before pivoting and settling in beside her.

“Feeling rebellious tonight, Scully?” She offers him the cigarette and he taps her arm away, even though they’ve shared an illicit smoke or two before, but not for a long time. “Nah. I’m trying to cut back on my vices.”

“Well, since this seems to be the only one I have these days,” she responds, “I try not to chastise myself overmuch when I feel the need. What are you doing here, Mulder?” She drops the half-smoked cigarette at her feet and lethally crushes it under the toe of her sneaker.

“Oh, you know.” He doesn’t have a good reason to be here. All he knows for certain is that she’s drawn him like a beacon tonight. He starts to put an explanation together in his head, something reasonable and benign, but doesn’t get the chance to speak it.

“Actually, I’m glad you stopped by. I feel I owe you an apology. I think you may be on to something about Monday. I keep having these… memories. I’m in the bank on my knees and your head is in my lap. You’ve been shot in the chest, and I can’t… you’re dying, Mulder, and I can’t save you. I can’t save myself, either. Or anyone else in there. Because he has a bomb.”

She finally twists her head enough to meet his eye. Her face is scrubbed clean of makeup, and she looks years younger, like she did the first time she walked into his office. He can almost recollect, word for word, their first sparring match, and he marvels at the changes in her over the last six years. While still rigidly scientific in her methods, beneath the trim and precise form she presents to the world, she is softer, more forgiving, more open-minded. Scully wears her acceptance of his slapdash journey through life and her place beside him with a grace far beyond what he deserves. Mulder isn’t entirely sure he knows what real love is, but she is the only answer he will ever accept.

He doesn’t even think about it. He leans in and traps her face in his hands and captures her surprised, open mouth under his, sealing them together as the world stops and holds its breath. Her fingers curl around his upper arm as he feasts on the bittersweet alchemy of Scully and tobacco. He slowly pulls away and raises an arm, slinging it over her shoulders. He gazes out at the street and Mulder feels her eyes locked in solid on him as he fights back a satisfied smile.

“Dare I ask?” she finally does. Her voice is low and husky.

“The next time we’re pulled into an inexplicable time loop and stuck in a bank with a dude strapped with dynamite, I don’t want to go out without ever having done that,” he explains. “Besides, fate cheated us not so long ago outside my apartment. I‘m just righting a wrong, Scully, thumbing my nose at fate and all the vagaries of life.”

“You’ve very whimsical tonight, Mulder.”

He glances back over at her and his smile slips free. “Philosopher and poet,” he jokes while tugging her closer. His eyes drop down when she lightly drapes her hand midway up his thigh a small time later. It’s her turn to do visual reconnaissance on the street outside their little bubble, apparently. She’s diligently avoiding his eye.

“So, did I just hand you a brand-new shiny vice to add to your extremely limited catalogue? That would make two and I know how much you love nice round numbers.”

“I’m not sure kissing qualifies as a vice, Mulder,” she rejoins as she turns to him. The eyebrow is locked and loaded.

“It does if you do it right.”

He can tell he’s given her exactly what she was hoping for, and they exchange toothy grins in happy acknowledgement. She finally explodes with a high, girlish giggle. He follows not far behind her with one of his own, pitched lower but just as delighted, and they lean in together and share this, too. It strikes him that neither of them was scared at all.

Everything in its own time, he reminds himself. To everything there is a season. Even an agnostic knows the truth when he hears it.

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Notes:

I’m not kidding when I tell you I had to drag the muse kicking and screaming out of her comfy little cave to get this written. Don’t know what her issue was, but I hope it was worth it. Only you can be the judge of that. Maybe she’ll be more agreeable next time. We shall see.

Things the muse grudgingly liked this time: ~ The playlist I finally settled on just a day ago, after weeks at this. Too many artists to mention. ~ The last of autumn’s vivid colors. ~ The first batch of hearty homemade soup. ~ Chimney smoke from the fires laid within the hearths of the homes around me. ~ Levon the Cat switching from his sleeping perch on the back of the couch to my lap for the extra warmth. I make a good furnace, I guess.

Till next time…

[sisterspooky1013]

Red-Handed, Ch 25

Chapter Rating: T | Read it here on AO3 | Joint work with @xfmaweezy  “Thanks for coming with me, Mulder,” she says, her eyes cast out the rain-dappled window of the car. 

“Of course,” he replies, giving her hand a squeeze. “Attending funerals of distant relatives is a basic boyfriend duty,” he adds, and she turns to look at him, trying to decide if it was said in jest. 

“Boyfriend?” she repeats flatly, and he flashes his eyes between her and the road. 

“No? Do you prefer lover? Partner would be too confusing, considering work. Perhaps significant other? Or does fuck buddy feel more accurate to you?” he tosses out, and she blinks at him. 

“Fuck buddy?” she repeats, and he laughs. 

“Call me whatever you want, Scully. I’m happy to be here, is all I’m saying.”

“Well, speaking of boyfriends, or lovers, or fuck buddies,” she says, throwing him a significant look, “Bill and Tara don’t know that we’re anything more than coworkers, and I’d prefer to keep it that way for now, if you don’t mind.”

He raises his eyebrows, stealing a glance at her. 

“Am I your dirty little secret, Scully?” he asks, hiding hurt feelings behind humor, as usual. 

“No, Mulder,” she assures him, pulling their joined hands into her lap. “It’s just not a great time, with the funeral and everything. Aunt Olive was my father’s only sibling and she didn’t have any children, so in a way it’s like the last bit of Dad is officially gone, and—”

“Hey,” he interrupts, “it’s okay. I’m not exactly looking forward to the brawl that’s bound to ensue when Bill finds out I finally got in your pants.”

“Mulder!” she admonishes with a laugh. “Don’t be crass.”

“If you insist on calling me your fuck buddy, Scully, I’m bound to be crass. I can’t help it,” he says, smirking through the rain soaked windshield. 

–

“The service was lovely, Father McCue, thank you,” Scully says, shaking the elderly priest's hand as she shows him to the door.

“Olive was a lovely woman,” Father McCue replies, dropping Scully’s hand and extending his to Mulder. “She’ll be remembered fondly.”

They bid him farewell and trail back towards the kitchen, where Maggie is preparing a late lunch. Mulder drapes his arm across Scully’s shoulders, pulling her to his side. 

“How ya holding up, buddy?” he asks, and she shoots him a warning glance. 

“I’m okay,” she murmurs, then heaves a heavy sigh. 

“You seem okay,” he retorts, steering her into the first floor guest room and closing the door behind them. 

She drops down onto the edge of the mattress, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Mulder sits down beside her, rubbing his hand over her back in wide circles. 

“Aunt Olive was always really supportive of my career choices,” she says, her voice muffled. “She’s the only person who was excited for me when I joined the FBI.”

He doesn’t say anything, knowing there is nothing to be said, and eventually she sits up and turns toward him, threading her arms around his waist. He scoops her up into his lap, and she rests her head on his shoulder. Her eyes are dry but her heart is heavy, and he brushes reassuring touches over her shoulders and legs, petting her hair comfortingly. Eventually, she lifts her head to look at him. She narrows her eyes appraisingly, and he lifts his eyebrows in question.  

“You’re a pretty good boyfriend, Mulder. Surprisingly,” she admits, her tone begrudging. 

“Surprisingly?” he repeats incredulously, but he’s smiling. 

“I’m quite pleasantly surprised, yes,” she says, a smile slowly blooming on her mouth. 

She touches his stubbled cheek, then kisses him sweetly, a series of tender pecks as they both smile like idiots. 

“I have some other surprises for you later,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. 

“Is that so?” she says, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth. By the time she recognizes the snick of the door opening, it’s too late.

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry!” Tara says, holding up her hand and looking away as she backs out of the room. “I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”

The door closes again and Scully turns to look at Mulder, both of them gape-mouthed. 

“You think she’ll believe that that was a friendly kiss between completely platonic coworkers?” Mulder asks cheekily, and Scully groans. 

They exit the room, keeping a respectable distance between them as they join Maggie in the kitchen. 

“Oh, there you are,” Maggie says brightly, handing Mulder a tray of meats and cheeses. “Put those out on the dining room table would you, Fox? Dana, will you go let Bill and Tara know that lunch is ready, please?” 

Mulder heads for the dining room while Scully goes upstairs to find her brother. She and Tara aren’t close by any stretch of the imagination, but she thinks that her sister-in-law may have the good sense to know that telling Bill what she saw will only serve to ruin the rest of their trip, as well as make for a very awkward lunch. 

“What do you mean ‘close,’ Tara? What does that mean?” she hears Bill grumbling as she nears the partially-open door of his old bedroom. She stills, straining to hear over the thump of her heartbeat. 

“I mean they were sitting very close, Bill, I don’t know,” Tara explains with exasperation. “She was sitting on his lap.”

“On his lap?” Bill repeats angrily. “What were they doing?”

Scully hears Tara heave a sigh, and she knows the jig is up. 

“They were kissing, Bill,” she says in a small voice. 

“Like hell they were,” Bill spits, his voice increasing in volume. 

The door swings open and they are suddenly face to face, his being very red and hers being white as a sheet. 

“Dana,” he says derisively, looking her over as though in search of a scarlet letter. “Is it true? You and Mulder?”

Tara appears just over Bill’s shoulder and mouths “sorry” with an anguished expression, and Scully’s desire to avoid conflict with her brother is suddenly overridden by her urge to protect Mulder and their fledgling relationship. She stands up taller, shoulders back, chin held high. 

“Yes,” she says confidently, “Mulder and I are together. Happily so.”

Bill scoffs. “You sure do know how to pick ‘em Dana, don’t you? I can’t believe you’ve continued to work with that sorry son of a–”

“I don’t recommend finishing that sentence, Bill,” Scully interrupts, leveling him with an icy stare. “I’m very aware that you don’t like Mulder. And it’s long past due that I make you aware that I don’t care what you think.”

Bill takes one step closer, attempting to intimidate her with his height. She nearly laughs—she’s been sparring with a man nearly a foot taller than her for years. 

“That man will never be welcome in my home,” Bill growls. 

“That’s fine,” Scully says cooly. “But we’re not in your home. We’re in Mom’s home, and she loves Mulder, as do I. So I suggest you be cordial, otherwise you may be taking your lunch on the porch, alone.”

Bill’s jaw sets and his nostrils flare. Tara wraps her hand around his upper arm and squeezes, drawing his attention. 

“Let’s go have lunch, Bill,” she pleads, and he nods. 

Scully leads the way as they head back down the stairs, feeling triumphant and brassy. As the three of them round into the dining room where Mulder and Maggie are already seated at the table, Scully takes the chair beside Mulder and turns to him, beaming. 

“Hey,” he says, mildly confused by her demeanor, but not unpleasantly so. 

“Hi,” she says, then leans into him and presses her mouth to his. 

The kiss is brief, chaste, entirely befitting of a greeting in mixed company, but he stares at her with an open mouth for a beat, his eyes darting over to Bill and Tara, who are taking their seats with hostile and anxious expressions, respectively. 

Maggie, for her part, smiles fondly at her daughter, draping a napkin across her lap before she extends her hands to either side. 

“Let’s pray,” she says, and Scully reaches across the table to take Tara’s hand. 

“Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen,” the Scullys recite in unison while Mulder sits quietly. 

“I’m so glad you could be here with us today, Fox,” Maggie says. “I hope you know we consider you part of the family.”

Mulder blushes, dropping his head deferentially with a mumbled “Thanks, Mrs. Scully.”

Scully looks across the table at her brother with a haughty smirk, then bites into a pickle with an audible crunch. 

Tagging @today-in-fic

[randomfoggytiger]

I think your interpretation of that scene is skewed and contributed to what happened. Whether or not the specific term “man crush” had been invented by the time of that scene, what David and Gary are discussing is bisexuality. Bisexuality has been around longer than we’ve had the words to talk about it and certainly much before either Gary or David’s times. My understanding of “the humor” in that scene is that David is describing the feelings of being attracted to a woman and comparing them to the same feelings he has towards Gary, thus verbally contradicting himself. It’s funny because while David is saying he’s NOT gay, he is describing himself BEING gay. (Re bisexual due to his history and admittance to wanting/liking/desiring women as well).

No matter the intent of the skit, the impact is a discussion of bisexuality.

Your response to the other person denies and rejects the duality of intent and impact and leans heavily on the insistence that only the intent is valid. Which is where I see the disconnect. (And how the hell do you know David and Gary’s initial intent with this scene?). If you speak with such authority, you need to give that same authority back to those in the same position as you. Neither of you were there in the making of that skit and both of your responses lay on the same level of assumption.

As someone who has faced continuous denial and rejection of my existence and identities, being cast away with words of “it’s just funny to me” is not funny to me and does more harm than good. It’s especially difficult to have discussions and back and forths online because you lose a lot of nuance and tone indicators when reading in your own voice and from your own perspective. I’m sure your impact of this anon will differ from my intent in sending it.

I��m interjecting my voice and my opinion on the matter because your “call-out” post made this all public and indicated that some sort of external input was needed or desired. You seem to be trying to understand what’s happening and without personally speaking to either of you or having any additional context out of seeing your post on my dash and clicking the links (seeing those posts for the very first time too) i understand how much it sucks to feel misinterpreted and wish you peace in whatever level of understanding you are left with.

Tagging this as "drama" (shorter than misconceptions) for anyone that wants to avoid.

Referring to this post.

Well, I only "know" because David has repeatedly said in all his interviews about the topic that the skit was about a "man crush" before the term existed, not about gay or bisexuality. I'm just repeating what he's said--reference (2:37 onward is the specific backstory.) It's funny either way; the original intent just tickled my funny bone more.

I'm fine that anyone can interpret it differently-- that's comedy-- but that doesn't give someone the right to paint me as a bigot for not agreeing with one interpretation, just as it wouldn't give me the right to lambast jewish-mulder for her own take on that skit.

And let's say you're 100% correct and I'm 100% wrong... am I a bigot because I accidentally hurt or minimized your or Anna's personal experiences? The intent is important: why was I brushed with the same brush as an actual bigot and dismissed so quickly without being given the chance to correct if I'd offended?

Thank you for taking the time to drop in with your thoughts. I appreciate it; and hope you have a lovely day.

[mlobsters]

supernatural s4e18 the monster at the end of this book (teleplay julie siege, story julie siege, nancy weiner)

ack, it's samantha! in a 30 second cameo.

the x-files s2e17 end game - megan leitch as samantha mulder

aforementioned keegan connor tracy who was on the show before that i know from the magicians.

i have an aversion to their ~quirky~ music because usually it's a type of humor that makes me grind my teeth but once we got past the whole talking about dirty incest fans and the thing with the book publisher, it's been surprisingly ok. glad they mostly transitioned to digs aimed at the show itself. but every time that music starts playing, i brace for the worst. i also just don't love the composed music for the show, i think it does it a disservice. i probably have complained about that before.

like okay dean needs to get chuck to participate in the archangel spooking lilith plan and it's all been very serious up until this point, but then the music goes to the cheesy rousing inspirational business which makes it feel very much like it's a joke. and it does go a little funny, but i think the music was too much. bleh. anyway.

i feel like i've seen him in a bunch of things but scrolling through i'll say evil is probably the only thing i've seen him in recent memory. should have gotten a cap from the previous episode with the bright lighting.

evil s1e5 october 31 - kurt fuller as dr kurt boggs

the tone on this episode was all over the place! my friend is eagerly, patiently, waiting for me to have an opinion on castiel and i'm eagerly awaiting having one. i feel like there was a bit more something happening with him and dean in this episode, giving him the tip about chuck. otherwise he just hasn't been around enough for me to have any thoughts, and he's pretty dry when he is. dry like his lips! get the dude a manual on how to care for your human suit. with some lip balm.

also, the winchester gospel. the guffaw i made, okay spn writers. i liked chuck, and didn't expect to. maybe it was another case of them making the writer(s) sympathetic. but i'm glad they didn't try to ham it up too much. i get that the concept of introducing the books would be hard to do in any serious manner, but i could have gone without the fannish specific bits personally.

also ALSO using the previous episode to kind of quickly temper the truly horrific over the top terrible events in the Torture Episode and then this one kind of easing more into the main arc and being serious but not too serious, well. was zachariah doing his little demo to dean that he'll always be a hunter deep down all we needed to address with that episode? other than sam bitching dean isn't himself and is too weak since he got back from hell.

"You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out."

i mean as far as i can tell, nothing really changed with dean. does starting the apocalypse-guilt cancel out embracing/enjoying torture again that you're also probably extra guilty about too?

there's not enough time in the day to deal with it anyhow and we've got plot to plow through. the apocalypse isn't gonna start itself!

i was trying to talk it through with someone and my feeling was like. earlier seasons, the traumas were smaller. sam and dean talked a lot. more than most shows do. it feel like things maybe didn't get resolved per se, but there was something going on there. they were looking at it, at least. and some things did get wholly dropped (like the mystery spot aftermath hello, bitter) but more often than not, it felt like they dealt with things. but the traumas get bigger and coming so fast, you can't keep up, there's not enough time. everything is always escalating. and i think it's exacerbated by the plot that sam and dean aren't really on the same page anymore. and maybe cas is supposed to fill that spot with dean, but it's a hard sell for me when we don't really know cas and at this point he has no personality to speak of.

i'm just feeling pretty grumpy about everything at the moment.

[pennyserenade]

dana scully + javier peña one shot thingy because i did one for fox + javi before. tw for talk about drugs & talk about a pregnant woman dying. anyways here is it:

when javier meets dana, she is lovesick and bruised, & perhaps a little bitter. none of it shows at first. she comes to his shoulders in the her too expensive boots & flashes her fbi badge with an air of someone who is used to being distrusted. he wouldn’t have thought to ask her for identification. this is the first thing he thinks, struck by how bad he can sometimes be at this goddamn job, & then, suddenly: she is pretty. he shoves the thought aside when she asks him for the details of the case, so matter-of-fact it forces him into professionalism.

dana scully is not sexless — her suit hugs her curves, she wears colored lipsticks and eyeshadow, & she smells nice, feminine — but her voice has a sense of command to it, & so he tries his best to pretend she is. she is another american agent, stomping on his ground. they all try to prescribe solutions to equations that can’t be solved with simple math. when he speaks to her, his tone is some place between professional and softened disdain. he doesn’t hate her but what she stands for. she regards him with steely blue eyes & shows no weaknesses. she is used to working with men.

on a terrible tuesday morning he stands in the corner as she does an autopsy on a young woman who died suddenly. he suspects drugs, ingested in another country and opened up inside of her someplace between here and there. he’s seen it before. dana isn’t sure what she believes. in washington, mulder is losing his faith and she’s here in texas, trying to find a reason to make him hold onto it. javier wants to show her he’s serious too, but he blanches when the scalpel hits the skin. she is so focused, though, so she doesn’t notice, speaking intricate details into the cool air of the morgue. he turns around, pinches his eyes closed. he has seen death before, in gruesome forms, but somehow it seems so sterile, so lifeless, placed on the steel table and spoken about in dana’s doctorly monotone voice like that. he hates it, escapes through the door and balances on the heel of his boots in the parking lot. he smokes a cigarette, then another one, before going back to the office.

for sake of professionalism, javier does his best not to speak to dana about anything other than business, and even then, he is scarce. she is fbi. he is dea. he isn’t so good with women. or maybe it’s that he’s too good with them. whatever the reason, he understands that he must keep his distance. she doesn’t make it hard, not with the way she is bossy and straightforward and completely uncaring about him. he doesn’t think she’s a tight-ass, like some of the other men do, but he is aware that she is serious. he doesn’t hold it against her, but he doesn’t love her for it either. she is just another agent to him.

that is until the next girl. he’s seen this before too: a pregnant woman, dead. drugs, he suspects again, because what else could it be? she offers him no theory of her own and he doesn’t probe. they make her do the autopsy and something inside of him urges him to go with her. maybe god. maybe his mother. he doesn’t know, but he’s too much of a coward to not believe that it’s something more than instinct. she struggles. after it’s over her blue eyes wet with tears and she lets him hug her. he is not mulder. she forgets herself for a moment. he has the familiarity of the leather jacket and a presence that is comforting, gentle. he holds her hesitantly but firmly, somehow, & she tells him she’s never done one like that before. he understands. it was like that for me too, the first time, he says. his voice is kind & hushed, like mulder’s gets with children. she feels so safe, less alone.

they go over a lot of anecdotes when he takes them to a local bar. she looks like she could use a drink, so he brings her to one. really all she wants to do is curl into bed & call mulder, but she is fiery with anger. scully, you’re making this personal, mulder had told her. so she doesn’t do that. she gets into javier peña’s car & is driven to a bar, & she tells him everything she can think, without the big stuff. mostly it is a picture of her life before mulder. that’s how she always does, with people she doesn’t know well enough. normal people. she doesn’t say mulder’s name once. she refers to him as her partner when she has to at all, like it’s that causal.

when a country song plays over the jukebox & she is pleasantly tipsy, dana does something dana does not do; she flirts. javi is too good and no good with women, so he flirts back. his eyes are dark, so dark, & the way he flirts is so unlike mulder too. there’s no boyishness to him, to his jokes. he is more like burt reynolds, or the men from the old movies she likes to watch; brooding, mysterious, charming. he delivers his lines as well as cary grant by the time they reach their second drink, & she responds like some katharine hepburn, clever & charming in her own right.

he kisses her in the dark of her motel room, one hand pressed under her dress shirt to feel the warmth of her. they undress methodically, undoing their own buttons. when she puts her hands on his chest, they are cold, doctorly. she thinks how unlike mulder he is many times, repeating it, & it feels nice, to know she can be wanted by a good man. a normal one. not that mulder isn’t good, or relatively normal. but she took it too personally with him. he doesn’t want her. javier does. oh god, does he. the mattress groans as he presses into her with a fevered urgency. javier fucks her like she wants to be fucked, fingers bruising her hips as he slams into her & any thought of mulder or the remains of her life as it is, gone. he takes her from behind, draws her body up close when his orgasm stutters throughout him. his hand brushes against her cross when he makes her cum with his fingers & he realizes maybe they are the same. there’s a rosary on the rearview mirror of his car, parked just outside the window. they come together nicely, forget themselves successfully. in the morning they are back to business. javier is not hurt by it. he’s sensible and seasoned in affairs like these. she’s fbi; he’s dea.

the case is not x-files worthy. she tries her best to think like mulder, looks for all the clues, but can’t find them anywhere. it’s just drugs — dea business. when she calls him, mulder tells her he thought as much, that she shouldn’t beat herself up. she didn’t land on the piece of the puzzle, a slice of conspiracy. maybe next time. she is so sick with guilt she wants to just tell him what happened. but she doesn’t, least she makes it personal. she takes some personal days, says she’s going to visit her brother. he accepts this blindly & in a fit of jealously she thinks of diana, how he’s too distracted by that woman to care. scully does not seek her brother but more of javier.

by the end of it, javier is no closer to solving anything. he buries his emotion in dana, wastes an entire day wrapped up in the sheets with the red headed woman. they talk about nothing, about everything, & by the end of their time together, they feel better & worse. he is never going to see her again, & he wants to. it’s been a long time since he’s felt an ache like that. she is never going to see him again, but she imagines in another life she could’ve loved him just as much as mulder. maybe even in this one, but she won’t leave mulder. can’t. she buried a bullet in his shoulder once & dammit, she’ll do it again if she has to. he doesn’t have to love her, but he won’t ruin himself.

she goes back to washington & mulder does notice, but they don’t talk about it. it makes him dizzy with envy. he is betrayed & he wonders briefly if this is because of what he said. of course it is. but then: not everything is about you mulder. javier peña is nothing & everything in the grand scheme of things. she thinks of him for weeks, sometimes with guilt, sometimes in relief. javier thinks about her always, forever, like she’s the one that got away, but he does that with them all. he doesn’t leave her with visible tattoos or ugly bruising all over, but a few years later when she sleeps with mulder for the first time, she will find he has left her with a lasting impression. she was so focused on how unlike mulder he was that she failed to see how entirely like him he was.

[quokkacore]

phenomena | s.jn

summary: the majority of your adult life you’ve been practically married to logic and science. until your superiors at the FBI assign you to work with special agent johnny suh on the so-called x-files project—cases that were never solved due to unexplained phenomena. as time goes by, and you chase case after case, you find yourself drifting further from logic… and closer to johnny. (part of the 90s love collab)

pairing: conspiracytheorist!johnny x doctor!reader

genre: x-files!au (with johnny as fox mulder and reader as dana scully), fbiagents!au, coworkers-to-lovers, slow burn, sci-fi, angst, fluff, comedy, crack-ish at times, fakmarriage!au at the end

warnings: language, murder, eating, blood, general violence, police presence (txf is fbi level copaganda but oh well), johnny is a low key dick initially, sexual references, general american ignorance, implied sexual harrassment in the workplace, mental hospitals, reader witnesses a distressing panic attack, guns, body image, referenced child/animal abuse, repressed memories, mentions of anti-semitism & nazism, christian allusions, occultism, mild gore, slight body horror, some 90s pop culture references, i am not !!! an fbi agent so there may be some inconsistencies, suggestive content but no actual smut, Karens being thirsty for johnny, johnny is a Single Man and is Kind of Gross, both reader and johnny get knocked unconscious Several Times

song recs: gorillaz - dirty harry // john mellencamp - martha say // elton john - whitewash county // arctic monkeys - all my own stunts // kesha - spaceship // the cranberries - dreams // exo - oasis // the cure - friday, i'm in love // billy joel - we didn't start the fire // david bowie - starman // phoebe bridgers - chinese satellite // tom petty - wildflowers // selena - bidi bidi bom bom // soda stereo - persiana americana // bruce springsteen - dancing in the dark // the cranberries - linger // bruce springsteen - human touch // r.e.m - it's the end of the world as we know it (and i feel fine) // david bowie - heroes (or just listen to the playlist i made instead)

word count: 34.3k (YOWZA u should prob read this on a browser)

a/n: a fic this long......never again

X-FILE 62-J: THE PINEWOOD PATTERN

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—08:00 hours, Monday, March 16th, 1992

The morning you met Johnny Suh, his glasses were crooked. It was two years after you'd started working for the FBI, and you were 28 years old. 

You'd spoken to your Division Chief—an older, balding man named Carson Brooks—the afternoon prior, just before you left home. He, along with two other men had asked you about the man in question. 

"Agent L/N, tell me. What do you know about an agent named John Suh?” 

You had furrowed your eyebrow, staring up at him. “John Suh? He had quite the reputation at the academy. Let's see… Oxford educated psychologist. He wrote a monograph on serial killers and the occult… helped the FBI catch Ezekiel Braun in 1988. He’s generally considered to be the best analyst of the violent crimes division. I’ve never met him personally. There’s a nickname for him around the division, though. They called him that in the academy, too." You had to hold back a chuckle, "Spooky Suh."

One of the men next to him nodded—a senior officer whose name you couldn't quite remember—before leaning forward. “It has come to our attention that he’s devoted himself to a project outside of the bureau mainstream. Agent L/N, are you familiar with the so-called X-Files project?”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, trying to recall where you’d heard the name. “From what I understand,” You said, looking up at the man, “They’re cases that are related to unexplained phenomena.”

Your division chief straightened his glasses. “Agent L/N, we’d like for you to assist Suh on these files. You are to write field reports and assess the validity of his work.”

You blinked, not letting your face crack. “...Am I to understand you want me to debunk the X-Files project, sir?”

Your eyes scanned the room. So far, the third man, the one smoking the cigarette had been the only one to not speak.

“Agent L/N,” Your division chief replied with a pursed smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “We expect you to make the proper scientific analyses required for these cases. We trust you won’t disappoint us and will be looking forward to seeing your reports. You are to meet with Agent Suh tomorrow morning.”

That had been the day before. Now, here you were, on your way down to the basement, which was apparently John Suh's natural habitat within the Bureau headquarters. The lighting was relatively low in the hallways, shelves upon shelves of cardboard archive boxes seemingly closing you in. When you finally reached the office door at the end of the hall, you rapped your knuckles against the wood twice.

“Sorry, no one down here except for the FBI’s most unwanted!” A deep, sardonic toned voice lamented. You made an amused face to yourself, before quickly composing yourself. 

Professionalism above all else, Y/N. First impressions matter.

So you took a deep breath before opening the door slowly. Your eyes scanned the room, widening slightly despite your mantras of professionalism. The man had his back to you, so he didn’t catch it, thankfully. He was too busy studying photographic slides on a lightbox on his desk, hunched over in concentration. 

But amongst those metal filing cabinets that were all that same atrocious shade of gray, the entire room was pretty much a mess—papers scattered across the desk and pictures tacked to the walls haphazardly to the point where it was hard to tell what color the wall he was sitting in front of was. Among other things, you caught newspaper clippings, pictures of bright beams of light igniting the night sky, a diagram of the human skeleton, and in the middle, a large poster. On it, a large UFO was hovering above a pine forest skyline, the words “I WANT TO BELIEVE” printed in bold, white letters across the bottom.

The man in question turned in his swivel chair to face you. You took note of the crooked glasses propped up onto his round nose, wide eyes studying you up and down. The sleeves of his white button up were rolled up to his elbows, and his tie, just like his glasses, was crooked. Still, you mustered a curt smile, urging yourself to remain professional in spite of how handsome he was.     

"Agent Suh," You declared, holding out your hand, "I’m Y/N L/N. I've been assigned to work with you."

John shook your hand, eyeing you somewhat skeptically. "Agent L/N. I've heard a lot of things. So, who did you piss off to get stuck with this old nut?"

"Actually, I’m looking forward to working with you. Division chief Brooks has asked me to do an evaluation of your work ethic and the overall project, I’m hoping we can work well together."

He pursed his lips, obviously trying to hold back a laugh. Finally, he broke into a grin. "So, they want you to babysit."

You bit back a huff as he turned to look back at his slides. Well, yes, he was right in a way, but you weren't going to admit it. Not with the slightly condescending tone he'd taken with you. Running your tongue against your front teeth in annoyance, you did your best to remain cordial. You plastered your polite smile back onto your face and crossed your arms.

"If you have any doubt about my credentials—”

“You’re a medical doctor,” He said, pulling out a folder with a clear plastic front, “You teach at the academy, did your undergraduate degree in physics…”

He looked at the blue folder in his hands. “Einstein’s Twin Paradox: A new interpretation. Y/N L/N’s senior thesis, now there’s a credential: rewriting Einstein.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you bother to read it?” Your tone had a dangerous roll to it. Already you were starting to doubt how much you would enjoy this. 

“I did!” He stood up from the swivel chair, revealing to you just how tall he was. As he walked to one of the gray filing cabinets on the other side of the room, he turned his head and flashed you a crooked smile. “I really liked it, actually. It’s just in my line of work, the laws of physics don’t seem to apply.”

John walked back over to his desk, picking up some of the slides on the lightbox and popping them into a slide projector a few feet away. You stepped out of his way as he made his way to the light switch next to the door, engulfing the room in darkness except for the lightbox, which gave the room a dim, industrial white glow. Turning back to the projector, he pressed the on button, before he looked back at you. His face had turned serious, wide eyes peering at you in the dark.

“Maybe I can get your medical opinion on this.”

Turning your head to the first slide, your eyes settled on the body of a young woman lying amongst old leaves. She was in a white nightgown smudged in dirt, and her arms were spread out as if she were waiting for someone to embrace her.

“Oregon female,” John said, “Aged 21. No known cause of death. Autopsy tells us jack.”

He changed slides, and the image projected on the wall changed to a close up of skin, two small red dots puckered up about a few centimeters away from each other. “However, these were found on her lower back. Doctor L/N, can you ID these marks?”

Walking closer to the projection on the wall, you sighed softly in thought. “Needle punctures, maybe?” You asked, “An animal bite? Electrocution?” 

“The coroner wasn’t able to ID them either.” He pressed a button on the projector, and it whirred as it changed slides. This time, it was a figure of a chemical composition. You furrowed your eyebrow. 

“This was found in the surrounding tissue. How’s your chemistry?” He asked, sounding amused. You glanced at him in dislike, then at the composition, racking your head at the sight of so many cyclohexanes. 

“It’s organic… Is it some kind of synthetic protein?”

He didn’t answer, and your mouth fell open in confusion, shaking your head. “I… don’t know, what is it?”

John laughed. “Beats me! I’ve never seen it either. But it’s also been found in Amaranth, South Dakota…” He clicked the button on the projector. It changed to an image of a middle aged man laying face down in a ditch. He did it again, and a younger man appeared strewn in the middle of the desert, eyes glazed open. “...And again, in Verona, Nevada.”

“Do you have any theories?” You asked, squinting as to avoid looking at the glare of the projector, and instead stare at him. He made his way closer to you. The light of the projection caused the image to warp and distort, projected onto the right side of his face. 

“Oh, I have plenty of theories. What I want to know is why it’s bureau policy to claim these as unexplained phenomena when there’s clearly a pattern here.”

He sighed, before stepping closer to you. He wasn’t necessarily invading your personal space. But from this proximity, caught in the light of the projector you could make out the soft flecks of amber in his brown eyes, the soft curve of his lips. “So, doc,” He murmured, voice low and raspy, “Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

Oh boy, you thought, here we go. 

“Logically, I would have to say no. The energy capabilities required to travel through space, as well as the technology you're implying would exceed a spacecraft's—”

"Conventional wisdom," He said, raising his eyebrows. He crossed his arms, pointing at the projection. "Do you know that this girl in Oregon is the fourth person in her graduating class to pass away under suspicious circumstances?" 

 He shifted his weight to lean on one leg. “When there’s no logic, and there’s no convention, is it such a crime to turn to the fantastic for explanations?”

 You frowned. “She had to have died from something. Whether it was natural, then it’s possible the medical examiner missed something. If she was murdered, then maybe it was a cover-up, or a sloppy investigation.” 

Leaning your head forward towards him, you put your hands on your hips. “What I find fantastic is the idea that you would be willing to look anywhere except the realm of science for answers. The answers are there, you just have to be willing to look for them.”

    “And that’s why they put the I in FBI,” He quipped, sounding quite amused at his joke. He turned on the overhead lights, then made his way to sit down at his swivel chair. He leaned back against the black cushion. “So, L/N. You, me, a flight to Pinewood, Oregon, bright and early tomorrow at eight AM. How’s that sound?”

 You bit back a smile. John Suh was… quite the character, that was for sure. Smug. Intelligent. Maybe just a tiny bit off his rocker.

But you didn't really have much of a choice, and you were growing curious as well. 

 "Alright,” You conceded, “I’ll bite.”

 John grinned. “Awesome.”

You set your purse down next to the projector, before turning it off. “I’ll be right back,” You told him, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

He nodded, turning back to the files next to the lightbox.

 “And John?” You leaned against the doorway, watching as he straightened his posture to look up at you, expectant of your words. His eyes, from behind those crooked, round rimmed glasses, were poised on your frame. 

“Yes?”

“Your glasses are crooked.” You turned to exit, smiling to yourself when you heard him move, and softly mumble, “Oh, shit.”

PINEWOOD, OREGON—11:32 hours, Tuesday, March 17th, 1992

The plane touched down with only the slightest bit of turbulence. John Suh was sitting right next to you, snoring softly as you pored over the four different medical reports. The reports of the first three victims—Kaya Tate, Jisung Park, and Alex Gallagher—were basically the same word for word, other than specific physical details of the victims, like hair color, height and weight. All of them were found in the woods and were estimated to have died somewhere between one and four in the morning. Possible causes of death included exposure and cardiac arrest, but there wasn’t enough evidence to list anything. The oddest part was that of the three of them, all of their pupils were shrunken. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

 When a person dies, what occurs next is called primary flaccidity. In this state, all of the muscles relax—their head might fall back as the neck loses strength, the jaw falls open, fingers loosen their grip. And the pupils should dilate. But here, they weren’t. Not in the slightest.

You frowned, looking over the first three reports again. There was no sign of red marks anywhere. At the end of all three medical reports, the same signature was seen: Aaron Choi, MD. 

Flicking through the medical report of the fourth victim—Kaya Tate—you looked over the similarities of the other autopsies, and the one unavoidable difference: those damned red markings John had shown you yesterday. With a sigh, you skimmed over the report one last time, before one final difference caught your eye at the very end. This report wasn’t signed by one Aaron Choi, MD. No, it was signed by Hank Rodrigo, MD.

You didn’t have time to think over it much as the pilot made the announcement that the plane would be landing soon. John jumped awake at the sound of his voice. His eyes cracked open, and he frowned as if he were upset at being woken up. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” You greeted when he gave you a sideways glance. 

“And here I was, hoping for a kiss to break the spell.” He laughed sleepily, but you frowned as you pulled the reports off of the tray. You didn’t answer as you put them away and put the tray back up in preparation for the landing.

John stretched his back, inhaling deeply before staring at you awkwardly. “...Sorry. I’m being inappropriate.”

You shook your head, but then smiled. “Thank you for apologizing. Some guys at the bureau can be real creeps.”

He frowned. “...You’re trained in self defense at the academy for a reason, y’know.”

Rolling your eyes, you zipped up your bag. Still, you couldn’t let go of the smile on your face. Still, you put some sarcasm into your tone when you next spoke. “Of course I am.”

When the plane landed, you picked up the rental car the bureau had provided, and put your suitcases in the trunk before getting in. John drove, popping in a cassette of his that played some rock song you didn’t know the name of. 

Martha say she don't need no stinking man making no decisions for her

She don't need his money, she don't need him between the sheets

She ain't gonna sleep on the edge of the bed for no stinking man...

“Kaya Tate’s medical report was signed by a different examiner,” You pointed out, even though you knew that he’d already realized that.

“And there it is,” He said, not taking his eyes off of the road. “Those marks are pretty hard to miss. If they all had similar circumstances in the autopsy, who’s to say the first three kids didn’t have the same markings? And why would Doctor Choi avoid putting that in the reports?”

For a moment, he looked at you, and raised an eyebrow. You mirrored his expression at his implication. “So, you think the medical examiner has something to do with the murders.”

“Maybe?” He glanced briefly in the rearview mirror. “He’s a person of interest. Not necessarily a suspect. I’ve arranged to exhume Alex Gallagher’s body. Maybe we can come to some conclusion of our own—”

He was interrupted by the sound of the song from his cassette distorting, static blaring in between the music and the sound of the vocalist’s voice.

At first, you thought it was something to do with the cassette… until the windows started rolling up and down of their own accord, and the lights on the dashboard started to flicker. You felt the car even swerve slightly, despite John’s firm hands on the wheel.

Within a matter of seconds he managed to pull over and put the car in park. As soon as it had started, it was over, but as John turned the motor off, he met your eyes. He looked just as perplexed as you did. 

“What just happened?”

He didn't answer, unbuckling his seat belt. As he got out of the car, you did the same thing, wondering what kind of failure could cause a car to go haywire like that. 

Wordlessly, you watched as John took a good, long look at his watch, before walking over to the trunk and popping it up. From his suitcase, he pulled out a can of spray paint. He pulled the cap off of it and leaned over, aiming at the asphalt. You raised your eyebrows.

"What are you—" 

The sound of the paint can interrupted your words. You watched as he sprayed a big X on the street, right in front of where he was standing. Your mouth remained slightly open, unsure of what to say. When he stood up straight, he placed the can back in his suitcase, and looked up at you. Slamming the trunk shut, the both of you exchanged stares: his blank as if vandalizing forest streets were a part of his day to day life, and yours somewhat perplexed. 

When the two of you got back into the car, it turned on with no issue. John's cassette started up again on the same song. Again, you exchanged a wordless stare, the both of you now equally unsure.

“Welcome to the Twilight Zone,” John muttered, putting the car in drive. You didn’t reply.

 Hi-de-hi-de-hi, brother,

Hi-de-hi-de-hey now, Martha...

Ten minutes later the two of you rolled into the cemetery. It was an uphill slope, a small field atop it, connecting to the woods. John drove until a small, yellow bulldozer caught your eye and you pointed it out. He parked as close as the road permitted, and the two of you exited the car, ready to head up the hill.

As the two of you pulled out your FBI badges, an officer came running up to you. He darted between tombstones and stopped in front of you, pursing his lips awkwardly. You both help up your badges. "Special agents Y/N L/N and John Suh," You said.

The officer nodded sheepishly. He seemed young and rather inexperienced. "Officer Mitch Swenson. The chief couldn't be here right now, ma'am."

"Oh?" John continued walking towards the grave, which was fully undug. A crew was in the process of using a pulley to lift the coffin out of the ground. "Couldn't, or didn't want to? He didn't seem very happy when I contacted him on the phone. Didn't even tell me his name."

Officer Swenson looked down. "I'm sorry to say that he's opposed to this intervention, sir."

"Unfortunately," You told him, "After so many unexplained deaths, we're obligated to involve ourselves. If he has an issue with our jurisdiction then he can take it up with—"

A loud snapping noise stopped you in your tracks, and your head turned just in time to see the ropes on the pulley snap, dropping the coffin. It quickly began tumbling downhill, towards you. You barely had time to step back. Before you could be trampled by a goddamn coffin on what was quickly becoming one of the strangest days of your life, you felt a strong hand grip your forearm and yank you back harshly. 

The coffin barrelled right into the back of a tombstone, cracking open ever so slightly. Your back collided with John's chest. Neck craning back to look at him, you realized both your chests were heaving in shock. He was staring at the small opening in the coffin.

You pulled away from him, charging towards the coffin. John and Officer Swenson did the same, as well as some from the lifting crew.

As soon as you got within five feet of the coffin, a putrid odor hit your nose and seemed to hit everyone else's. John's hand went to cover his nose. Officer Swenson turned green. You held back a gag.

Still, despite the heinous stench, you leaned forward, trying to get a good look inside. Fully expecting to see a decaying corpse, you squinted, trying to make out the shape of the face.

"Holy shit," You heard the young officer say off to your left. Your eyes widened, just as you made out some features of the cadaver.

"Make sure no one else sees this," John ordered someone, as you made out a snout and very thin arms. As your eyes widened, John turned to you. You turned your head to him, and he flashed you an awkward grin.

"...I'm guessing he was no student athlete," He joked, scratching the back of his head. You shook your head in disbelief, face frozen in shock.

"I… is that a—?"

CORONER'S OFFICE, PINEWOOD, OREGON — 14:48 hours, Tuesday, March 17th, 1992

"A chimpanzee."

You didn't give John's unsatisfied tone much of a second thought, continuing to ensure you had everything ready for your analysis.

"You think it's a chimpanzee," John said again a few seconds later, snapping a picture of the body, which was spread out on a metal table. 

"Or an orangutan," You replied, not looking up from your tools. Pulling out your tape recorder, you finally met his eyes. "I was thinking it might even be a bonobo, but it's too big. Mammalian, that's for sure."

"Y/N, we're in Oregon! Where would someone get a monkey—why would someone put a monkey in some dead kid's coffin?"

You shook your head. "John, you can't possibly think this is anything other than a sick joke, can you?"

He huffed, too engrossed in taking pictures of the body. He looked like he had just discovered sliced bread.

"This is amazing. It—it's unprecedented… I want a full report," He demanded, "Toxicology, x-rays, tissue samples, genetic testing, the works. We can get those tissue samples and x-rays done now, everything else we take back to DC." 

You laid a measuring tape next to the subject's body, before putting your hands on your hips. 

"You’re kidding," You said, glaring at him from the other side of the table, "Try telling Alex Gallagher's family that his body was replaced with an alien. You'd probably lose a few teeth doing it!" 

John lowered his camera, taking a deep breath. He thought for a few seconds before answering. "I'm not crazy, Y/N," He insisted, "I have the same doubts you do." 

Flexing your fingers to see if the surgical gloves fit adequately, you sighed. 

"Please leave for a moment," You mumbled, "I need to record my observations and I can't do that properly if you're flashing that camera in my face and talking about little green men." 

He frowned, not meeting your eyes. He looked like he wanted to protest, but he shook his head to himself as he turned around. Soon, he was out the door. 

During your analysis, you made several observations: the subject was 157 centimeters in length, and weighed 56 pounds. Long limbs and fingers, and large ocular caverns that suggested it belonged to the ape family, as you'd told John minutes ago. It was in an advanced state of decay and desiccation. 

When you turned the subject over, you couldn't help but look at the lower back. Lo and behold, there and ready to give you a headache, were two bumps. They were no longer red, tinged gray, same as the rest of the body, but they were there.

Only when the x-rays finally developed two hours later did you discover the cherry on top: a small metallic implant in the subject's nasal cavity, embedded in the skin, which was extracted and placed in a small glass vial. The vial was placed in your blazer pocket, which you'd removed to put on the PPE gown. 

When you were finally finished with the report, you put your blazer back on and discarded the PPE and surgical gloves. All you'd managed to do was give yourself a migraine at all of the oddities piling up in this case. When you got back to DC? A bubble bath was in order. With a very, very large glass of wine.

As you approached the door to the lobby, the voices of two men arguing got louder and louder. Rolling your eyes, you sighed at the feeling of your head pounding. One sounded angrier, the other significantly calmer. When your hand was on the knob, you realized who the calmer voice belonged to.

"Shit," You whispered to yourself, flinging open the door. A middle aged man yelling at John—who looked very blasé about the whole situation—was waving his finger in his face. Behind him stood Officer Swenson, another officer, and a young girl dressed in an oversized windbreaker and jeans, who looked like she wanted to evaporate into thin air. 

"You people think you can march in here and do whatever you want," The man growled, "I don't see why—"

"What's going on here?" You asked, stepping between the man and John. The man scoffed at you, eyeing you up and down. 

“Who are you?”

You pulled out your badge and flashed it to him. His scowl deepened. “Special Agent Y/N L/N, FBI. I’m Agent Suh's partner for this investigation. Now, what is going on? And who are you?”

The man’s face twisted in disdain at your authoritative tone. “I’m Doctor Aaron Choi, the county medical examiner. Now, the audacity of you and your partner—”

“Dad, please,” The girl exclaimed, sounding embarrassed, “Let’s just go home!”

 The man waved a hand in her direction, tone dismissive and angry. “Lia, be quiet. I’m talking. The audacity you two have to come here and interrupt our procedures—”

“Doctor Choi, this is the fourth unexplained death of a student from the Pinewood High class of ‘89,” John pointed out, “After the county was unable to come up with any conclusive evidence, the FBI was forced to become involved. I take it you weren’t informed of the exhumation and the analysis of Alex Gallagher’s body?”

Doctor Choi shook his head. “I’ve been away with my family. We just got back.”

That explains the different medical examiner on the latest autopsy, you realized. 

“Doctor Choi, I’m sorry you feel that way,” You said, “But it’s our obligation to come and investigate. Now, I’m sorry, but it’s getting late, and we have to get going. I can give you my cell phone number if it were to make you more comfortable, but—”

“No. That’s quite enough,” He snapped. He turned to the young girl, nodding his head at the door. “Lia, let’s go.”

The girl sighed, and met your eyes before she turned to follow after him. She looked desperate; you assumed it was because of the scene her father had caused. The two officers followed after them.

As the two of you watched them leave, you turned to John. He simply shrugged, looking done with the whole situation. “Talk about a warm welcome,” He grumbled. You glared at him. 

“Let’s just go,” You huffed, rubbing at a spot above your eyebrow, “I still need to get started on this report.”

The two of you exited the building, and John explained that tomorrow, he’d arranged a visit to a mental institution in the town over. That there were two more students of the class of ‘89 were staying. Both of them were reportedly a part of Alex Gallagher’s circle of friends.

 In your pocket, the vial holding the metal implant seemed heavier than it had been when you first extracted it.

ALOYSIUS GRANT MENTAL INSTITUTION, CRESTHILL, OREGON—10:47 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

The wing where Chenle Zhong and Nancy Goldstein were staying was relatively quiet. As the nurse explained their circumstances, Nancy remained glued to a book in her wheelchair. Next to her in his bed, Chenle lay perfectly still, lips parted slightly, eyes wide and unmoving. 

You were informed that Nancy had developed delusions and become extremely paranoid as a result of post-traumatic stress. Chenle was living through something called a living coma. He never moved, never spoke. The only indication you saw that he was still alive was the constant rise and fall of his chest. Both of them had been in an automotive crash in the autumn of 1989, and had been like this ever since. 

“Nancy,” The nurse said softly, “You have guests, can they speak with you?”

Nancy lifted her head, “I can’t,” She answered, shaking her head. “I’m reading to Lele right now.”

“Does… does he like it when you read to him?” John asked, and she nodded.

“It calms him down,” She said, “It distracts him from everything.”

You looked down, thinking about her words and what she must have gone through—Chenle as well. At the feet of Chenle’s bed, you noticed odd specks of… ash? It was sprinkled sparsely in front of the bed, on what was a seemingly pristine floor.

You wanted to pick it up, but didn’t want the nurse looking at you strangely. So you turned your attention back to the conversation between John and the nurse. He lowered his voice and leaned in towards her, as if he didn’t want Nancy to hear. “Would it be possible for us to run some medical tests on Ms. Goldstein?”

The thing was that Nancy did hear, and at the mention of medical tests, her large eyes nearly popped out of her head, and she started to tremble in the wheelchair. “N-no tests,” She pleaded, before throwing her book to the side and raising her voice, "No tests! You can't take me there again!"

She began to thrash in the wheelchair, hyperventilating and begging in between breaths to not go anywhere. She threw herself out of the wheelchair but was unable to stand, and instead remained on the floor, crying. 

"Nancy, sweetie, you're going to be fine," The nurse said gently, leaning down to placate the poor girl who was shaking her head. She looked up at the both of you. "Can you help me please?" 

John leaned down to gently assist the nurse in helping Nancy up, and you picked up the wheelchair, which had fallen onto its side. You gripped one of the back handles of the chair to steady it. Your other hand smudged along the ground to try and pick up some of the powder. As the pair helped her sit down, your eyes caught something. 

Nancy's shirt had ridden up during the ordeal, and there, along the small of her back, you saw them. The same marks that Kaya Tate, Jisung Park, and Alex Gallagher had. 

When Nancy refused to calm down, wailing and begging not to be taken back to wherever she thought you and John wanted to take her, the nurse ushered you out.

 "I'm sorry," She told you, "But you're upsetting my patients. If you absolutely need to come back, then do it some other day when she's calmed down." 

The two of you set off towards the exit down the stairs, your heels click-clacking quickly along the floor as you walked in front of John. 

He held open the exit door for you, and as soon as you were out the door and headed toward the parking lot, you whirled on him. 

"How did you know she would have those marks?" You asked, almost angry at him. John shrugged. 

"A hunch," Was all he answered.

"Dammit, Suh, cut the crap. What the hell is going on here?"

"What, so you can go off and write it in your little reports?" He fired back, raising his voice at you for the first time. Your head snapped back at the sudden disdain in his voice.

"I'm here to solve this case just the same as you are," You growled, "Now tell me the truth. I think I'm entitled to it."

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, scowling at you. He leaned closer to you and lowered his voice. "You want my honest opinion? Fine. I think those kids have been abducted by an alien force. I think that they run tests on those kids, which is why Nancy Goldstein freaked out, and why Alex's body and hers have those markings. That's what I think."

You tapped your heel along the sidewalk in frustration and thought. "John, do you realize how insane that sounds? I—Why, there's nothing to substantiate—"

"Nothing scientific to substantiate," He corrected.

"Science is all there is, John!" You shook your head. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. The  both of you knew that this conversation would lead nowhere. Looking down, you remembered the ash smudged onto the palm of your hand. 

"Look," You said, quieter now. "This was on the floor around Chenle Zhong's bed."

"'S that… ash?"

You nodded. "I know what you think, John. Let me tell you what I think. I think those kids might be involved in some sort of sacrifice of some sort. Think about it, they're always called into the woods. The medical examiner doesn't want us looking at the bodies. And now, ash."

John's eyes darted back and forth, considering the options. He walked over to the car, unlocking it so the both of you could enter. 

"We can head into the woods tonight," He offered finally. "That way, we can both look into our own hypotheses."

"Sounds good to me," You answered, "Tonight."

THE WOODS, PINEWOOD, OREGON—20:26 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

A few hours after sundown, the two of you drove to the edge of the woods, armed with flashlights and your handguns. You'd tied your hair back and changed into a dark blue windbreaker, along with sweatpants and running shoes. It was a bit windy, and you could see storm clouds rolling in.

"Stay close by," You'd told John. "And be quiet."

"Yes, mom," He sighed. You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to punch him in the arm. 

Once the two of you were out of the car, you split up, trying to stay within earshot of his footsteps. You spent about ten minutes wandering around, flashing your light around, taking slow steps as you scrounged for any hints. 

Above you, thunder rumbled, the occasional strike of lightning lighting up the sky for milliseconds. Leaning your head forward, you squinted in the dark. No way. 

The whole ground around you was covered in ash. If not the exact same ash as what was in front of Chenle's bed, it was very similar—sprinkled on top of the leaves and dirt. As you kneeled down to pick some up, your eyes widened at the same texture and pigment as the one of today. 

"What the fuck," You muttered under your breath, mind racing a mile a minute. These woods were creepy enough without the implication of a ritualistic cult, or close encounters of the third kind, or whatever John believed was happening. But now you had the possibility of a connection between these woods and two seriously disturbed kids.

A sudden mechanical rumbling made you snap your head up. You squinted, lifting your other hand to shield your eyes from the sudden brightness that lit up the trees. 

"John?" You asked when you heard footsteps. Your heart rate began to speed up, hand reaching for the gun tucked into your waistband. 

When you realized that the sound was coming from the direction of the light, you called his name out again. "John?"

A tall figure emerged from the light, and you soon realized what was pointed at you—a shotgun. Definitely not John Suh.

Not hesitating, you pulled out your gun. "Special agent Y/N L/N, FBI! Identify yourself!"

The figure only stopped until it was about ten feet away. You squinted, making out some familiar features. Surprisingly, you realized it was the officer who had been at the coroner's office with Doctor Choi. 

John came stumbling up to you, chest heaving. "Chief!" He sounded strangely enthusiastic. "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"You're trespassing on private property," He announced, seemingly unamused by John's tone. 

"We are conducting an investigation," You countered, lowering your gun. 

"You are trespassing," He said adamantly, "Now get out, before I have you both arrested."

John glanced at you momentarily. You frowned as he shrugged, obviously wanting you to stand down. The staredown continued for a solid ten seconds before you groaned softly. Tucking your gun back into your waistband, you followed the chief out of the woods, right back to your car, which was right next to his.

As John drove away, you watched as the flashing police lights faded into the distance. "What's he doing out here when he's got a whole town to take care of?"

John shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows. "I don't know," He hummed in that deep voice of his, "But I don't like him one bit."

The two of you drove in relative silence after that. The storm finally came down, drops of rain cascading angrily onto the windshield. Thunder rolled overhead, and the lightning grew bright.

In the dim light, your eyes turned to watch John, hoping he wouldn't take notice. You watched him alternate his eyes between the road ahead and the rearview mirror every few seconds. Your eyes raked over his features—a strong brow bone, a round nose, lips that seemed to curve upwards in a natural smirk.

You looked back up at his eyes, and his own gaze glanced at the watch on his wrist before returning to the road.

"You're staring," He said, sounding like he’d caught you with a hand in the cookie jar. You felt the scoff leave your lips before you could catch it, your cheeks heating up.

"I am not—"

A flash of lightning lit up the sky, far brighter than any of the other strikes. Then, an odd sensation filled your body: for the briefest of moments you felt absolutely weightless, unable to feel the carseat beneath you. Then a moment later when the light faded, and the feeling disappeared.

The car rolled to a stop, the engine’s rumble dying. You frowned even though you were glad that you’d have a chance to change the subject. “What happened?”

Johnny looked at the lights on the dashboard, and pressed on the accelerator tentatively a few times. He raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “Uh… we lost power.”

He seemed calm enough. Until he glanced at his watch again. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he let out a single, excited laugh. “No fucking way,” He murmured, rushing to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Uh, John, where are you g—”

He was out of the car before you could finish your sentence, heading into the downpour. You groaned, unbuckling hastily and following him. Already, he was drenched, and within seconds you were too. He was walking towards something on the road, a few feet in front of the car. When he turned to look back at you, he looked like a preschooler who had just discovered Sesame Street. His fists pumped into the air, his eyes squeezed shut and he began to jump up and down.

“Fuckin’—I—WOO! WOO HOO!”

“For the love of god,” You grumbled, standing right next to him despite his loud cheering, you tried your hardest to make out what had gotten him so excited. When the next flash of lightning lit up the street, plus the lights of the car helping illuminate the road, you saw it: a big, bright, neon X. Almost the exact same place the car had started acting strange yesterday.

“We lost time!” He yelled over the sound of the downpour. "I looked at my watch before the flash! It was 9:02 then, now it’s 9:13! That’s eleven minutes—GONE!”

You shook your head, stepping away. You threw up your hands in confusion. “What—John, that’s not possible! You’re saying time disappeared, time can’t—it can’t just disappear! That’s not just crazy, it’s—i-it’s a universal invariant! It’s impossible!”

John shook his head at you, eyes wide in wonder. Right before he started walking back to the car, he let out one last gleeful laugh. “Not in this zip code!”

Much to your displeasure, your headache returned soon after. You were more than content to let John ramble on while you zoned out, rubbing your forehead. What little you picked up was that people who claimed to be abductees always mentioned a bright flash of light and losing time, anywhere from five minutes to several hours.

You weren’t sure what to think at this point. You had half a mind to drive John to the Aloysius Grant Mental Institution and leave him there with Chenle and Nancy.

When you got back to the hotel, you ran straight to your room. When you tried flickering on the light, you found that it wouldn’t turn on. With a sigh, you realized the storm had to have blown the power out. Peeling off your wet clothes before you did anything else, you stripped to your underwear before pulling on your bathrobe. Shivering, you scrounged in the darkness of the room for anything, a flashlight, some candles.

Surprisingly, they did have a candle, a holder and some matches. As you lit it, and went over your bedtime routine (yes, you were a grown woman going to bed at 9:30 PM, you were tired), you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling settling in your stomach. Everything felt so off here, and there were so many things you couldn’t explain.

As much as John wanted to convince you, he couldn’t explain them either. The whole situation felt bizarre in a dreadful way. As you marched into the bathroom for a quick shower, you tried to reassure yourself everything would connect eventually.

When you took off the bathrobe, your hand went to rub at your lower back. The stiff mattress wasn’t doing you any favors. You let your eyes flutter shut, fingers rubbing at the muscle below your skin.

Until your fingers brushed over something that you knew hadn’t been there before. Your eyes snapped open, and you turned your back to the mirror, craning your neck to see. Your fingers ached to touch the spot again, but in your sudden alarm, your fingers began to shake.

There. At the small of your back, just above the waistband of your underwear, there they were. Two bumps. Just like Nancy’s. Just like Alex’s. Just like Kaya’s.

You didn’t know what overtook you. All of a sudden, you were putting your bathrobe back on and strutting stiffly out of your room. Before you knew it, you were knocking insistently on John’s door.

You didn’t stop until a very confused looking John opened up, holding a candle. “I—”

“I need to show you something,” You said shakily. His demeanor changed instantly when he saw your frantic state. He nodded wordlessly, widening the door and stepping to the side. Once the door was closed, you faced him, before untying the robe. His eyes widened slightly despite your shaking hands, and the tips of his ears turned red.

“Woah, at least take me out to dinner first—”

“Johnny, shut up!”

He froze at your tone, your slip up—calling him Johnny instead of John. You were too distressed to care, tossing the robe to the floor before turning, trying to poke at the marks on your back.

“What are they?” You asked, and John reached out a hand as if to placate you.

“Hey, hey,” He murmured, “Deep breaths. Can I get a closer look?”

Nodding, and trying to do what he said, you let him step closer, before kneeling. Tentatively, he ghosted a hand over the marks. You tried to ignore the goosebumps, shivering from what you assumed was the cold.

“What are they?” You repeated. “John—”

He spun you around, putting a gentle hand on your hip. You peered down at him, panting softly. “It’s okay,” He said softly, “They’re just mosquito bites.”

Your eyes fluttered shut in relief, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady your wobbling knees. “You’re sure?” You asked, looking down at him.

He nodded, amber eyes staring up at you. You were suddenly hyper aware of his hand on your hip, unable to break his gaze. He cleared his throat, standing up but not stepping away from you. “Yeah, I got some out there too. I’m positive.”

You put the bathrobe back on, then crossed your arms. “I need to sit down,” You mumbled. He gestured to his bed, sitting on the chair next to it. You raised an eyebrow, not wanting to impose. He shook his head, setting down the candle on the table.

“You’re shaking,” He said, “Go ahead.”

Inhaling deeply, you tried to compose yourself. Your hand rubbed at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling tense. You chewed on your lip, wondering if you should ask the question itching to come out.

“John?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. He nodded, eyes earnest.

“Yeah?”

“How did you… Why are you so interested in this stuff?”

His eyes lowered, rubbing his palms together slowly. He took a deep breath, resting his elbows on his thighs. Finally, he sighed.

“I was twelve when it happened,” He whispered. His gaze turned solemn, almost angry. “My little sister, Maggie, went missing in the middle of the night. Just… disappeared, like she vanished into thin air. No note, no phone calls, no discernible trail or evidence at all. Gone, just like that. How does an eight year old girl disappear without a trace?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, not answering. Outside, the rain had stopped, but John’s eyes were a storm of their own, several emotions swimming around in pools of golden brown.

“It tore my family apart. My parents got divorced, everyone else refused to talk about it. There weren’t any facts to confront, nothing to give anyone closure, and the search just stopped.”

“What did you do?” You asked softly. He shrugged, pursing his lips.

“Eventually, I ran away to England. Came back, got recruited by the bureau.” He offered a sardonic smile, no joy behind it. “Apparently, I have a natural aptitude for applying behavioral models to criminal cases. My success allowed me a certain amount of freedom to pursue my own interests. That’s when I found the x-files.”

“On accident?” You leaned to lay down on your side, propping your head up with one hand. He nodded.

“At first, it looked like a dump for UFO sightings, cryptids, alien abductions. Real Hollywood kind of stuff. But… I was fascinated by it all, I read all the cases I could get my hands on. Hundreds of them, Y/N. All the paranormal phenomena, the occult, and then…” He sighed, lowering his head.

“What?” You leaned toward him, trying to read his face in the dark.

“There’s… classified government information I’ve been trying to get my hands on. Someone keeps blocking my access.” He looked to the side, palms still rubbing together. “The only reason I’ve been allowed to continue my work is because I've made connections in congress.”

You shook your head, “I don’t understand, are they afraid you’ll leak this information?”

When he met your gaze, the anger had returned, now far less subdued. “You’re a part of that agenda,” He murmured, “You would know.”

Your mouth dropped open slightly, and you shook your head before scooching closer to him. “I’m not a part of any agenda,” You answered. “You need to trust me.”

He sighed, before standing up to move onto your bed, leaning very close to you. The usually playful glow in his eyes was nowhere to be seen. “I’m telling you this, Y/N, because you need to know. In my... research, I’ve worked very closely with a man named Hans Kruger. He’s taken me through deep regression hypnosis, and through my repressed memories I’ve been able to return to that night my sister disappeared. I remember a very bright light outside and a presence in the room, and the sensation of being paralyzed, unable to answer her cries for help. Listen to me, Y/N, this thing exists.”

“But how do you know—”

“The government knows! And I gotta know what they’re protecting.” He leaned even closer to you, face inches away from yours. “Nothing else matters to me, and this is as close as I’ve ever—”

   The ringing of the telephone made the both of you jump away from each other, and John stood to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

   He made a face as the person on the other side answered. “What? Who is this? Who is—”

   Pulling the phone away from his ear, he looked at you. He seemed confused, alarmed. “That was a woman,” He said, putting the phone back on the housing, “Who told me that Nancy Goldstein is dead.”

 You frowned. “The girl in the wheelchair?”

 HIGHWAY 227, PINEWOOD, OREGON—23:11 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

 Quickly, the two of you dressed. The crash wasn’t hard to find in such a small town. Surrounded by witnesses and two police cars, a large semi truck was stopped in the middle of the road. Once there you produced your badges to get past the police cars. John went off to ask one of the cops questions about the accident, and you walked over to the body, which was draped over with a white cloth.

 Right next to it, a man, who you assumed was the driver, was being questioned. Showing the officer next to the body your badge, you crouched down to peel back the cloth covering the body.     

Poor Nancy Goldstein, wet with rain and blood, lay strewn in the road. A dribble of drying blood was running down her mouth. Her once white and purple polka dotted hospital gown was tinged with red, brown and gray. You sighed in sympathy. But your eyes travelled down at the watch she had on, and the sympathy made way into confusion. The hands had stopped, right at 9:02.

You took a deep breath when you recognized the coincidence. That's all it had to be, right? A coincidence?

 "You said she just ran out in front of you?" The officer speaking to the man asked.

"Yes, officer," He answered, "Just came charging out from the trees and right into the truck."

Nancy Goldstein, running. Not even walking, no, full on running. You stared at the body, eyes travelling to her legs. Somehow, they were specked with flecks of dirt, mud and small wood chips. It was consistent with someone moving through a wet, muddy area while barefoot. You swallowed anxiously, trying to figure out what was going on in this town.

 When you got into the car with John, you raised an eyebrow at him, getting ready to speak. Before you could, however, his cell phone rang. He pulled out the device and answered the call with a tired, "Suh. Who am I speaking to?"

You watched as his face turned confused. "What?"

 You couldn't hear what he was told, but when his face twisted into disbelief, and then anger, you knew it couldn't be anything good. "Of course. We'll be there as soon as possible," He said, tight-lipped.

 When he hung up, he immediately started the car. He didn't meet your eyes. "Fuck!" He growled, causing you to jump.

 "What?" Your eyes widened at his sudden outburst, barely having time to buckle your seatbelt before he sped away. "John, what happened—"

"Fuck if I know!" He snapped at you, before shaking his head and sighing.

 "There was a fire at the hotel." His tone was softer now. Your stomach sank. "Our rooms were the ones that were most affected."

"You've gotta be kidding," You sighed. He didn't answer, simply kept his eyes on the road.Only when the two of you got there did you realize just how bad the situation was. The fire department was there, hosing down the inside of your room. A crowd had come to watch the firemen work.

"There goes my computer!" You groaned. John kicked the car door.

"Fuck! The x-rays and pictures!" He seemed just about ready to explode.

Your eyes drifted back to the blinding, orange glow of the fire, crossing your arms in frustration, exhaustion.

Suddenly, a tap on your shoulder caused you to turn. You were met face to face with a familiar looking young girl in a bright blue denim jacket. She looked just about on the verge of tears.

 "John," You called, not looking away from her. When he saw the girl, he came up to the two of you.

 He raised a finger at her. "You're Do—"

 "My name is Lia Choi," She declared, voice wobbly, "You have to protect me."

 You quickly ushered Lia into the back of the car. When you closed the door, John raised an eyebrow at you. "She might know something," He murmured.

 "I know," You answered. "She seems terrified."

 He nodded. "You hungry?"

  "Um… yeah, why?"

  "I'm starving," He admitted, gnawing on his lips. "Let's get something to eat and question her there."

 "How the hell are you thinking about food at a time like this?"

He raised an eyebrow, making a face. "What, and you aren't?"

You rolled your eyes, but didn't disagree.

 The car ride took about ten minutes, and you pulled into the small diner with little to no issue. By then, it was a little past midnight, so it was starting to empty out. It had started raining again. You sat next to Lia, as she seemed somewhat more intimidated by John. He paid for some burgers and fries for the three of you, and then Lia finally spoke.

"I… There's something in the woods."

You exchanged glances with John, who rested his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers. "What do you mean, something in the woods, Miss Choi?"

 The young girl shook her head, looking sheepish. "Please, just call me Lia," She said.

 Taking a deep breath, you flashed him a look that said let me try. "Lia, do you know that there's something in the woods, or is it just a feeling?"

 She stared at the table, looking for words. "I've never actually… seen anything. Not really. But I… I have these dreams. They're not like normal dreams, I-I have no idea how to explain it, but they just feel so… wrong. It's like my body's vibrating the entire time, a-and when I wake up, I'm there. In the woods. Every time. They—they've started happening more and more, and I don't know what to do, I-I'm just so—"

 "Woah, slow down there, kid," John said, holding up his hands. She'd started rambling, and it didn't take a genius to say that she was on the verge of tears. His dark eyes looked gentle, sympathetic. "Deep breath, Lia."

She let her eyes close, breathing slowly. "I'm sorry," She mumbled. "I just don't know what to do anymore."

Looking at John again, you spoke up. "We understand," You answered softly, "Can we ask you some more questions?"

 As she nodded, the one waitress working the place, who looked one strong gust of wind from falling over, set down your three plates. Sticking a fry into your mouth once the waitress left, you met eyes with the young girl.

"You said, 'I've never seen anything, not really.' What do you mean by that?"

Lia poked at her fries, not seeming that interested in the food. She pursed her lips, before sighing. "I… We saw something, once. I think. My friends were all out there—celebrating graduation. It was… maybe 11:30? I-I can't really remember. But we saw a bright light, and then this huge thing flew over us. When it was gone… Kaya checked her watch. It couldn't have been more than ten seconds after, but her watch said it was almost 2 AM, and then Chenle checked his watch, and so did Jisung, and… they all said the same thing.

"I didn't think much of it. I tried not to. I thought we just missed the time going by, somehow. But then Nancy and Chenle got into the crash, and then Kaya turned up dead in the woods… Then Jisung, and now Alex…" She shook her head, blinking back tears. "It can't all be a coincidence."

"How old were you when that happened, Lia?"

 "I was 17. I'm turning 21 in June."

John stared at her for a long time. "...And why did you decide to call me when you heard about Nancy's death?"

Oh?

You raised an eyebrow to look at Lia, who looked down. "They called my dad about it, and I know that Nancy's death has to do with whatever's in the woods. M-my dad, he… He keeps telling me he can keep me safe. But I don't think he can."

"So you called us?"

She nodded, not looking up at either of you. John and you exchanged a glance.

"Lia," You asked lowly, "Do you think your father—"

Your words died when blood began to spew from the girl's nose, your eyes widening and John's expression growing alarmed. He reached for the napkins, handing them to you to hand her quickly. Her eyes shut and her brow furrowed, obviously distressed. John pursed his lips.

  "Does this normally h—"

 "Lia Choi."

The three of you turned your heads to see Aaron Choi and the police chief standing next to each other, glaring at you and John.

Dr. Choi walked over to Lia, handing her another napkin. "Sweetheart, come on, let's go home."

John narrowed his eyes. "I don't think she wants to leave."

"I don't give a shit about what you think," The man snapped. He turned back to Lia, "Let's go home. You'll be safe there. Remember, I said that Chief Zhong and I would keep you safe—"

You exchanged a glance with John. You could see the gears turning in his head. Skywalker moment. "You’re Chenle Zhong's father?"

The chief scowled at him. "You stay away from my boy. He has no business in any of this."

Dr. Choi managed to pull away, with minimal protest from Lia. She managed to give the two of you one last apologetic glance before being pushed out the front door by your father.

"You gotta love this place," John grumbled, reaching for Lia's plate, "Every day's like Halloween."

"They know." You were sure of it. "Choi's been hiding evidence from those medical reports, and Zhong might just have enough authority around here to get access to our rooms to set them on fire."

"Why would they want to destroy evidence?" John asked, but it wasn't really a question. It sounded more like a parent trying to get their child to figure out something obvious on a math problem. "What could they possibly want with that corpse?"

You looked down at the table, heart pounding suddenly. When you met his eyes again, they were burning with curiosity and determination.

"Makes you wonder what's in those other two graves, huh?"

PINEWOOD MEMORIAL CEMETERY, PINEWOOD, OREGON—01:26 hours, Thursday, March 19th, 1992

Getting into the cemetery was easy. Finding the graves, with only your flashlights in the pouring rain, was a lot harder. You pored over different headstones for almost forty minutes, until John called your name.

"Did you find them?" You asked, turning to him. He was scowling down at the headstones. You didn't understand why… until you looked down to see the dirt piled up, and the two holes in the ground.

"Empty," He groaned.

"What is going on here?" You cried. John stared at the hole in the ground, before a look of epiphany dawned on his face. He turned to you, slowly.

"I think I know who did it."

You looked to the sides in thought. "Who? The chief?"

John shook his head, mouth tipping open. You leaned forward, hoping to hear his words better over the rain.

He chewed nervously on his bottom lip. "The chief's son."

When the words registered, you leaned away. All the fight in you seemed to deflate, and your face twisted into a confused mess.

"What?"

He nodded, and you raised your eyebrows. "Chenle Zhong? The boy in the hospital. The boy who's been in a goddamn coma since 1989. That Chenle Zhong? He somehow got here, dug up these graves, and is somehow responsible for the murders of four different kids?"

John's eyes fell shut, and he took a deep breath. "Nancy Goldstein was wheelchair bound but ran in front of a car, it's not entirely impossible. All of this fits a profile of alien abduction. She was killed around 9—the same time we lost time in the car."

"A profile." You crossed your arms, trying to stop the shivering racking your body. March showers in the Pacific Northwest—you wouldn’t be surprised if all of this was just a delusion induced by hypothermia.

"Look, something happened during those 10 minutes," He insisted, "Time, as we know it, stopped, and it has something to do with the forest."

You shook your head in disbelief, unable to hold back your shocked sigh. All you could do was stare, watching as John's expression hardened.

"You think I'm crazy," He murmured defeatedly, "Just like everyone else does."

He turned on his heel, starting to walk away, when a soft scoff caused him to turn back. "What?"

You wore a smile of disbelief. "The hands of Nancy Goldstein's watch stopped at 9:02," You admitted, looking up at the sky before meeting his gaze. "I made a mental note of it because of how insane the coincidence was. But…"

"The forest is controlling the kids," John said with a nod. He sounded more hopeful now, as he took a step closer. "It summons them here!"

"A-and the marks are…"

"The remainders of some sort of experiment. They put that weird chemical into the bodies—"

"Which leads to genetic mutations, like the one we saw in Alex Gallagher’s body!"

John nodded, a hopeful grin spreading across his features, the rain causing his hair to fall into his eyes. "And the woods summoned Nancy Goldstein here tonight, but the one who brought her was—"

"Chenle Zhong," You gasped. Meeting eyes with John, the two of you exchanged surprised, awed, slack jawed smiles, before promptly bursting into giggles at how silly it all sounded, the sheer absurdity of it all. Like the plot of some crappy Fox TV show.

"This—Johnny, this is insane!"

"That’s just how all the x-files work!" He exclaimed between laughter, "This isn't even half of it!"

That did it for you. The idea that there had to be something even stranger, something that paled in comparison to this. You had to reach out for his shoulder to stop yourself from falling, bending over and clutching your stomach to the point of tears. John’s laughter never let up either, not until the two of you were panting, out of breath from cackling so hard.

"I can't believe any of this," You sighed, shaking your head once more.

"It doesn't matter. As long as we're on the same page," John said with a shrug, "It'll make things a whole lot easier. Now, let's get back to the car—"

A high pitched scream filled the air, and the two of you locked eyes before darting in its direction.

Right into the forest.

Mud squelched beneath your shoes as the two of you ran. It was damn near impossible to see anything with the rain and the darkness of night, the way your flashlights swung back and forth with your running.

Your light reflected onto a piece of black metal, causing the two of you to slow down. John flashed his own light side to side, before landing on the white door of the car, the crest emblazoned on it: PINEWOOD POLICE DEPARTMENT. You sighed at the revelation, turning slightly.

"Shit," He muttered, "Do you think—?"

"John." You took a step to the side, focusing your light onto something on the ground. "Look."

When he turned his head to look at what you were seeing, you heard him inhale sharply.

Dr. Choi's body lay strewn on the muddy ground, blood streaking down his temple. You couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

Another scream pierced the air, the sound distinctly female. You exchanged a brief glance with John, before nodding in the direction the noise came from. "You go! I'll check his vitals."

"Be careful," He warned before darting off. You knelt on the ground, reaching out to feel for a pulse over the carotid artery. You let your eyes fall shut in relief when you found one a few seconds later. All you needed to do now was assess his injury.

But they snapped open when the mud squelched behind you, and when you turned your head, you saw a flash of black and beige. A loud thwack! cracked against the side of your head, and you fell to the ground, vision turning dark.

When you came to, you weren't sure how much time had passed, but it couldn't have been too long. It was still dark, and while the rain had calmed, it wasn't over yet. Sluggishly,  you reached for the flashlight, and struggled to stand.

Stumbling, you tried to surmise where the noise was coming from, but the world felt like it was spinning. You were confused, disoriented, that the sudden brightness knocked you on your ass, quite literally.

Brightness?

White, seemingly industrial light lit up the forest so suddenly that you reeled back in surprise, falling into the mud. You blinked dazedly. If this were a Loony Tunes short, there would be little Tweety birds flying around your head right about now.

Still, you knew you needed to get up. So you did, still stumbling as if someone had spun you around to hit a piñata, and carried forward. The shouting had stopped now.

In the distance, where the light was the brightest, you could hear the shouting. One of the voices was distinctly John's, but as you got closer, it stopped.

And by the time you got into the clearing? The light disappeared, and so did the rain. Gone at the same time.

There were three men standing in the clearing, seemingly in a triangle. John's back was turned to you. In front of him? Someone was lying on the floor (had you not been so dizzy, you would have recognized her as Lia), and…

"Chenle?" The police chief asked, voice shaking. Your eyes turned to the young man, whose dark eyes were wide in confusion and fear. He was barefoot, clad only in a pair of gray sweatpants.

"...Dad?" He asked as Chief Zhong walked to him, before crushing the young man in a hug.

"J-John?" Your voice was small. The man in question turned to you, eyes widening at your state. He stepped towards you, face full of concern. When you buckled, he gripped you by your forearms.

"Y/N, are you alright?"

"Th-there was a light," You murmured, "It was so…"

He nodded, smiling sympathetically. "I know," He said, "But I think you have a concussion."

"Uh…" You stared at him blearily. "...You're really strong."

He held back a snicker. "Am I now?"

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—10:04 hours, Wednesday, March 25th, 1992

After a stop to the emergency room, a minor concussion diagnosis, a flight home, a few days of bed rest and finally that bubble bath (sans the wine, unfortunately), you were finally allowed to present your findings to your superiors, in the report you'd written in the past few days (you were advised to rest over the weekend, and you did just that and wrote the report all Tuesday).

You marched into that office, John already sitting in one of the two seats in front of the desk. He didn't speak while you presented your findings. Again, Chief Brooks was accompanied by the same two men.

"And what of the boy?" Division Chief Brooks asked, "Chenle… Zhang, you said?"

"Zhong," You and John corrected in unison, exchanging a sheepish glance when you both realized what happened.

"He's in custody. So are his father and Doctor Aaron Choi. He claims to not have remembered anything."

"I understand you and Chief Zhong had an exchange in the woods?" The older man asked, staring at John.

He nodded. "Yes, sir. I asked him what the need was to take the Chois to the woods, he seemed desperate—said that if it got his son back, then he'd do it."

"So, what, are we to believe all of this—the abductions and the mutations and the mind control without any concrete evidence?" The second officer asked.

"There was an x-ray of Chenle’s that revealed a small piece of metal lodged in his nose, just like Agent L/N's report mentioned with—"

"The Gallagher boy's implant, yes. But that could be anything, Agent Suh. It hasn't been surgically removed so we can't verify what it is."

John clenched his jaw. "But—"

"Agent Suh, with no evidence of the implant existing we simply cannot continue to waste bureau resources," The chief explained, "The fact of the matter is the original implant, as well as your other evidence, was destroyed in that fire and—"

"What if it wasn't, though?" You asked.

It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room. All four men's eyes snapped up to look at you. John’s eyes were wide in shock.

You met eyes with him briefly as you reached into your blazer pocket, placing the small vial holding the implant onto the table.

"None of the tests I ran on the implant were able to reveal what kind of metal it is," You sighed, "It all came back as inconclusive."

"I—" For the first time, the third agent spoke for the first time. "How did you manage to salvage it?"

Tilting your head back and forth, you tried to sound professional. "I kept it… on my person at all times after I extracted it. I felt it was too important to lose."

The three men exchanged a silent conversation with their eyes. You looked at John, whose expression towards you had shifted from shock to awe. You offered him a sly smile.

"Well, then." Division Chief Brooks sounded frustrated—like a father allowing his children ice cream after being worn down by them. "Considering this… new piece of evidence, I—I suppose I could authorize the continuation of the project."

You breathed a sigh of relief. John’s shoulders sagged.

"However, Agent L/N, I will expect your reports on every single one of these cases within three days of them being closed, unless medically justified. Failure to do so will result in the termination of the project."

"Understood, sir," You said.

The third man lit a cigarette, before pointing to the vial on the table. "That implant will be kept with us, it's evidence now. Any and all evidence will be handed over to us," He ordered, taking a drag.

You nodded, but something told you John wouldn't approve. He didn't say anything, but you knew he'd have something to say sooner or later.

"You're both dismissed," Division Chief Brooks told you both.

Once you were out of the office and out of earshot, John stopped in the middle of the hallway. He put his hands on his hips and stared at you.

"I—That was… Wow. Y/N, how did you even do that?"

"Honestly?" You bit back a grin before lowering your voice. "...I hid it in my sports bra."

He broke out into a shocked smile. "In your—amazing. Y/N, you’re a genius."

"Am I now?" You asked, raising your eyebrows. You started down the hallway again, and he followed. "Thank you," He mumbled.

With a wave of your hand, you shook your head. "I'm just doing my job, y’know? Plus, I enjoyed working with you, John. I think we make a... decent team."

He looked down at his feet, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Well," He said, "If we are going to keep working together, can I ask you to do something?"

"Sure," You replied. By now, you were headed down the basement steps.

"Just… call me Johnny. John feels too… formal."

"Johnny," You sounded the name out, before smiling. "Yeah, it suits you better."

X-FILE 144-A: THE BELDAM'S GLENN BLOOD RITUALS

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE EVERETT TURNPIKE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—07:32 hours, Thursday, February 11th, 1993

"Brief me again on this case?" Johnny sighed as he drove ahead, "I was too tired when you explained on the flight here."

You nodded, rubbing your eyes and putting on your glasses. Outside, rain hit the roof of the car, and the sky was that bluish gray tinge of an early morning drizzle. That, paired with the soft guitar from the radio along with Robert Smith's voice made for gentle ambience.

I don't care if Monday's blue

Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love...

 Pulling out the folder from your bag. Truth be told, you were tired too—you'd been called just before 3 in the morning by someone at the bureau telling you you'd been assigned to work a murder case in Beldam's Glenn, New Hampshire. A fairly small town, less than 10,000 people.

You'd had an hour to pack some clothes, then take a taxi to the bureau to grab some things from the office and pick up the file briefing the incident. Then, just before four you arrived at Reagan International, where you met a seemingly bedraggled Johnny. His suit was a bit wrinkly and there were dark circles rimming his eyes.

By now, you'd been working with Johnny for almost a year. You'd learned in that time that he did not enjoy waking up before 5 AM. 

"Good morning," You'd greeted, and he shook his head.

"It's not morning yet, and it certainly isn't gonna be a good one," He'd grumbled in response. 

"Okay, Oscar the Grouch." 

Now, in the car, flicking through the folder, you read out loud the information. A fifteen year old boy identified as Mark Lee had been found dead in the woods, near an area rumored to be where satanic cults practiced blood magic. His eyes and heart missing, torn clean out.

"...Ouch," Johnny muttered, stifling a yawn.

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Ouch."

"Any witnesses or anything?" 

"No," You mumbled, reading over more details. One in particular caught in your eye. "Huh… Additionally, animal tracks in the form of hooves, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, were found leading to Lee’s body."

Johnny tilted his head. "Hooves?"

You hummed in confirmation.

He raised his eyebrows, facing you for a second before turning his attention back to the road. His eyes were wide. Somehow, you already knew what he was going to say. "Do you think there's a small possibility—"

"No." 

Johnny huffed. "Oh, come on! Y/N, humans are innately spiritual beings. Is it so crazy to think that just maybe a creature akin to a demon could exist?"

"I don't know, Johnny. Maybe there is. But I think now that the middle ages are over and we have more logical explanations for things like this, we shouldn't immediately jump to conclusions."

For a long time, he didn’t speak. Another thing you learned during your time with Johnny was that while it was relatively easy to smother his wild conclusions during calmer discussions, it was damn near impossible to get him to let go of them completely. You knew he'd mention it again later, but for now, you were content to just drive like this with him. You were… comfortable with Johnny. 

He had a sort of dry wit that, paired with his suave persona, made him incredibly charismatic. Once you got to know him better, it surprised you that no one around your department of the bureau really liked him.

Dressed up to the eyes

It's a wonderful surprise

To see your shoes and your spirits rise...

He shrugged. "Maybe you're right. Look, there are the cop cars."

Johnny pulled over on the side of the road, one man holding an umbrella seemingly waiting for you both. You looked at the man in the driver's seat, and he nodded toward the back seat. "There's an umbrella in the back."

"Thanks," You said, grabbing the thing. You both stepped out of the car, tugging the vinyl umbrella open. You did a once over of the officer—sheriff, actually, once you saw the badge on his chest. Johnny stood behind you and grabbed the small umbrella from you, so that he could fit under it.

"You're the FBI guys?" The sheriff asked. The two of you pulled out your badges, presenting yourselves. He offered a smile, but it was obvious the middle-aged man was shaken up.

"My name is Bill McNamara," He said, beginning to walk towards the trees. The two of you followed. "Thank you for coming on such short notice." 

He led you to a spot crowded by a few more officers scattered across the space, a white sheet hiding the body, a few feet away from a large, mossy cracked tree stump, so wide it was probably older than 100 years when it fell.

"Is this Mark Lee?" Johnny asked, and Sheriff McNamara nodded. Another officer peeled the sheet back. The poor boy was, in fact, missing his eyes, and there was a large hole in his chest. Even after several years as an MD and an FBI agent, corpses still filled you with dread.

Johnny, in his proximity from behind, nudged you slightly and pointed to the ground next to the boy. 

"So," You said, turning your attention back to the officer once you noticed the hoof tracks, "Have there been any reports of missing animals in the area? Cows, sheep?"

"...Goats?" Johnny added. You nodded stiffly. Sheriff McNamara shook his head. When he spoke, he seemed resolute.

"They say this area is popular for blood rituals, witch's magic. Now, these rumors have been around for years—since I was a kid, actually."

"Any basis to those rumors?" You asked. The Sheriff gave you a look. 

"Agent L/N, just look at the body!"

"Lots of homicides involve victim desecration," You pointed out, "Is there anything else that might point to that?"

The sheriff put his free hand on his hip. "I know he and his friends listen to that disgusting devil's music."

"I didn't like Madonna's latest album either, but I don’t think it's bad enough to call it that," Johnny mumbled sarcastically. You gave him a subtle elbow in the ribs, flashing him a dirty look. The sheriff didn't seem to notice his banter.

"No, I'm talking about that heavy metal stuff. It takes root in our children, poisoning their minds."

He led you over towards the tree stump. Johnny took a more serious approach. "Have Mark Lee or any of his friends ever been spotted at any of these supposed rituals?"

"More rumors," You muttered. The sheriff shook his head, stopping in front of the stump. 

"Not that I know of," He said, before gesturing at the stump, "This is allegedly their altar. What do you think?"

Johnny's seriousness seemed to only last in short bursts, because he fired back with, "Honestly? With a few rounds of sandpaper and some cans of shellac, it'd make a pretty nice coffee table."

The sheriff replied, "Oh… Uh… Well, from the looks of this wax on it, it was probably being used when he died."

You rolled your eyes, turning your head to the side in embarrassment. But then a flash of white, and translucent pale yellow on the ground caught your eyes.

"Do you know if Lee was out here with anyone?" Johnny asked, not saying anything as you stepped out from under the umbrella. You heard the sheriff say, "We presume he was alone."

"You sure?" You asked, picking up the library card, and the piece of wet paper. "This Franklin Pierce High library card belongs to… Haechan Lee. And the paper here is torn at the stamp so that it doesn't say which library it's from, but it's safe to say that it's from there. The title at the top is torn, too, but it says '...In America'."

You stepped back under the umbrella, raising an eyebrow as you handed them to him. "I'm surprised your people missed this."

The sheriff balked, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I'm sorry, Agent L/N," He murmured, "I'll admit, we're all a bit… shaken up here. This isn't something that we've ever dealt with, which is why I called the FBI. I'll have my men escort you to Franklin Pierce. That kid, Donghyuck Lee… He's Mark’s best friend. He's most likely there."

The sheriff stalked off, and you raised an eyebrow at Johnny before lowering your voice. "Better hide your Metallica albums… I could barely take him seriously."

He shrugged. "Well, the body's clearly displayed in a ceremonial manner. Plus, those goat tracks are highly unusual, Y/N." 

"I was under the impression he made you skeptical once he started speaking," You hummed, crossing your arms. He shook his head.

"I didn't wanna feed his imagination. Poor guy's clearly overwhelmed."

"I think he fed your imagination, Johnny. This is nothing but some murderer taking advantage of local folklore. I mean, there's nothing that odd about—"

The sound of slapping and bouncing against the vinyl of the umbrella caused you to jump back, crashing into Johnny's chest. Your shoulders tensed up as Johnny dropped the umbrella and let out a startled, "What the—"

You caught the umbrella as it fell from his hands, but it was too late for him. Something large, wet and brownish green hit him in the forehead before landing on the ground and flopping away. 

Your mouth dropped open and you met Johnny's equally shocked expression as you both registered the multitude of toads raining down on you. 

A few seconds later and it stopped, but now the ground was covered in toads, now jumping away in different directions. Neither you nor Johnny spoke for a good fifteen seconds, until he wiped his forehead free of… mucus. Your shoulders dropped slowly when he finally spoke.

"So… wanna get coffee before we head over to the school?"

Your face dropped from confusion to disbelief. "Johnny, toads just fell from the sky."

"Yeah, but I still want coffee."

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—09:04 hours, Thursday February 11th, 1993

Coffee on the table, you sat at a desk situated in the school office. Your laptop, the case file and a copy of today's newspaper were laying on top of it. A few feet away from you, the school psychologist and the secretary you'd borrowed the desk from were speaking to each other. You paid them no mind, looking over the file as you typed up your preliminary report.

You continued typing until the door opened, Johnny stomping in tugging a scrawny looking teenage boy—who was most likely Haechan Lee—by the upper arm. Two girls followed meekly behind, as well as a middle-aged woman, who you assumed was a teacher. All three of the kids seemed to be on the verge of tears. You raised an eyebrow at the sight. Johnny looked pissed off, and he asked the psychologist in a clipped tone, "Hey, Doyoung, could Agent L/N and I use your office to talk to the kids?"

Doyoung looked at the boy in Johnny's grip, then at the secretary, then you, before he nodded. Johnny opened the door and made a motion for the kids to go inside. "Sit down at that table. Don't speak unless spoken to," He ordered, tone stern. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek at his voice as you stood. What had gotten into him?

You pulled him away from the doorway, lowering your voice. "You good?"

Johnny sent the boy a glare before sighing. "Kid tried jumping out the window in front of the entire class to escape. I'll calm down. Just pisses me off that he thought something that stupid would work."

You bit back a smile, patting him on the shoulder. "Pull it together, Suh. He can't get away like this."

Johnny nodded, looking down at you warmly. "Ooh, last name. I'm in trouble."

"Shut up," You huffed, only half-joking. You were about to turn when you remembered something you'd read from the cover of the newspaper.

"By the way," You murmured, "National Weather Service reported tornadoes in northern Massachusetts early this morning. The toads probably got picked up from the winds."

Johnny sighed, before walking into the psychologist's office.

He turned to the woman. "Mrs. Walker, we'll take it from here, go on back to the other kids in your class."

"Are you sure?" She asked, pushing a black, stray hair back into her tight bun. Johnny nodded.

"The one day I'm called in to sub and all of this happens," She muttered to herself. 

You spared a glance at the middle-aged woman, giving her a polite smile. She did the same, and you followed behind Johnny, pulling out your tape recorder from your pocket and closing the door behind you. 

Johnny crossed his arms and leaned against the door, you standing in front of the table and setting the tape recorder on the table. 

"This is going to be recorded," You told them. None of them protested, so you hit the record button.

"So, let's get this out of the way," Johnny began, "None of you are under arrest. We just want to ask you some questions. First, I want you to state your names for the record. Understood?" 

They all nodded, and they introduced themselves: the dark haired, tan boy was in fact Donghyuck Lee, the shorter curly haired girl was named Amy Espinoza, and the taller redheaded girl was named Phoebe Howard. 

The questions were basic and thus, so were the answers. Donghyuck and Mark were childhood best friends, but not related. Mark introduced Amy to him with Phoebe's help. Donghyuck took the book Witch Hunt: A History of The Occult in America out because he and Mark wanted to make the whole thing seem legit. When asked why they really wanted to go out there, Donghyuck looked down. He held his hands together between his thighs.

"We wanted to… you know."

"We really don't," You said, raising an eyebrow. He looked like he wanted to sink into the earth then and there.

"Mark and I had a bet that whoever got past second base with the girlsfirst  would do the other's biology homework for the rest of the year."

Amy nudged Phoebe. "Told you," She grumbled quietly. Phoebe glared at her. 

You continued the interrogation. The incantation taken from the book was apparently one meant to summon Azazel. They'd gone out there just before midnight because the book said that was the best time. 

Donghyuck insisted they didn't kill him. "I'll let you search my car and everything, that's how we got there."

"Did you see what happened?"

Phoebe took a shaky breath, before burying her face in her hands. Amy nodded. "...We did. We ran but it had already… gotten to Martin."

You and Johnny exchanged a glance. "It?" You asked. 

Donghyuck nodded. "Lady, you're gonna think we're bullshitting you—"

"Language," You and Johnny scolded in unison. Donghyuck at least had the audacity to look embarrassed. 

"We got out there," Amy continued, "Martin lit a candle on the stump and did the incantation. The wind… changed. It suddenly got a lot colder and we started hearing… I don't even know."

"It sounded like, I guess what you would call speaking in tongues," Donghyuck said. "And then suddenly, there was this thing a few feet away from us. Maybe over six feet tall, and at first I thought it was a goat, but… it wasn't."

"What did it look like?"

Phoebe cried even harder, and the other two exchanged a weary glance. "It had… glowing orange eyes, and long dark hair." Amy shuddered. "It looked like it had goat legs, but a human torso. It was like…"

"It had a… a woman’s chest," Donghyuck mumbled. Your eyes landed on Phoebe, who seemed to be extremely upset. You exchanged a glance with Johnny. He seemed to understand what you were saying, and nodded wordlessly.

"Phoebe, are you alright?" You asked, feeling that something was up. She was shaking like a leaf. With a sigh, you turned the recorder off, and pointed at Amy and Donghyuck. "Both of you, wait outside on that chair. Don't move."

The two of them left, and you nodded at Johnny to sit next to you. 

"Phoebe," Johnny said softly, "Is there something going on that the other two don't know?"

She wiped her eyes, lip wobbling. You put a hand on his shoulder, taking over. "No, there isn't," She mumbled, "I'm just… this whole thing's freaked me out."

Johnny raised an eyebrow, and you sighed. She didn't sound very convincing. Something wasn't right here. Still, you knew it would be hard to get anything out of her when she was so upset.

"Alright. You—you're free to go." You took a deep breath, hesitating before you spoke again. 

"...But if you do want to tell us anything, you can come to us and we can—we'll speak off the record, if it makes you feel better."

Johnny frowned. "I think maybe—"

You flashed him a strong glare, cutting him off, before turning back to Phoebe. She sniffled, eyes darting between the two of you. When she settled on you, she allowed herself to relax a little bit more than when she'd been looking at Johnny. She nodded wordlessly, fiddling with a silver charm bracelet on her left wrist, and you gestured towards the door. "Go wash your face, drink some water. Tell your friends they're free to go. 'Kay?"

She gave a small smile at your gentler tone. Once she was gone, Johnny was on you. "We could have pressed her further. Why did you even offer to go off the record if we haven't ruled her off as a suspect, that's breaking bureau protocol—" 

"We'll talk about this later," You answered as you stood. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the three teenagers leave.

He lowered his voice as you opened the door. "Y/N, I can't believe—"

"You're letting them go?" The secretary—Beatrice, you believed was her name—asked, glaring at you. Her coiffed blonde bob bounced as she shook her head disapprovingly. Immediately, Johnny straightened. 

"There's not enough evidence to keep them here," He said, "Besides, they're minors. It's always tricky with them."

"It's so obvious that they did it." Doyoung crossed his arms, "They've clearly been influenced by all that stuff on MTV."

You sighed. "The FBI recently concluded a years long study researching any correlation between homicides and media consumption and found that it only occurs in 0.01% of cases. If there were any it would mean thousands of people murdering tens of thousands of other people. It'd be the biggest conspiracy in human history."

Doyoung scoffed, giving you a mocking glance. "Yeah, and J. Edgar Hoover never admitted the existence of the mafia. Really trustworthy source, the FBI."

Johnny barely contained his scoff. He glowered at Doyoung as he gently pushed your upper back towards the door. 

"Our investigation is ongoing."

ROSE GARDEN HOTEL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—19:57 hours, Thursday, February 11th, 1993

Johnny's door opened to a sight of you, no makeup, in sweatpants and hair tied up. You took in his appearance. He had on a similar pair of sweatpants, and a white t-shirt. His hair was pushed back, and he was wearing his reading glasses. 

"What's up?" He asked, letting you in. 

"I found something," You murmured, holding up your laptop as he closed the door. You sat at the foot of the bed, and he sat next to you. You opened the laptop, green text flashing onto the screen. His shoulder brushed yours due to the proximity. 

"'The grisly discovery of a young boy's mutilated body in the woods in the early morning has local law enforcement worried about the organization of conspiratorial dark forces.'"

He nodded. "Okay, is that from this morning's newspaper?"

You didn't answer, but rather read another quote from the article. "'The Jew is known to sacrifice teenagers and remove their organs during their religious rituals.' This is from a Nazi newspaper, from 1934. I found another similar case from 1967, where they pinned it on LSD users. The details are always the same, they just fill in the blanks with whoever was being persecuted at the time."

Johnny met your eyes. "And this time, it's occultists."

"Maybe this is some hidden organization, but I'm not sure. But something's just… not right. I have a bad feeling." 

"Something to do with that girl?"

You nodded. "Is there anything you picked up? Something I might not have noticed?"

He chewed on his lip. "Now that you mention it, I did notice something a few minutes ago, but it doesn't have to do with her. Come on."

He stood, and you set the laptop down on the bed before following him to the bathroom door, where he flicked the light on.

"So, we're in the northern hemisphere." He marched to the sink, leaning over it.

You leaned against the doorframe. "Last time I checked, yes."

He pressed the plug into the sink drain, before turning on the faucet. "The Coriolis Effect dictates that due to the Earth's rotation, water should swirl clockwise, right?"

You nodded, having an idea of where this is going. He motioned for you to come closer. He turned off the faucet. By now, some water had filled the sink just enough. He removed the plug, and you watched as the water went down, whirlpool swirling counterclockwise. 

"Johnny—"

"Something is here, Y/N. It's strong enough to affect this, then who knows—"

"Johnny, the Coriolis Effect works on storms and large bodies of water. Sinks and bathtubs usually don't fall under—"

He groaned, tipping his head back. "Of course," He grumbled, "It's been like this since day one."

You squeezed your eyes shut in frustration. Yes, in your time working with Johnny, you'd seen some truly unexplainable things. A pyromaniac that could light things on fire with his mind, a prehistoric parasite that turned its host violent, a serial killer that entered houses by squeezing his body through impossibly small spaces like an octopus. 

But still, you always had your doubts. "Johnny, once cases are over and we have our explanations, and I've seen things for myself, have I ever not believed you—"

"You don't trust me during these cases, Y/N, that's what matters! It's always been like this, I'm always right, but you never believe me, you go off and write your little notes about me like I'm some field experiment—"

You frowned and crossed your arms. "Johnny—"

"Have I ever gotten anything wrong? 90% of the time, my conclusions are the correct ones—"

"We come to those conclusions together! Don't start taking credit for them now."

"Oh, so you believe it only when your name is also on the report, huh?"

"Don't twist my words, Johnny. You know what I mean. I believe my conclusions first, and then I listen to yours and based on circumstantial evidence and once I discard all logical scientific explanations, then I turn to the extraordinary. I don't jump to conclusions like you do!"

"Why can't you be a good friend for once and fucking listen to me—"

"Because I'm not your friend, Johnny! I'm your fucking coworker!"

The silence that filled the room once you were done was deafening. It was only then that you realized how loud you'd gotten. The shocked disappointment in Johnny's eyes seemed to be even louder, though. 

Immediately, you realized your mistake. Yes, you'd grown close to him, but that was necessary for working well on these assignments. Keeping your work life and your personal life separate was paramount for you. Evidently, Johnny didn't feel the same, and as a result, you'd hurt him.

For a long time, no one said anything. Simply staring at each other, small space ripe with tension. Your eyes softened when he looked away from you, leaning his back against the counter. You took a step closer, until he was right in front of you.

"Johnny, I—"

"Can you get out, please?"

You stared at him for a few moments, trying to think of something to say. 

Ultimately, you didn't. You took a deep sigh, and grabbed your laptop on the way out.

Being an FBI meant you had little to no personal time, working pretty much 7 days a week and being on call for anything at any time, in any part of the country. You knew that when you started your training.

You'd entered with a statement and left with a question. Could you really call Johnny a friend? You really only saw him during work. You didn’t meet outside of it—but considering how much you worked, always on call and spending nights holed up with him in hotel rooms or in your office going over evidence of different cases, at what point did you start spending more time at work than at your day to day life?

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—10:11 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

You were looking between the notes you’d scribbled down on a small notepad using a pen you’d stolen from Johnny the day before. It was while you were transferring them to the report on your computer that you jumped in your seat when the office door burst open. Mrs. Walker guided a sniffling Phoebe Howard into the room. Johnny, who had been speaking to Doyoung to ask him about other students, turned his head. 

Doyoung held up a hand, to which Johnny nodded, and the shorter man walked over to the two of them. "Phoebe, are you alright?"

She shook her head, breaking into tears again, unable to speak. Doyoung turned to Mrs. Walker, who simply patted her head. "Lab project," She murmured, "They had to dissect pig embryos. She just… broke down. I've seen it happen before. Some kids are just more sensitive than others."

"No, no, it's not that," Phoebe blubbered, "Can I…"

Despite everything that had happened last night, when you looked at Johnny, you saw he'd done the same. A tense, knowing stare was shared between the two of you, and then Phoebe spoke.

"Can I speak to Agent L/N please?"

Your head snapped to her when she said your name. You stood, and nodded.

You lead her out the door while ignoring Doyoung’s frown and Mrs. Walker's confused look. Johnny followed behind at a distance. 

The three of you went out the door, to the outdoor lunch tables. You had Phoebe sit down, Johnny and you remained standing. 

"What is it you wanted to talk about, Phoebe?" You said gently.

She took a shaky breath, rubbing her hands together. "So… Do you know who my stepdad is?"

Thinking back to when you'd made a basic profile on the three kids yesterday afternoon, you nodded. "He's the gym coach here, right? Grant Howard?"

She nodded. "So… he married my mom when I was 6. And he adopted me when I was 8. One year after that my mom got a new job, a-and she started travelling a lot, y'know? So I was alone with him a lot more. I-I don't know when it started, but…"

The sinking feeling in your chest grew as she started to cry again.

"S-sometimes when she wasn't here, h-he would invite people over. They'd come i-in with these red cloaks and they—would bring small animals. Kittens a-and puppies, birds sometimes… They would take me down to the basement, to a room where the walls are painted red and there's this dirt floor, and they would—they would stand in a circle and sing and they would give m-me knives, o-or screwdrivers and…"

You sat down next to her, rubbing her shoulder as she let out a gut-wrenching cry. Looking at Johnny, the hand that wasn't in his trench coat pocket was balled into a fist. He was looking down, eyebrows furrowed.

"I didn't want to!" She wailed, "They would hurt me if I didn't, they said they would hurt my mom if I said anything! I had to be the one to kill the animals and then they w-would drink the blood—I don't know how I blocked it out or why I never remembered it until Mrs. Walker put the—the pig on the table, and I… I… I just…"

"It's okay, honey," You murmured, nodding. She buried her head into your shoulder, sobbing freely, and you rubbed her back to soothe her. 

Again, you looked at Johnny, who didn't look at you. You realized just how difficult it would be to keep this off the record—this was something that involved a child being abused, you couldn’t let her go home to a dangerous situation. 

This just got a whole lot more complicated. 

HOWARD RESIDENCE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—15:49 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

Phoebe was to remain at school. Donghyuck and Amy would pick her up, and she would spend the night with Amy. She wouldn't be going home until the situation was thoroughly investigated. She'd been left with Doyoung, who would speak to her as a mandated reporter, and would later go back to attempt to finish the project. You left her your number in case she needed to speak to you again. 

You'd spoken to Mrs. Walker as her final class was out, just before you and Johnny left. The lab was spacious. A large python lay sleeping in a glass case in the corner of the room. The space was ripe with the smell of blood, which didn't surprise you, given the amount of pig embryos she was having her students dissect all day long.

The woman had a soft voice, and seemed very sympathetic to Phoebe's struggle. "I absolutely understand, I might have her do something else for her grade, but I'm afraid I might not be able to find any other activity on such short notice."

You nodded, sighing. "Of course. Thank you for considering, regardless." 

Your eyes fell to her desk, where a small basket of random items glinted with a small charm bracelet, the same bracelet you'd seen on—

"Ah, the students usually ask me to hold onto their things when we get messy like this," She said with a smile when she noticed where you were looking. "You said you're a doctor, so you understand, right?"

"Oh, yes. I can't really wear anything at all," You said with a soft chuckle.

"Not even a ring? Oh, your husband must be disappointed." 

You felt your face heat up, scratching your neck awkwardly. "I'm not married."

She smiled. “Oh, good for you then. It’s literal hell. And, you get to ogle your partner all day.”

You choked on your spit, coughing awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

She laughed, waving her hands, “Oh, Agent L/N, don’t be so modest. You can’t deny that Agent Suh is an absolute dish. Why, if I were 25 years younger… oh my, the things I would—”

“I really must be going, Mrs. Walker,” You insisted quickly. “I’ll contact you should I have any other questions for you."

“Could I have your phone number, in case anything comes up? I-I’ll admit, this whole situation has frightened me a bit.”

You nodded sympathetically, ignoring how uncomfortable you’d felt a moment ago. Pulling out Johnny's pen and your notepad, and you jotted down your number there.

“Y/N?” A knock sounded, and Johnny popped his head in the door. “We need to go.”

“Yeah, I know,” You replied, tucking the notepad back into your pocket. You bid Mrs. Walker goodbye, and off you went, kitten heels clacking as you went.

As for your time with Johnny? The entire ride there was tense.

“Were you expecting that?” He asked a few minutes into the ride. You raised an eyebrow.

“The secret cult that forced a nine year old girl to murder puppies and kittens?” You answered in a clipped tone, “No, John. I can’t say I was.”

He hummed. "Okay… no tape recorder today?"

"I forgot it. Left it at the hotel."

He nodded, and that was that. 

Her mother and adoptive stepfather were, to say the least, shocked at their daughter's confession. You spoke to the girl's mother in the living room, Johnny spoke to her father. Mrs. Howard, whom Phoebe had insisted had never said anything was beside herself, crying as she spoke to you.

“Mrs. Howard, you’re absolutely sure you’ve never witnessed any violent behavior from your husband?”

She nodded, sniffling. “He’s always treated me and Phoebe very kindly. In front of me, at least.”

You hummed, looking down at the carpeted floor. “You said this is your husband's house, and he’s lived here longer than you have? Have you been in all parts of the house? Is there maybe an area a guest might not know about?”

She looked up at the ceiling in thought. “After hearing what Phoebe told you both, it made me realize that I’d never been in the basement. Grant’s always said that was his woodworking space, and he didn’t want anyone in there.”

With a nod, you looked at her. “Could my partner and I maybe take a look at--” 

A commotion from the kitchen cut you off.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING OF THE SORT! I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE ACCUSING ME OF, SUH!”

You shot up, and so did Mrs. Howard, just in time to see Grant Howard push Johnny into the cabinet. Your training kicked in, and you stepped between the two, holding up your hands to placate the man. 

“Calm down, now,” You growled, dangerously low, “Or I will place you under arrest for assault of an officer.” 

“Grant,” Mrs. Howard called, “Breathe.”

“Leave, both of you! If you want to see my basement, get a damn warrant and you’ll see there’s nothing down there!”

You tugged Johnny away by the wrist, leaving out the front door. “What happened?” 

Johnny shook his head in aggravation. “I asked to see the basement, said that it would clear my suspicions of him. He said he didn’t hurt Phoebe, and I said I didn’t believe him. Then he snapped, grabbed me by the collar and shook me.”

He unlocked the car. “Should we try and get that warrant?”

You got into the passenger seat, shrugging. “I can do it.”

Johnny nodded. “Hopefully we’ll find—”

A ringing from Johnny’s phone caught him off guard. He fished the phone out from his pocket, answering, “Suh.”

“Sheriff, what’s going on?”

You could hear him through the speaker, and you didn't like what you heard. 

"We'll be there right away," Johnny said, face turning serious.

ROOM 471, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—17:37 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

"You're saying she just… had a seizure?"

"I was sitting at the desk, and she was about halfway through the dissection when she just… collapsed on the floor," Mrs. Walker said, voice trembling, "She was shaking and her eyes were rolled up into her head… Agent L/N, it was terrifying."

You sighed and looked at Johnny, who was speaking with the sheriff. When you looked back at Mrs. Walker, she was shaking her head. "I feel a dark force is among us, Agent L/N," She murmured, putting a hand on her chest, "So many horrible things in such a short span of time."

"Agent Suh and I are working hard to solve the case, Mrs. Walker. I promise we're doing our best."

"Y/N," Johnny called, "We gotta go."

You bid the older woman goodbye, and she gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Once you were out the door with Johnny, your voice lowered. "What do you got?"

"Not a lot. The Howards have been notified, but Grant Howard isn't being allowed into her hospital room."

"Who called the police?"

"Clinton."

"Clinton?" 

He shook his head, grimacing to himself. "Shit, sorry. Beatrice Pratt. The secretary." 

You stared at him. "Pratt and Clinton don't sound alike at all."

"Well, yeah, but…" He scratched his head and lowered his voice. "The pantsuit and the bob remind me of the first lady."

You frowned. "I wear pantsuits all the time."

"Yeah, but you don't look like Hillary Clinton."

You sighed. You didn’t have time for this, especially when he was still mad at you. "Okay. Sure, whatever. I talked to Walker. I… I'm not so sure about her."

Johnny tilted his head. "Why not?"

"I don't know. I don't have a lot to go off of, but it seems just a little bit odd that she shows up the morning of Mark Lee's death, replacing a man who apparently hasn't missed a day in a fifteen year career."

"Maybe he had an emergency. Happens to everyone."

"Johnny, he contracted flesh eating bacteria. Does that sound like something that happens to everyone?"

He didn't answer. Obviously, he hadn’t been expecting that. "Ohhh-kay, then. Let's do this. The sheriff said that the warrant should be ready within a few hours. Howard would probably beat my ass if he sees me again, so you check out that basement, and I can do the background check on Walker. Sound good?"

"Actually, I don't think you'll need a warrant."

The two of you turned, stunned, to see Grant Howard standing in front of you both. His eyes were rimmed red and he was clearly restless, shifting his weight onto his legs constantly. 

"Agent L/N, I'll show you the basement."

HOWARD RESIDENCE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—18:09 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

"My entire life," The man said, sounding tired, "I was taught that humans are no better, no worse than animals. Do what thou willst, rather than do unto others." 

He pulled open the basement door, gesturing for you to go first. Immediately, you were on edge. If you had your back turned he could easily push you down the stairs or hit you in the head.

"You go down first," You ordered. He nodded understandingly. "You were saying?""My family has kept this religion for seven generations. My great, great, great, great grandfather was born in 1777, Agent L/N, and he was the one who brought us into it. We've been keeping it alive since, with two other families. It kept us in good health, we had no money problems."

When the two of you got to the bottom of the stairs, he turned the light on and you realized Mrs. Howard had been right, it did look like a normal woodworking space. Until Mr. Howard pulled a rug up from the ground to reveal a hatch, which he pulled up to reveal another set of stairs.

"I was raised to believe that Christianity was synonymous with hypocrisy. And for years, I believed that." He led you down this pair of stairs again, where he lit his flashlight. The room was a bit smaller than the basement but still large enough to keep a large group of people like Phoebe had said. Also identical to her story were the red walls and the dirt floor.

 "Believed?"

"Believed," He confirmed. "I believed until I saw it in my own religion as well, not even an hour ago. When I got to the school to gather my things and was met by the heads of the other 2 families, asking me to pin the murder of Mark Lee on my own daughter. That if she were permanently affected by what just happened, we could get away with all of it. That was when I knew that I was better than an animal. I need to keep Phoebe and Linda safe."

"So one of you did murder Lee," You murmured, trying to get a solid confession. However, he shook his head. "I didn't. The others insist they didn't either." 

"Who did, then?"

He sighed. "Agent L/N, you have to understand, I'm trained in these arts so I know when there’s a difference somewhere. Something is here. Something bad."

 You frowned. "Alright. Did you or did you not abuse your daughter?"

"I never laid a hand on her. The others, however… they wanted to make sure she would stay quiet through fear, and they wouldn't listen to me. We have a ritual that blocks out memories, every time we would perform that ritual when we were done. The plan was to reveal the memories when she turned 18, and then allow her to join or reject the religion. It's a rite of passage."

"Why even use Phoebe in the first place?"

He shook his head. "The magic of an innocent soul is a powerful thing. It's one of the most powerful things we could ever use in our magic. That's also why we used those sacrifices. She was the youngest of all of our children. The others were all past 11 at that age."

With a sigh, you led him up back to the main basement. "Would you be willing to give me a written statement of who the heads of these families are?"

He nodded. "Of course. I just want my daughter and my wife to be safe. They believe that whatever's here wants a sacrifice. That it took Mark Lee as a warning to us, and unless it gets a sacrifice from us…"

"It'll strike again," You finished."And it won't stop." He sounded desperate. You found your notepad, but the pen was nowhere to be found. "Do you have a—"

Your cellphone ringing interrupted you. You groaned quietly, scooping it from your pocket. "Hello?"

"Y/N?" You heard Johnny's voice say. His tone was urgent. There was a faint crackle of static, but as you listened it began to get louder. "I'm at the school. You need to hurry, Y/N, there's something—!"

The static overpowered the sound of his voice, and then the call dropped. "Johnny? Johnny! Hello?"

Your heart dropped, and you tucked the phone and the notepad into your pocket. "I need to go. My partner's in trouble."

"I'll go with you," He offered.

You shook your head. "No. You're under arrest."

"What? But—"

"You just admitted to animal abuse, your complicity in child abuse and conspiracy. If I take you to the school, how do I know you won't take the other two and bolt?" You snapped. "Against that beam, there.

Pulling out some handcuffs, you forced him against the side of the stairs, where you handcuffed him to the railing. "I'll come back for you later," You growled, "Don't move."

Rushing up the stairs, and out the door, into the rain, you ran towards the car. Johnny needed you. 

Your friend needed you.

FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—18:30 hours, February 12th, 1993

You burst into the school, trying to keep calm despite the horrid feeling in your gut. You eyed the office, which was right next to the main entrance. The lights were on, you could see your laptop was on. But the seat was empty, and so was the rest of the office, or so it seemed to be from where you were standing. Taking a deep breath, you pulled out your gun, and entered the office slowly. 

"Hello?" You called, looking into the window of Doyoung’s office. Empty. The principal's office? Empty. Your mouth felt dry. 

Where was Johnny?

"Y/N?"

In a moment your professors at the academy would've been ashamed to see, you shrieked, and turned the gun in the direction the voice came from. But when you realized it was Johnny with a styrofoam coffee cup, whose eyes had gone wide at the sight of the gun pointed at him, you lowered it.

"Don't fucking scare me like that," You muttered as you tucked the gun into its holster. A second later, you raced forward, engulfing him in a hug as you realized that he was okay.

"Y/N? What's… going on?"

You pulled away once it registered what you'd done. "Sorry," You mumbled. "What happened? Where did the thing go?"

"Y/N, what are you talking about?"

You shook your head in confusion. "You called me. You said you were in danger. My heart fell out of my ass, Johnny, what happened?"

Johnny's face contorted at your statement. "Huh? Y/N, I never even touched my phone. I was running the background check on Walker—who, by the way, is pretty much clear in the system. But… I don't know."

Staring at him, you put your hands on your hips. "Johnny, I heard your… never mind. We have to go. Howard confessed."

His eyebrows shot up. "He did it?"

"No, but he admitted to conspiracy and has names. Come on, we have to go."

For the millionth time today, you made your way from the school to the Howard residence, where you found the door was still open. As you opened the door to the basement, you looked at him.

"He's down here."Johnny turned on his flashlight, and you followed him down the steps. The room was eerily quiet, and when Johnny flashed the light at where you said he was, it was empty.You huffed at the sight of the empty handcuffs. How had he slipped out of them?

"Y/N," Johnny said, flashing the light a few feet away, "Look."

You turned to see what he was pointing at. Your eyes widened at the sight of bones, tinged pink with the small chunks of meat still attached to it.

"Do you think it might be some kind of acid?" You asked, and Johnny shook his head.

"There's no sign of a reaction on the floor," He answered, flashing the light around the basement floor. He stopped a few feet away. You felt yourself grow even more confused.

"Is that—?

""Snakeskin," Johnny whispered, "...There's a python in Walker's class."

"B-but, that's not possible," You muttered, "It would take a snake hours to consume a grown man, and weeks to digest it!"

Johnny grabbed your wrist, shaking his head at your rambling. "C'mon, Einstein," He told you, "We gotta go pay Walker a visit."

ROOM 471, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—19:01 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

The school was a lot darker than when it had been when you had been there previously. Seeing the halls, which you'd grown used to being full and lit up, suddenly so dark and empty made you uneasy.

 It was raining a lot harder now. The sound of the rain pelting the roof made it harder to listen for anything. When you got to Walker's room, it was also dark. She said she'd be here until eight grading papers, but the room was empty. There were some broken beakers on one of the lab tables, and when you really strained your ears to listen, the sound of soft yet strained breathing could be heard behind the desk. 

"Mrs. Walker?" You called, slowly walking towards the desk. Johnny tried the light, but to no avail. The rain must have knocked it out.

The woman was on the floor, nose bleeding and leg bent at an angle at which legs weren't meant to bend at all. She seemed to have been hit in the head, a sizable lump protruding from her temple.

"Th-the snake—" She mumbled, "They took the snake—He hit me,"

"Who, Mrs. Walker, who?"

"Kim," She spat out, "Pratt. I think they—think they killed that boy."

Doyoung and Beatrice. You and Johnny exchanged glances, and you remembered what Grant had said.

"Did you see where they went, Mrs. Walker?" Johnny asked. She blinked hazily.

"Said something about the conference room," She muttered.

"We'll call paramedics for you, okay?" You stood, trying to reassure her gently. "You'll be fine."

Johnny had already picked up the phone. Thunder crackled overhead as he dialed the number, but you could hear the busy tone all the way from where you were standing

."Damn storm is jamming the signal," He said, "Y/N, we gotta go, now."

"Johnny, what about—"

"Y/N," He growled, "Now."

Something about his tone set you off, and you did as he said. He immediately shut the door, and sped up his steps down the hall. 

"What was that about?" You asked, turning on your flashlight and trying to keep up with his pace. 

"Y/N, do you have that pen you borrowed from me yesterday?" He asked, not slowing down. Thunder rumbled overhead.

"What?" He had a point, probably. He always did when he got like this. "No, I dropped it I think."

"The pen was on Walker's desk. Next to the phone. Next to Phoebe's bracelet. It was my pen."

You inhaled sharply as Johnny tugged the door to the conference room open. "What are you implying?"

"Walker was clear in the system. But when I was talking to the principal yesterday, she couldn't even remember hiring her. What are the odds that a woman pops up out of nowhere the same day a murder happens?"

You pulled a filing cabinet open, looking through random folders. "Okay, yes, we agree. But what if—"

"Y/N, did you not see how tall she was?"

You shook your head, turning to pull out some papers from a file. "Sure, she's a bit taller than average, but she's shorter than you—"

"She's slouching to look smaller. Trust me, I did that when I was younger. If she stood up straight, she would be taller than me. Donghyuck said the thing that grabbed Mark was tall, had female breasts, and had dark hair. She fits the profile."

You sighed. "I mean, maybe you—"

A thud! and a groan from Johnny had you turning your head. Your flashlight landed on Johnny, on the ground, unconscious. Your body turned cold. 

"Johnny—?"

But then you felt something hit you in the back of the head, and everything went dark. 

Your eyes cracked open at the sensation of being dragged, and as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you realized two things. 

One, you arms and legs were bound, and there was a gag placed in your mouth. You craned your head, and Johnny was in the same situation as you, only he was still unconscious. 

And two, you were being dragged by Hillary Clinton. 

Shit, no. Maybe you'd hit your head harder than expected. Your vision cleared up further, and you realized it wasn't, in fact, Hillary Clinton, but rather Beatrice Pratt. Doyoung was dragging Johnny, and then you realized what was going on. 

These were the others that Grant Howard had been referring to. They seemingly hadn't realized you were awake yet. You were in the school gymnasium, headed towards a doorway in the corner. The room was dark, occasionally lit by flashes of lightning.

"—The showers, right?" Doyoung asked, sounding out of breath. Beatrice huffed. 

"Yes. The blood will get washed away there."

You couldn’t move your hands, no matter how much you squirmed. Your eyes looked at Johnny, who was beginning to stir. His brows furrowed, mouth trying to form words. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” Doyoung hummed, disdain dripping from his voice, “Lovely.”

Johnny’s eyes cracked open, immediately glaring at Doyoung, who chuckled. “Please. I’m terrified.”

“Doyoung, shut up,” Beatrice snapped. “Open the door.”

Doyoung let Johnny’s legs fall onto the floor. Johnny groaned in discomfort as Doyoung opened the door, propping it open with something.

He approached Johnny again, but before he picked him up to drag him further, he landed a swift kick to Johnny’s gut. Johnny let out a muffled moan in pain, and you thrashed against your restraints.

“You just had to come and ruin everything, huh? This is a once in a century opportunity, and you--” He proceeded to kick Johnny again, over and over, “Just--won’t--quit.”

“Doyoung!” Beatrice snapped. “We don’t have time for this. Don’t you sense it getting angrier? If we don’t sacrifice them now, it’ll take us like it took Grant.”

Doyoung turned to her, breathing heavily through his nose. “Fine,” He bit out.

They dragged you into the bathrooms, leading you to the showers, where they dumped you both next to each other. You rolled onto your side to look at Johnny, whose eyes were screwed shut in pain. His breathing was labored. 

You squirmed again, trying to free yourself as the shower roared to life. Curling in on yourself as cold water soaked your body, you tried to think of a way to save both Johnny and yourself. Doyoung and Beatrice pulled out large daggers from their  coat pockets, and raised their arms to the sky. They began chanting in latin, but the roar of water, the shock of the cold temperature, and the panic beginning to set in caused the words to blur together. 

This was it. You and Johnny were going to die. 

Until the two of them crumpled on top of you. You jumped as Doyoung’s weight toppled onto you, eyes squeezing shut in pain. His elbow had landed on your stomach. For a moment, as you lay there reeling in pain, and you wondered if this was a part of the ritual. But then…

"Agent L/N?" Your eyes shot open, and you met eyes with Amy Espinoza. She managed an awkward attempt at a polite smile, fiddling with what she was holding in her hands. Your eyes widened when you registered the shotgun. A flashlight was duct-taped haphazardly to the barrel, probably so that she could see wherever she was aiming.

"Mmh-hffpnffh?" You couldn't stop yourself from trying to speak, unable to contain your surprise. 

A second set of hands turned off the shower, and you craned your neck to see Donghyuck Lee, holding an old baseball bat underneath his armpit. He pulled Beatrice off of Johnny, making a disgusted face. "I always knew there was something up with her," He grumbled, "She never laughed at my jokes."

"Yeah, 'cause you're annoying as shit," Amy countered, pushing Doyoung to the side. "Can you guys sit up?"

She untied your hands, and you got to work on untying your feet before pulling the gag off of your mouth. 

"What are you two doing here?" Johnny asked, voice raspy and out of breath. 

You stood up, wiping water off of your face. "Where did you get that gun?"

 "Oh." Amy suddenly sounded embarrassed. "I, uh… Stole it from my dad?

"Donghyuck helped Johnny stand. "We went to visit Phoebe in the hospital, Mr. Suh—"

"Agent Suh," Johnny corrected, bringing a hand to his stomach. "Whatever. Anyway, we went to visit and once she woke up she told us something… not good."

"Mrs. Walker is the thing," Amy said. "Phoebe said she was dissecting the pig and she saw her grab the bracelet she'd given her—"

"And she did something and her eyes turned orange, like the thing we saw in the woods!" Amy continued. "The officer that was there didn't believe her, but we did."

"So we decided to take matters into our own hands," Donghyuck said. "She killed our best friend, so we thought—"

"That coming to your school with a shotgun and a wooden baseball bat, to kill a demon was the best course of action?" You didn't sound amused, and the two of them exchanged a look.

Amy looked down. "Well… when you put it like that…"

"It doesn't matter," Johnny said. "You kids need to go home now. It's not safe for either of you." 

"Like hell we're going anywhere! We were able to save you guys, so—"

“You kids got lucky this one time," You pointed out, sounding stern, "Agent Suh and I are trained for dangerous situations like this. You two aren't, and we certainly aren't about to expose you kids to one. Go home."

You searched your pockets, not finding your gun. You crouched to look through Doyoung and Beatrice's pockets, handing Johnny's gun to him and putting your gun back into your holster.

"But—"

A large crack of thunder startled you all, and the ground seemed to rumble as it did. Johnny looked past you and the kids, at the end of the shower hallway, and inhaled sharply.

"Oh, that's so much worse than Hillary Clinton," He mumbled. You didn't even see what he meant, but in that split second something in you took over. You pulled Donghyuck behind you, Johnny grabbing Amy and doing the same. 

At the same time, Amy aimed the gun to where Johnny had been looking, the light landing on...

Donghyuck gasped. "Holy shit."

It was like exactly what Donghyuck had said, except worse. Glowing, orange eyes, goat legs, stringy black hair. Johnny was right—standing like this, she was much taller than him. Her jaw was unhinged, open impossibly wide. She was panting heavily, hobbling slowly towards you. 

You and Johnny pulled out your guns, shooting instantly. One hit her in the shoulder, the other in the stomach. Her jaw opened even further, and a blood curdling screech echoed throughout the tiled room. 

Then she broke out into a run. 

You forced yourself to stand still, shooting another round before she jumped over you. Out of the corner of your eye, Donghyuck swung the bat, hitting her in the leg, causing her to fall face first to the ground.

 Taking that advantage, Johnny fired another round into her back. She shrieked again, and you and Johnny took the opportunity to run out the door, pushing the kids with you.

"Go! Both of you, now," You ordered once you were in the gym again. They shook their heads. Donghyuck held up his bat.

"We're not leaving without—"

"Donghyuck, this isn't a movie," Johnny insisted, "Now go!"

 Amy grabbed his arm. "Hyuck, they're right, we have to—LOOK OUT!"

You turned to see what had once been Mrs. Walker stick its head out of the doorway. Amy was able to fire one last shot into it, with her shotgun. You didn’t see where it hit—the door shut and you heard one final wail. 

A few moments later, the lights flickered on. You stood there, clothes dripping onto the hardwood floor for a good minute or so, until you looked at Johnny, who wore a pained grimace. "I can check," You told him. "Stay here with the kids." 

"You sure?" He asked. You nodded, holding out your gun and slowly making your way towards the door. You spared the odd trio one final glance. 

Johnny—soaking wet hair falling into his eyes—was standing in front of them, aiming his gun at the door. Donghyuck was holding his bat up, Amy's MacGyver-esque flashlight gun making you squint.

Then, you opened the door. You could feel your heart hammering a mile a minute. Very slowly, you scanned the room. You stopped when you glanced at the showerhead Beatrice and Doyoung had placed you under—the same one they should have been under, knocked unconscious. You swallowed a lump in your throat. 

Because they weren’t there, and neither was Mrs. Walker. What you did see, however, were two large streak of blood dragged up the wall and to a window, staining the green tiles.

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—20:47 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

The four of you made your way back to the main building on high alert. The rain seemed to have stopped once the thing was gone. Amazingly, there wasn't even a cloud in the sky. Even the air felt different—cleaner.

Shockingly, this time when Johnny tried the phone again, it worked. In order, he called the sheriff, who had no issue believing the ordeal you had gone through. Then the principal, who was incredibly confused as to how four of her teachers could vanish in one night.

 And then, you turned to the kids and gestured to the phone. "Alright, your turn now. Call your parents, both of you."

If they were more afraid of the murderous hellspawn they'd just helped you fight off, it didn't show. "Please just let us go now, Agent L/N," Donghyuck pleaded, "My mom will never let me leave my house again after this."

Amy shook her head. "My dad's gonna kill me if he finds out I stole the gun again."

Johnny made a face. "Again?"

She turned even paler when she realized her screw up. "I'm not going to omit witnesses from a report because you'll get grounded," You told them. "You're good kids, with good intentions. You just lost someone and had another friend go through something traumatic, we get that. But what you did tonight was incredibly dangerous, reckless, and—and—"

"Stupid?" Johnny offered.

"Johnny!" You snapped, lowering your voice. He shrugged.

You sighed, trying to get them to understand. "Alright, listen. There's a Yellow Pages over on that desk. If you don't call them, I will, or the sheriff will. Which would scare your parents less, huh? Getting a call from their kids, from the sheriff's department, or from the goddamn federal bureau of investigation?"

If they didn't get it before, they definitely understood now. Amy took the fall first, telling her dad she'd brought her car to the school, had gotten into trouble, and needed him to come by to talk to the police. She left out the gun, much to your amusement.

While Donghyuck did the same, you pulled Johnny into the hallway to speak to him.

"Are you okay?" You asked, "Doyoung seemed to kick you pretty hard." 

"I'll take a few days off once we get back to DC, I'll be fine," He murmured. He leaned against the wall and winced.

You nodded, but weren't sure how to respond. Finally, you spoke again.

"Look, about last night," You said softly, and he looked up in thought. 

"What about it?" He didn't seem to want to meet your eyes.

You took a step forward. "Johnny, other than when we first met, have I ever treated you like you were crazy?" 

Your voice was quieter now, gentler in its approach. He looked to the side, crossing his arms. "...No."

You shrugged, before sighing. "It's not that I don't trust you. I have my scientific conclusions. You have yours. Every time I see something I can't explain I try to explain it with what I do know. Tonight was… insane, and you were right. But honestly? It just reinforced my wanting to go the scientific route every time we have a case."

He frowned. "Why? You saw Walker."

"Exactly." You crossed your arms. "If I went into every single case, expecting to see that or something even worse? God. I… I don't know how you do it, John."

He smiled, but still didn't meet your eyes. "I didn't mean what I said last night either. Y'know… that. Or at least, I didn't realize I didn't mean it until today. I… I care about you, Johnny. I really do. You're smart, and you're really funny, and you give me perspectives I wouldn't consider otherwise."

He looked at you, and you put a hand on his upper arm. "I'm glad I have a friend like you to work with," You admitted, "And I'm glad you're okay."

His smile grew, and he let out a chuckle. "There's no one else in the bureau I would rather be murdered by Hillary Clinton with," He said, with the most endearing tone possible. You burst into laughter, Johnny joining you. He stepped closer, pulling you into a hug as you continued to laugh. Your eyes shut, and despite Johnny's cold, damp clothes pressing against your cold, damp clothes, it still warmed your chest. The two of you stood together for a while, enjoying each other's embrace. His chin rested on your head, and you sighed happily. Johnny gave good hugs.

"Uhh, Agent Suh?"

Johnny and you broke away immediately. Johnny cleared his throat."Uhh, yes, Donghyuck?"Amy and Donghyuck exchanged a glance from the office doorway. "Uh, my mom said she'll be here soon. A-and I saw some police lights across the street, so…"

"Oh." Johnny straightened his tie. "Thank you."

A few seconds later, the sound of sirens came into proximity. You took a look at these two kids, and despite the stress they'd caused you, you felt an odd fondness in your heart. 

“Come on, you two," Johnny murmured, "Time to go."

X-FILE 229-B: THE SAN CEFERINO SHIFTER

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—07:08 hours, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

On this particular summer morning, you were enjoying the air conditioner for as long as you could wait. You'd be flying to San Ceferino, California, twenty minutes outside of San Francisco. 

The assignment was at a gated community where three women had been found dead within the span of three weeks. You and Johnny would be sent in to investigate due to a strange, unidentifiable residue being found on the bodies. A local detective had contacted the bureau for help.

The kicker? For some reason, due to some sensitivities of having their community "invaded" the head of the community had requested you be placed undercover.

So what was the bureau's idea? "Moving" you and Johnny into the community, posing as a newlywed couple. 

Yikes.

This seemed like a bad idea to you, but you didn't say anything. Because if you spoke up to your superiors, they'd ask why, and you'd be forced to explain. 

"I got the flight tickets and our fake profiles!" Johnny entered your shared office, causing you to look up from the case file.

"Oh, nice. Who are we?"

He curled his lip, making a face. "Whoever makes up these names should be demoted, I swear to god. My name is Fox. Fox Kang. Who the hell names their kid Fox—"

You stifled a laugh as you grabbed the file from him, flipping to yours. Dana Baker. A bit ordinary, but the more inconspicuous, the better, you figured. 

"God, I kind of don't want to go," You hummed, "It's hot enough as it is here in Washington. I don't wanna imagine the California heat."

"Well, suck it up," He said, but he didn't sound dismissive. "We're leaving in three hours. We still have to pick up our undercover wardrobe and get to the airport, y'know?"

Frowning at the profile, you nodded half-heartedly. It stated that your backstory was that of college sweethearts at Cornell in the 80s. He was class of 1984, you of 1986. You were moving to California two months after getting married, because "Fox" got a job offer just outside of San Francisco. 

"You're staring at that paper like you're Nancy Kerrigan and it just broke your knee," Johnny pointed out, "You okay?"

"Huh?" You looked at him, swallowing. "Oh… yeah. I'm fine. I'm just a bit… unsure about the whole marriage thing." 

Johnny shrugged, offering an amused smile. "Really, Y/N. We've been working together for two years and you still find me that unbearable?"

You laughed, standing and circling your desk to stand in front of him. "No, not at all. I'm just not the best when it comes to undercover work."

Johnny leaned against the desk, smiling sympathetically. "Well, I'm no Tom Hanks either. But if you think about it, we spend all our time together anyway. It's not that big of a stretch to say we might as well be."

"We definitely argue like one," You fired back. You both laughed, simply staring at each other in silence once it quieted down. Johnny's eyes studied you up and down, dark eyes warm. He was wearing his glasses today. 

You wondered if he was judging your outfit, because he did that sometimes with other people. Apparently, before he became interested in criminal psychology he'd wanted to become a fashion designer, or so he told you. Six months later after he'd told you that and you still weren't sure if he was joking or not.

"What are you looking at?" You asked. He shook his head. 

"...Nothing. Let's get going?"

The two of you picked up your faux suitcases—the bureau had a department full of fake clothes for agents going undercover needing to fit a certain persona. The two of you were nothing close to the white picket fence suburban life, so you were better off picking up some fake clothes.

You laughed when you saw the first outfit Johnny had been given. A pastel yellow LaCoste polo shirt, and grayish blue dress shorts. He glowered at you when he saw your face.

"Oh, yeah, very funny."

Your outfit wasn't much better. High rise, light wash jeans and another polo, this one bright red, a pair of dark red casual loafers to match. Johnny didn't laugh, but it was clear he was trying not to.

You decided to sleep on the plane. There wasn't a lot to look over, as you'd received the file the night before. By now, you knew the drill. 

You dreamt you were back in that hotel room in Oregon. Johnny was kneeling beneath you, but you still hadn't taken your robe off. He was saying something, but you couldn't understand what. His eyes were full of a warm emotion that you couldn't quite place.

Until he raised his arms to try and remove the robe. This time, when he spoke, you could hear him clearly. "This is what you wanted me to do, right?"

Your hands grabbed his. "What? Johnny, I… Well…" 

He stood, face impossibly close to yours. There was an odd smile on his face. "Don't worry," He murmured. "I want to, too."

Slowly, your hands let go of his and he began to pull off the robe. You didn’t protest. When you were bare, his hands slid to the skin of your waist, and he pulled you against him. His forehead pressed against yours.

"Johnny, are you sure?"

"Y/N," He said with a smile, "We are beginning our descent into LAX. Please put on your seatbelts and put up your trays."

You jumped awake in your seat, eyes impossibly wide. A laugh from beside you caused you to turn your head. Johnny was giggling into his palm. 

"What?" You asked, voice raspy from sleeping. 

"Oh my god, that was beautiful," He declared, "You were sleeping so peacefully and then, oh my god, that was hilarious."

"Ha, ha, ha." Your tone was devoid of any emotion. You rubbed your eyes, yawning slightly. "What time is it, here?"

"Three hour time difference. It's one PM." 

You nodded. And you still had a six hour car ride. Lovely. 

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE I-5, CALIFORNIA—15:22, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

"Couldn't they have just flown us to San Francisco and have us drive from there?" Johnny complained after being cut off by yet another car. 

You sighed. "Budget cuts, I guess. We're not infiltrating the mafia, or taking down human trafficking rings."

"Yeah, we just fight the boogeyman and the little green men," He agreed. You laughed. 

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we hadn't gotten assigned together?" He sounded wistful, not taking his eyes off of the road. 

"I don't know." You picked at a loose thread on your jeans. "I would probably still be teaching at the academy. I think Brooks was considering placing you with Jung if I wasn't up for it."

"Jaehyun Jung?" He turned his head, making a face. "Really? He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," You insisted, "He just thinks like me, science before all, except… less nice about it."

"You sure?" He asked, fiddling with the radio, "Every time we're in a room together, I catch him staring at me like he's trying to shoot lasers into my head, the prick."

You shrugged. "He's nice to me."

"That's just 'cause he's trying to get into your pants."

You hummed. Jaehyun was pretty handsome. "Would that be such a bad thing?" 

He coughed, shrugging. "Well, it's your love life. You do you."

The air turned awkward. Johnny fiddled with the radio, but in this particular stretch of the interstate, all that came up was a Latin beats radio. Trumpets, and soft snare drums filled the car. You immediately recognized Selena's Bidi Bidi Bom Bom, a song about a girl realizing her heart went crazy whenever her lover passed by—while you didn’t listen to a lot of Latin music, you had a friend who did and always played this song when you met up.

Me tiemblan hasta las piernas

Y el corazon igual

Se emociona, ya no razona

No lo puedo controlar

"Oh, I hate this song," Johnny mumbled, reaching to turn the radio off.

"No, wait! I like it." You pushed his hand away. He groaned, but didn't turn it off. 

Y me canta así, me canta así…

Bidi bidi bom bom, bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

So, the two of you continued on listening to Selena, Johnny silently pouting. 

"So, what were you dreaming about on the plane?"

"Huh?" You cleared your throat.

"Yeah, you said my name in your sleep."

You shifted in your seat. "Oh… Um. I can't even remember."

He hummed, but didn't say anything. The drive continued on, both of you alternating between discussing mundane things and the case. All of them had been found in their homes, with no sign of a struggle—which suggested they knew their assailant. They'd all been strangled to death. No odd fingerprints could be recovered from the crime scenes. 

The first victim lived alone. The other two's husbands had solid alibis that were confirmed by the police. 

Which meant that it had to be someone in the neighborhood. There was reportedly a strong sense of community there, which was part of why the bureau had you going undercover. 

Around six, the two of you rolled into San Francisco, for a brief stop to talk to the detective who had contacted the bureau, a woman named Wendy Son. 

The two of you rolled into the precinct, and upon showing your badges, were prompted to the woman’s office. She had her light brown hair tied up in a ponytail, wearing a black pantsuit similar to what you would wear, had you not been dressed like a soccer mom.

"Oh, thank you for coming," She said once you sat down. "I have some extra material here that I wasn't able to fax you."

She pulled out a folder, setting it in front of you on the desk. Johnny opened it to reveal more images you hadn't initially seen. 

"We sent the sample to Los Angeles because their laboratory has a higher capacity," She told you both, "They still weren't able to identify it, but apparently it apparently has an a mild tranquilizing enzyme. That might also be why there wasn't much of a struggle." 

Johnny hummed. "There aren't any cameras in San Ceferino, are there?" 

Detective Son shook her head. "Only around the perimeter and the gates." 

"Maybe there's something there," You said, "Could we have access to those tapes?"

She looked back down at the pictures. "I could certainly get it to you by tomorrow afternoon, though. Come in past two and I should have it by then."

Johnny nodded and smiled at her. "That would be great, thank you." 

She smiled, and you'd have to be blind to not notice the blush on her face. She handed him the keys to the house that the heads of the community had arranged to have semi-furnished ahead of your arrival. The rest would be arriving tomorrow in the morning, during which time you would go through the motions of being a newlywed couple moving into their “forever home”.

Johnny apparently was blind, though. He didn't say anything about it once you were both back in the car. You couldn't really blame her. 

Johnny was… well, he was Johnny. He was incredibly handsome, and funny. Any reasonable person interested in men would find him attractive. 

"Detective Son likes you," You told him as you were getting onto the road that led to San Ceferino.

"Does she?" He answered, smiling smugly. "She's pretty."

You don't know why that ignited something in you. "You think so?"

He nodded. "She seems nice. But I'm not interested."

The odd sensation in your chest simmered down. "No?"

"Not really. I'm not interested in something long distance. Plus, I work too much to have a relationship."

You nodded. "Yeah. I understand."

You arrived as the sun was setting, around seven. The two of you pulled into the gate to the place, where you introduced yourselves with your fake names to the guard. He checked his roster of approved people and let you both in. 

San Ceferino consisted of four different cul de sacs, each house practically identical. The house you would be staying in was towards the end of the second one. The house was a pale pastel yellow, orange rays of the sunset making it seem a deeper color. Your car rolled into “your” driveway, and with a sigh of relief, Johnny turned the car off. 

“I’m so tired,” He groaned, “Should we try and introduce ourselves today or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” You said, letting your head fall back against the headrest, “These people are probably all having dinner or something, it’d be weird for us to do that now.”

He nodded, and got out of the car to open the trunk. You got out to grab your suitcase, and as you were getting out you realized that just maybe the universe disagreed with your decision to wait to meet others around the neighborhood.

A woman was crossing the street. She seemed a bit older than you both but was still dressed almost identically. You walked over to Johnny, who had his back turned, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Fox,” You mumbled, “We’ve got company.”

He turned, and upon spotting the woman flashed a comically fake smile. You offered the friendliest smile you could muster, but the way her eyes lit up when doing a once over of Johnny and then drooping in disappointment once she spotted you. If she thought she was subtle, she was dead wrong.

“Hi,” She said, impossibly enthusiastic, “I’m Anne Morrison. I’m the head of the Homeowners Association.”

You nodded in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you,” You said, holding out your hand, “I’m Dana. This is… my husband, Fox.”

“Fox,” She repeated, turning to look at Johnny, “That’s a lovely name. So, what brings you two to San Ceferino?”

“Oh, I got a job offer in San Francisco a few months ago,” Johnny answered. He was good, you decided. “We looked at some houses in the city, but it’s so busy there, you know? We were living in Maryland, so the transition between small town and big city… it’s not for us.”

She nodded, eyes wide. “I absolutely understand. My ex-husband wanted to move to the city now that our kids are in college. I don’t enjoy any of the hustle and bustle, really.” She chuckled, “So guess who got the house in the divorce!”

You and Johnny exchanged a glance, then laughed as if it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. “Oh, my goodness,” You wheezed, clutching your hand in your chest, “I can imagine!”

“So, what do you two do?”

“I’m an architect,” Johnny said.

“I’m a publicist.” You scratched at your cheek when you felt a mosquito try to land. Her eyes zeroed in on your hand.

“You two are married, right?” She asked, “How come you’re not wearing your rings?”

You froze. Did the bureau even have fake jewelry? Why didn’t either of you think of that detail?

“Oh,” Johnny shrugged, coming to the rescue. “It’s so stressful having to take everything on and off at the airport, so we decided not to wear them today. Right, honey?”

He wrapped his hand around your waist, and you nodded. “I never wear jewelry when I’m on a plane. Too much hassle.”

She nodded, mouth slightly agape. “Oh, I see.”

Johny cleared his throat. “What do you work as?”

She grinned. “I’m a chemist.”

“I hated chemistry in high school,” Johnny groaned jokingly. Anne apparently thought this was hilarious, swatting his arm. He laughed again, but it was empty, awkward. You leaned your head against his shoulder in hopes that she'd get the message. 

“Well, Anne, it was lovely meeting you,” You declared, “But we’ve been awake since five in the morning travelling. We’re exhausted, we really should be getting inside.”

Anne sighed, eyes turning away from studying Johnny’s face to you. “Oh, go ahead. You two must be so tired.”

Johnny nodded, pursing his lips. “We’ll speak soon?”

She smiled. “There’s an HOA meeting on Friday night at another member's house. You should come and see what we’re all about, consider joining.”

"Swing by tomorrow!" You grinned, "You can tell us the details then."

"Of course, of course. Well, I'll leave you two to it. It was nice meeting you, Dana." She raked her eyes over Johnny one more time, "...Fox."

When she was out of earshot, Johnny pulled the suitcases out of the trunk and scrunched up his nose. "That was... awkward."

Your hand pulled up the extendable handle of the suitcase, looking back at her to see her close the door to her house, which was at the very end of the cul de sac. 

You looked back at him. "So, a chemist. And she's involved with the community, everyone probably knows who she is."

He shrugged before closing the trunk. "Let's keep an eye on her. She gives me the creeps."

The two of you made sure the car was locked before making your way towards the front door. He fiddled with the keys

"She might even have a motive," He said, as you stepped inside. "Ah, c'mon, aren't you gonna let me carry you over the threshold?"

"Not the time," You said, picking up your suitcase to carry it to the bedroom. "We were talking about a motive. Evidently, she likes looking at… married men. If it's her, she might be doing it out of jealousy."

"Exactly," He agreed, following you up the stairs. "Maybe there's something else at play—jealousy or something. how old were the other victims?" 

"Between 25 and 35. She didn't say how old she was, did she?" You rolled into the bedroom, sitting on the bed and immediately flopping down onto it. Johnny rolled past your room, looking for the separate bed the bureau had said would be there as well.

"Finally," You sighed with a smile. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stifled a yawn. For a second, you considered falling asleep just like this, uncomfortable jeans be damned. 

"Y/N?" 

You cracked your eyes open, frowning at Johnny who was standing in the doorway. "What?" 

"There's only one bed."

You almost stopped breathing for a moment. "Huh?" 

He shuffled on his feet. "There's only one bed," He said, speaking slower.

"What do you mean there's only one bed?" You sat up.

Johnny sighed. "I mean there's only one bed." 

"But the bureau said—"

"Well, the bureau lied," He interrupted, "Because there's no other bed."

You  crossed your arms. "I could take the couch."

"That's supposed to get here tomorrow." 

"Oh," You frowned. What were you going to do? 

"I mean, I could sleep on the floor," You said, "So that way we don't have to sleep, you know…"

"Together?" He offered.

"In the same bed," You corrected, turning your face. It felt hot all of a sudden. 

"No, I couldn't do that to you." He set his suitcase next to yours, then sat next to you. "The bed seems big enough. I'm sure we'll be fine."

You were too tired to argue further. "Sure…" You didn't sound too convinced. 

"Great," He sighed, "I just gotta tell you. I snore a bit."

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—08:43 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

That night, surprisingly, you slept like a baby. You initially thought you'd overthink it all with Johnny lying right next to you but… it was comforting, knowing he was there. You hadn't slept next to anyone since you were 26.

Life as an FBI agent was demanding. Because of this, you'd given up on the idea of having a meaningful relationship ages ago. And due to the nature of your work, it was easy to throw yourself into it to drown out the desire to have someone to come home to. The fact that whenever you did get free time, if you spent too much of it alone… 

But now, lying awake in the morning, seeing Johnny's sleeping face curled up into his pillow… You remembered. 

He looked peaceful. Even at 33, like this he barely looked a day past 27. You could make out the details on his face, old acne scars and the occasional mole. The smile lines along his cheeks and the corners of his eyes… maybe in another lifetime, another universe, you could have gotten used to—

No. You shot up, heading towards the en suite to go to the bathroom. You were still sleepy, that was all. The time difference between Washington and California was having second effects. 

You pulled down your pants, blinking sleepily, and promptly had a heart attack when you sat down. Your knees barely missed your nose, your stomach dropped, and a shriek tumbled out of your lips before you could even register what was happening. 

Standing, now wide awake, you had half a mind to pull up your pants as Johnny tumbled into the bathroom, eyes wide in alarm.

"What happened?" He asked, voice raspy from disuse. You didn’t answer, but instead stared at the offending lifted toilet seat until he got the message. 

"Oh…" His face turned awkward, lips tilting from side to side. "I got up a few hours ago. I must have forgotten to put it back down, sorry." 

You didn't answer, yawning instead. He shrugged. "I've never… lived with another woman before, so…"

"Never?"

His eyes looked down. "...Never."

"Not even with that ex-girlfriend from Oxford you told me about?"

"Mary? No."

You held back an amused grin. "Johnny, when was the last time you even went on a date?" 

He pursed his lips. "I… am starving. Do you want me to go to the supermarket to pick something up for breakfast?"

You blinked, putting your hands on your hips. 

"...Breakfast sounds great."

Johnny promptly changed and left while you got into the shower. Once you were out, you brushed your teeth, did your general morning routine and waited for the car to roll back into the driveway, doing a quick background check on Anne in the meantime. 

No criminal record whatsoever, but that didn't automatically discard her from your list. Mostly because she was the only one on it, so far. 

Johnny rolled back into the driveway just before 9:20. You helped him take the bags into the kitchen, when he said, "Think fast!" and tossed you a small box.

"What's this?" You asked, opening the box. You sputtered at the sight: two simple gold bands. He looked at you like you were a moron.

"Wedding rings," He said, plucking one of the rings out from the box, "Hopefully so Anne lays off."

"You didn't have to go out and buy actual—"

"It's fake gold." He waved his hand dismissively, sitting down at the island and slathering an ungodly amount of cream cheese across a bagel. 

You settled on some coffee after hesitating to put on the ring. As you were finishing up, a knock at the door caught your attention. You looked at him, and he shrugged. "Moving van won't be here till 10:30."

So, you sighed, but still headed to the door. Johnny followed behind, second bagel in hand. When you swung the door open, you were met with Anne and a man you hadn't met yet. A wide Cheshire grin was plastered onto her face.

"Dana, hi!" She greeted. Her eyes landed on Johnny. "Good morning, Fox."

"Morning, Anne," You said with a nod, catching her attention again. You turned your eyes onto the man and held out your hand. "Hi, I'm Dana."

He shook your hand with a friendly smile. "My name's Scott Hernandez. I'm on the HOA board."

Johnny walked up to the door, putting a hand on your shoulder. "I'm Fox," He said, face speckled with crumbs and mouth full of food. You wanted to crawl into a hole.

"Hey, man," Scott said, eyeing Johnny, "Uh… Welcome to the neighborhood!"

"So," Anne asked, eyes raking over Johnny's chest, "How was the first night?"

Johnny swallowed his bagel before speaking. "It was lovely. We just snuggled up together and slept like little baby cats." He turned to you, eyes warm. "Isn't that right, honey bunch?"

Your neck snapped to look at him, holding back a look of disgust. "That's right…" You racked your brain for something sweet to call him and a moment later came up with, "...Poopy head."

Poopy head? Nice one, L/N.

Johnny’s smile faltered for a second, but neither Scott nor Anne seemed to notice. You flashed them both a bright grin. "So! Would you like to come in?"

Scott and Anne nodded. "That'd be great, thanks," He said. You led them into the dining room, where Johnny managed an awkward laugh. "Sorry it's such a mess, we just got up about an hour ago and I immediately went to the supermarket."

"Oh, don't worry, Fox," Scott hummed, sitting at the island, "Moving is so stressful. Especially with…"

Anne flashed him a dirty look. You raised an eyebrow at the interaction. "With what?" You asked, tilting your head as you feigned innocence. Anne sighed, shaking her head.

"Three women have been… murdered over the past few weeks." Scott looked down. "Police haven't been able to catch who's responsible."

"That's horrible," Johnny murmured, standing next to you. "Did you know them?"

"We know everyone because of our HOA responsibilities," Scott answered, "I wasn't that close to any of them, but they were all very nice women. It's awful, what happened to them. You knew Yolanda, didn't you, Anne?"

She nodded, eyes glassy. "Her son and mine used to play together. She was such a nice woman. Lovely family, too. It just breaks my heart." 

"I'm sorry for your loss," You told her. She offered a sad smile.

"But what, is it someone from the community or what?"

Anne shrugged, eyes full of concern. "The police don't really know, but it would make sense if they were from the community—"

"It couldn't possibly be someone living here," Scott huffed, "Everyone knows everyone, why would someone want to—"

"Scott is just in denial," Anne said, waving her hand. "Did you two really not know?"

"Not at all," Johnny replied, eyes wide with fake worry, "These past few weeks have been so hectic we barely had time to sit down. Right, honey?"

You groaned, partially putting up an act and partially in disgust at the name. "It's been a nightmare!" 

You made up some problems, like a crappy travel agency, yard sales, things going missing, stuff like that. Johnny occasionally chimed in, embellishing your stories. Occasionally, Anne or Scott would ask a question, and Johnny would answer with something he pulled out of his ass. 

"So that's why Fox isn't allowed coffee, anymore," You said a few minutes later, rolling your eyes. Scott was cackling, Anne giggling into her palm. Johnny glared at you, but there was no malice behind it. 

"But anyway, I'm guessing you two didn't come here to hear about how anxious I get with caffeine." Johnny turned to the pair. "What brings you to the... Kang-Baker residence?"

"Oh, we came to talk to you about joining the Homeowner's Association," Anne explained, "Not everyone in the neighborhood is a part of it, but it's very convenient to join." 

They laid down the basics, and as they talked, you realized just how much you appreciated living in an apartment rather than a house. Yes, it was a bit small at times, definitely not as idyllic, but 300 dollars as an initiation fee, and monthly payments of 150 dollars? You had half a mind to call the bureau and tell them that the real crime was the extortion from the Homeowner's Association. 

You didn't really see any advantages—probably because you didn't even own this house and wouldn't have to worry about selling it later. It just sounded like a nightmare. What did they mean you could only paint your doors pastel colors if you joined?

When they finally left, you looked at Johnny. "Maybe I'm not cut out for the American dream after all. That HOA stuff sounds even worse than the time we got attacked by the flesh eating virus."

He held back a laugh. "That bad, huh?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, this is much more irritating. The moving van will be here any second, come on, let's go."

127TH PRECINCT, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—14:29 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

After unloading the furniture boxes (empty boxes with nothing really in them), you and Johnny settled on lunch—some crappy junk food—and drove all the way to the police station where Detective Son worked. 

"What did you think about that Scott guy?" You asked Johnny, who shrugged. 

"Seemed nice enough. We'd have to look into him too, since he's also involved in the community."

You nodded. "I'll run a background check once we get h—back to the house."

He glanced at you, but said nothing. "...What are you doing once this is over?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What, once we get back to DC?"

He nodded. "Well, yeah."

You stared ahead at the car in front of you. "Oh, well… I'm not sure. Probably finish writing that stupid report for Brooks and then curl up on my couch, watch some movies, drink some wine. I don't know."

He snickered. "What, and watch Pretty Woman for the 700th time?"

Smacking him in the shoulder lightly, you huffed. "Which is no better than watching Full Metal Jacket 700 times, and you know it, Johnny Suh."

He shrugged. "Well, if sex on a piano is what does it for you then who am I to judge?"

"Shut up." You rolled down the window, the heat too much to handle. 

When you finally got to see Detective Son again, she handed you the cassette and made her way towards the door. When she spoke, she looked only at you. "I'm actually headed out to check out another call we got just now," She explained, "But feel free to use the VCR in my office to look it all over."

She left, not even looking Johnny in the eye. You turned to Johnny, who was wide-eyed. 

"And you said she likes me."

In her office, you went over several days' worth of sped up hours of footage of six different camera angles. By the third hour of watching sped up, grainy footage, Johnny huffed. "I don't think we'll get anything," He said, "Especially considering the killer didn't even need to break their way in—"

"Hold on, hold on." You shook your head, eyes zeroing in on a dark shape in one of the cameras. You walked up to the VCR machine and hit the rewind button.

"Watch camera six."

He narrowed his eyes, fixing his glasses as he watched the dark shape run out from the treeline and up the wall, then out of the camera's view—presumably inside the community. You rewinded one last time, pausing just as it leaped onto the wall.

"There."

"That's too big to be a cat," He murmured, standing to get a closer look at the grainy black and white still image, "Right?"

"Could be a big cat—bobcat or a lynx, maybe, but…"

"It's movements are too… jerky for it to be a cat."

You hesitated, before nodding. 

"Could this be the thing we're looking for?" Johnny asked, and you crossed your arms, giving the dark blob a skeptical look.

"Looks like we have some digging to do."

One more hour of poring over the footage, plus another hour of looking at the archives of the police department turned up nothing on big cats in the area. There'd been no calls to 911 to report big cats in the neighborhood, and looking over the tape again showed nothing else, not even the thing leaving.

Which made Johnny’s theory that it was still there weigh even more.

By 7:30PM or so, Detective Son had returned. "I brought coffee," She said, entering the small space, "Find anything?"

You shrugged. Johnny looked at her. "We saw a weird blob go inside. It never came out and we couldn't figure out what it was."

She frowned. "There haven't been any reports of wild animals there in years. Not since that huge military base opened up."

Johnny's eyebrows knit together. "Army base?"

She nodded. "Fort Talbot. It's about fifteen minutes west of San Ceferino. There aren't a lot of roads that lead to it, they're pretty private."

You locked eyes with Johnny, who was probably thinking the same thing as you. Military base? That was new.

 “I don’t suppose you could take us to see it?”

She shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, we could try, but there’s a fence around the perimeter about a mile or two away from the actual base. They’re not gonna let you in.”

“No, we’re not military,” You sighed. “But thank you for telling us about that.”

SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—20:44 hours, Thursday, February 12th, 1993

When the car rolled into the driveway, the two of you had found that Anne was at your front door. You shot each other a quizzical look when she turned at the sight of your headlights. “What’s the cougar doing here?” He sighed, and you elbowed him.

“Hush. Be nice.”

She reached the car once you’d both stepped out. “Oh, I was wondering where you two were! I wanted to invite you over to have dinner. The spinach quiche I made was a bit too big for just me!”

At the mention of the meal, your stomach panged in hunger. All you’d had since you left the house was that coffee Wendy had given you. Plus…

Johnny seemed to read your mind. “We’re starving. Quiche sounds great, thanks so much, Anne.”

She beamed at his praise. “Oh, come on! Wouldn’t want it to get cold.”

Anne took the both of you into her house, leading you to the dinner table where she’d already set up spots for the both of you. “It’s not too much, is it? I’m sorry if I’m being overbearing. I really do want you to ease into the neighborhood, and plus, living in this big old empty house gets… lonely.”

As you sat down, you frowned in sympathy. You watched as she began to slice the quiche for you both. “Don’t worry, Anne. I understand where you’re coming from. It’s so lonely in my—or, it was so lonely in my apartment before Fox and I met. Sure, you can distract yourself during the day with all of the stuff you have to do, but at the end of the day you come home to… nothing.”

She handed Johnny a plate, and he took it. “There you go, Fox.”

He smiled, handing the plate to you. “Thank you.”

Her eyes followed his hand, and blinked when she spotted the ring on his hand. “Oh, I see you have your rings now.”

Johnny’s smile grew into a grin, as he held out his hand, flashing the band around his ring finger. You did the same. “No more pesky metal detectors,” He declared, “So why not?”

Anne nodded, eyes lowered. She handed him another plate, then served herself. And then, finally, you all started eating. It occurred to you as you took your first bite that if she was she easily could have laced the food with whatever was in those women’s systems when they died. But that would be too different from the killer’s modus operandi. They only went for women and they killed them in their home. Autopsies didn’t find anything recent in their stomachs at the time of death, so you concluded to take a bite. 

Besides, it smelled good. If you were going to die, then it would be nice to die by the hands of some good quiche.

“So,” You began, “You said your kids were off at college?” 

She nodded, digging around her food with a fork. “My oldest is in grad school at USC. He’s currently in South America doing research on bats, or something, I really can’t remember. My second is off backpacking for the summer, she’s graduating from UCLA next year, and my youngest left for college two years ago. He managed to get a full scholarship to Duke, can you believe it?”

You smiled, nodding. “Wow, that’s impressive.” 

She sounded proud, but there was a sadness behind her gaze. “It’s hard, it really is. Especially trying not to worry. They rarely call and only come home during the holidays. Drives me up the wall not knowing what my kids are up to!”

Johnny laughed. “My mom was the same when I went to college. My freshman year she called me once every day. My roommates always made fun of me for it.”

She chuckled. “Oh, that’s how all moms are,” She turned to you, “I imagine it’ll be the same when you two have kids.”

You almost choked on the food in your mouth at her words. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Johnny go white. Somehow, you managed to hold it back, hitting your chest lightly as the food made its way down. “Oh, well… it’s a bit early for that, I think.”

“We only got married six months ago…” Johnny murmured awkwardly. 

“Oh, I totally get it,” She said, “But, y´know, accidents happen. Especially when you’re still in the honeymoon phase after the wedding. I had my first less than a year after we were married, we weren’t even trying!”

You chewed on your lip. “Well, if something happens…” You met eyes with Johnny, whose gaze was unreadable, “Something happens.”

Not looking away, Johnny licked his lips subtly, before picking up a napkin. Anne didn’t notice, surprisingly, and seemed satisfied with your answer.

You ate a little bit more, when Anne asked, “So, tell me, how did you two meet?”

Remembering the file, Johnny perked up. “We met at a party in college. I was in my junior year, I think? Right, honey?”

You shook your head. “Your senior year,” You corrected, “Because I was in my sophomore year. I remember it like it was yesterday. He came up to me and was wearing this horrible button up shirt—”

“You ended up stealing it from me!” He joked, and you held up your index finger.

 “I use it to sleep. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that in public. Much less to attract a mate.”

Anne cackled, and the two of you laughed too. Again, you managed to make up a story: he was drunk and accidentally spilled some punch on your pants. He’d tried to help you by washing it in the bathroom but only made it worse.

“When I got back to my dorm, it was around three in the morning, my leg was sticky and I was miserable, but we ran into each other a few days later and he was very apologetic about the whole thing.”

“I was mortified,” He said, “I mean, here’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life and I managed to screw it up by ruining her pants. I was so sure I’d screwed up.”

Anne raised her eyebrows. “So, you knew from the start that you liked her?”

Johnny’s eyes landed on you again, turning wistful. He leaned over and grabbed your free hand. “The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.”

You tried to smile, but suddenly your chest felt like it was caving in on yourself. You let your hand rest in his for a moment, before pulling away. “Oh, Fox. Don’t get all sentimental on me now.”

Clearing your throat, you didn’t miss the way Johnny’s eyes fell slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, where’s your bathroom?”

She pointed up. “Upstairs to the right.”

This was your chance to get some dirt on her, and put some space between you and Johnny. As you walked away, you touched a hand to your cheek and it came away burning. 

“Get it together,” You muttered to yourself.

The quick search yielded nothing. She had nothing in her drawers, all of the papers on her desk were related to her work at a hair care company. You always could have missed something though. You couldn’t take more than a few minutes, you certainly couldn’t risk her coming up to check on you and finding you sifting through her work documents.

Before you came down, you did your best to leave everything as you found it before heading back downstairs. 

When you sat back down at the table, things were a bit more tense. You sensed it immediately. “Everything alright?”

“...Yeah,” Johnny mumbled. 

“Fox and I were just talking about how… difficult marriage can be.”

You nodded, wondering if that was all that had happened. “Oh, it’s no walk in the park, that’s for sure.”

The rest of the dinner was not as lively. There were more awkward silences, more lulls in the conversation, less laughs. When you finally left, his elbow intertwined in yours, you looked at him. “What happened while I was gone?”

He shook his head as you both crossed the street. “I don’t like her,” He told you in a hushed voice, “She started talking about how it won’t be like this forever and it’s only fun now because we just got married or whatever.”

“What, was she trying to open something up between you and her?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t exactly been subtle, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she was.”

The two of you marched up into your house, and while Johnny was showering you did a background check on Scott Hernandez. Nothing also. A perfectly ordinary citizen, no criminal record at all. 

Then, it was your turn to shower. As you did, you couldn’t help but think back to Anne’s words. The whole situation, feigning domesticity was proving to be bad for you: you couldn’t help but imagine a small child with his wide eyes and your nose, his lanky limbs and your hands. 

The amount of time you put into your work made you fully aware that it would make having children difficult. Truth be told, you hadn’t really put much thought into settling down. The right person had never been there.

But what if he had? What if he’d been by your side for the past three years?

He had to be putting on an act when he’d said it.

The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.

Thinking back to the moment you’d first met him, and he’d come across as slightly patronizing and dismissive of your conclusions. But thinking about when he’d first turned to look at you, that particular morning in 1992…

You turned off the shower. Alone time wasn’t doing you any good, either.

When you emerged from the shower, you sighed as your eyes landed on the toilet seat, which was lifted. You set it back down with a huff before getting dressed.

Once you stepped out of the bathroom in your pajamas, toweling your hair, your eyes fell to the pile of dirty clothes on the bed. “Please don’t put your sweaty clothes, where I have to sleep,” You told him, tossing the clothes into his face. He let out a soft groan, picking them up. 

“Oh, come on,” He grumbled, “They don’t even smell that bad.”

After he set them off somewhere (you didn’t see where as you were shutting your laptop off), he sat back down on the bed, leaving a space open for you. "So, what if we looked into Scott tomorrow?"

“That sounds like a good idea. Tomorrow night there’s that HOA thing we need to go to. We might be able to pick up some more stuff there.”

He nodded, and as you stood in front of the bed he waggled his eyebrows and patted the spot next to you. “Come on, Dana,” He murmured sarcastically, “We’re married now.”

You didn’t smile. He took that as a sign to continue. 

“Plus, if something happens, something happens.”

You grabbed a pillow and flung it into his face. “You’re the worst,” You grumbled. He laughed, but it was muffled from the pillow.

Slowly but surely, you realized with the sound of his laughter, this feeling was soon going to become something you couldn’t ignore.

HERNANDEZ RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—09:02 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the door opened, Scott Hernandez had a welcoming smile on his face. “Dana,” He said, “Good morning. Did you need anything?”

“Oh, I just wanted to ask if there was an official guidebook or anything for the HOA? Fox and I are still considering joining, but we’d need to go over everything.” You scratched at the cardigan you were wearing. Why did the bureau have to give you something so thick and scratchy when they knew you were coming to California in the middle of July?

“Come in! I’m sure I have a rulebook. Plus, if you have any other questions you could always just come over.”

He led you up the stairs. “I keep all of my stuff in the office,” He explained, “That way my kids don’t mess it all up.”

You offered a soft laugh. “Oh, you have kids?”

“Yep.” His voice was warm. “Two kids, a nine year old and a six year old. They’re not here right now, though. My wife took them up to Washington to see their grandparents.”

“Ah, that’s sweet.” As he led you into the office, your eyes studied the room. A picture frame behind him of a professional family portrait, a houseplant in the corner a big clunky computer on top of the desk, and a cabinet pushed to the side of the room.

Your eyes fell onto the things placed on top of the cabinet, a stapler and some other office supplies. But when your eyes caught a different type of metal that wasn’t the standard gray color, you focused on it. A small medallion, decorated with a ribbon. When you recognized the logo, your eyes widened slightly.

“You’re military?” 

His eyes turned to you, eyebrows raised. Then he looked to the side. “Oh… no. My brother was. He passed away in the Gulf War.”

You looked down, but something about his tone didn’t sound quite authentic. “I’m sorry for your loss,” You answered anyway. 

The silence hung overhead for a few moments, before he pulled out a small booklet. “Here’s a copy of the rulebook.” He held it up, waving it back and forth, “This has pretty much everything.”

“Oh, really?” You straightened your posture, feigning a smile. When he handed it to you, your smile grew bigger as you looked down at the small book. “I’ll be sure to show Fox when he gets home. I really appreciate it, Scott.”

He waved his hand. “Don’t mention it. If you need anything else, just come on over. I work from home, so I’m here pretty much all day.”

Scott studied your face, and a second later you looked away. “So, I should get going,” You murmured. “I’ll see you tonight? I don’t think nor you nor Anne said where it would be.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Here, actually! Tonight, at 7.” 

“Great,” You answered, “I’ll see you tonight.”

When you got back to the house, you walked to the office, where Johnny was waiting. “Hernandez has military links.”

His head shot up. “He does?” 

“There was a military medallion on his cabinet in his office. He looked like he was gonna piss himself when I asked about it.”

“And what did he say?”

“Said his brother was a Gulf War veteran. I didn’t believe him for a second.”

“So could he be our guy?”

You took a deep breath. “Honestly? I don’t know. I could try to look through his office tonight at the HOA thing.”

“You?” He shook his head vehemently. “You fit his profile. All of his victims were around your age. You’re not going somewhere you could be alone with him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then what?” 

He looked at you as if you were dumb. “I’ll go.”

“But—”

“No.” His gaze turned stern, before walking all the way up to you. He put his hands up on your shoulders. “Y/N, he could kill you.”

“Has that ever stopped me before?” You asked, tilting your head. “Johnny, it’s in the job description to deal with people who could kill me. What’s so different now?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His eyes were wide, urgent, and his face was inches away. You shook your head, trying to prompt him to speak. “What?” 

Johnny pursed his lips, studying your face. And then, finally he shook his head. “Nothing.” 

He stepped away, and left the office, leaving you speechless. You leaned against the desk thinking about what just happened.

For the rest of the day, he was relatively distant. During lunch—you went out to buy some sandwiches—and he barely said thank you, before you ate in tense silence. You could only wait until 7 o’clock rolled around. In the meantime, you placed a call to Detective Son, telling her to look into Scott Hernandez and his family. You typed up the rest of your preliminary report, and then all you could do was wait. 

When five thirty rolled around, you started to get ready. You took only about five minutes, before stepping out, fully dressed. When you stepped out of the bathroom, Johnny had his back turned to you. It was almost as if he hadn’t noticed you were right behind him, because he was humming softly to himself, tapping his foot to a non audible melody. You could hear him humming it though, and after a few seconds of listening. you were able to recognize the song.

He froze when he heard your giggling. “What?” He asked, turning his head.

“Is… is that Bidi Bidi Bom Bom?” You asked, leaning against the wall. He straightened his posture before shuffling on his feet. 

“...No.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “Sure, it isn’t.”

He raised his eyebrow, but it wasn’t as serious as he had been before. And when you spoke again, his mouth grew into a crooked smile. 

“You like Selena,” You sing-songed. 

“Alright, enough. We’ve got a job to do.” He was biting back a laugh. You knew him too much to believe the opposite. 

When the two of you finally walked the few houses towards Scott’s house, he held out his arm for you to hold onto. Taking a deep breath, your hand hesitated before it grabbed onto him. Approaching the house, you could tell that it was alive with a lot of people on the inside. You wouldn’t necessarily say it was overflowing, but you could tell it was definitely close to filling up. 

“Let’s go?” He asked, and you nodded. He led you to the front door, where he rang the doorbell before the two of you waited. 

A minute or so later, Scott opened the door with a grin. 

“Hey, you two! You’re just in time.”

You put on your best smiles. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Johnny sighed. You didn’t miss the tense undertone in his words.

The two of you made your way into the room. Across the room you heard someone call for you both. You held back a groan. You really didn’t need this right now. 

“Hey, over here!” Anne called, beckoning you over. Johnny heaved the sigh of a man ready to end it all, and then you both made your way to her and her group. All of them seemed to be the same age as her. 

“Ladies, these are our new neighbors I was telling you about.” She pointed at the both of you .”This is Dana Baker, and this is Fox… the architect.”

Oh boy. 

And the talking began. You and Johnny having to rehash the same details over and over again. It felt like having to navigate a minefield. You had to recall all of the lies you’d told Anne and Scott, this time in front of an audience of women very clearly ogling the man who they fully believed was your husband. 

You made idle chit-chat after that, but eventually, about twenty minutes had passed until they sat everyone down. The living room was full of grown ups, including a few young children. The thought of everyone being in such close proximity to someone, something that could hurt them all the way it had hurt those other women.

It was easy to tune them all out. It was then that you realized that suburban life would never really be for you. This was all so dull and monotone. You were sure that if you had decided to actually go into the medical field and settled down… you would probably lose your mind. 

They went over some things you didn’t pay attention to: lawns and whatnot. It was so tiring you had to stifle a yawn on more than one occasion. Anne was going on about some infraction that didn’t even sound that bad to you, when it occurred to you to slip away, Johnny be damned. 

You patted Scott on the shoulder as Anne went on. “Where’s the bathroom?”

He nodded back once, “Upstairs. Green door. We’re almost done, though, are you sure you can’t wait a little longer?”

“I had the genius idea to drink two whole bottles of water before we left,” You murmured so as to not make too much of a scene, “I really don’t think I can.”

He sighed, before nodding. “Go ahead.”

Gotcha. You slipped up, sparing Johnny a glance. He was glaring at you. If looks could kill, you didn’t even want to know where you’d end up going. You made your way up the stairs, remembering the way to the office from this morning. You slipped into the office, making your way to the cabinet. The medallion was gone, which made you wonder why he had done so. 

As you shuffled through the drawers of the cabinet and came up with nothing, you had to remind yourself to keep count of how long you’d been up here. You moved on to the desk, shuffling through the papers on the desk and then the ones on the drawer. In the first drawer, you found an ID: Alma Hernandez, Lazarus Programming.

In the second drawer, nothing. 

In the third and bottom drawer, you found something: a pair of dogtags. Neither of them said Hernandez. Instead, they read Simon Walsh. 

Simon Walsh? That was new. You stashed them back into the drawer, suddenly remembering how long you’d been up here. Probably a bit over five minutes. As you made your way back down to the living room, you ran into Johnny. 

“Hey,” He said, “I was just coming to look for you.”

He looked disappointed, bordering on anger. In the small space, you could feel his proximity. You couldn’t help but shake your head.

“I had to take the chance. I wasn’t sure if there would be a chance after this.”

He sighed. “I can’t believe you. Come on, they’re serving pizza.”

You laughed, letting him grab your hand as he led you back into the living room, where you two ate a few slices of pizza. Enough to feel satisfied, but not enough to feel too full. In theory, if you had to make a detainment or worse, have a confrontation then it’d be a bad idea to have stomach cramps. 

You two kept to yourselves, occasionally speaking to other couples who introduced themselves to you. Once you’d finished gorging yourselves on the food, he kept his hand around your waist the entire time. It was a gentle touch, but comforting. You couldn’t help but feel tense.

“After we get home, I’ll tell you all the details I saw.” You looked up to see his face, watching you tentatively. 

“Alright,” He murmured, leaning closer to your face, “But I wanna talk about something together first.”

Raising an eyebrow, you leaned away from him. “What, are you okay?”

Johnny nodded, smile reassuringly. “Yeah. I just realized something earlier today.” 

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—21:17 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the two of you left, Anne had bid you both goodbye. She’d said Scott had gone to bed with a headache, which made you feel a bit uneasy. The entire way home, Johnny kept himself relatively close. The entire way home, he was silent. It wasn’t until the both of you were inside of the house that he leaned against the front door. As he led you to the couch )which had finally arrived), you tried to remember all of the details you’d seen as you looked through Scott’s office.

When he sat you down, you placed both hands in your lap. He scratched at his shoulder, before meeting your eyes.

“Simon Walsh.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widened at the same time his had. “What?” You asked, shaking your head. You were suddenly aware of everything going on. You were in an ongoing murder investigation. It was quite possibly linked to a very secretive military base. Three women had been murdered. A fourth would be soon if you didn’t hurry.

“Johnny, I don’t think…”

“No, please. Just a few minutes, okay? I’ve been dealing with this for years. I need to get this out of my system and then we can talk about this back in DC. Please, Y/N.”

Your gut felt heavy at the same time your heart felt incredibly light. It was by far one of the strangest sensations you’d ever felt. Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded. 

“Alright, John. Five minutes. Then we talk about what I found.”

He nodded with a small smile. Gently, Johnny grabbed your hands, rubbing the knuckles with his thumbs. He was silent for a while, tilting his head back and forth as he tried to figure out what to say. 

“What I said last night at Anne’s. I meant it. That first time I saw you, I… I knew. I knew we didn’t get along initially, but I just had this feeling in my chest. You were so smart, and eventually we realized how much we clicked…”

He looked up, leaning closer. You swallowed softly as his eyes met yours again. He managed a soft chuckle. “Y/N, I tried to hold it away. But it got stronger every single day. You understand me. Even though we push back against each other, you don’t think I’m crazy. You take them into consideration and don’t brush them off. I really appreciate that. I look at you and… I’m home.”

Looking to the side, you sighed. “Johnny, I really don’t think this is appropriate. Especially not right now—”

"Y/N, I know what your dream on the plane was about."

You inhaled sharply, alarmed gaze meeting his own. His eyes had turned soft, warm. You knew you had to push him away. The name Simon Walsh was on loop in your head, but you couldn’t find it in you to push him away.

“What?”

“I heard you moan my name,” He sighed, “Trust me, Y/N, I know what I heard.”

He leaned even closer, cupping your face. You could feel his breath puffing softly onto your skin. His eyes were knowing as his voice dropped to a whisper. 

“You want me too, don’t you?”

When his lips met yours, you couldn’t find it in you to pull away. He pulled you closer, and your arms found their way to wrap themselves around your neck. His lips were soft, but demanding. You could tell he’d been waiting for this a long, long time. 

You don’t know when he laid you down onto the couch, but honestly… you didn’t really mind. Johnny was warm, comfortable. And yes, July in California was hot, humid, but… up until Johnny put his hands on you, you’d never realized how cold you’d been, even before your arrival here.

He deepened the kiss, hands sliding down to your waist. They toyed with the hem of your blouse, humming against your lips. You gasped against him, hands sliding into his gelled hair.

Your eyes snapped open. Johnny never used this much gel in his hair.

Two things happened in the next two seconds. You pushed Johnny off. Johnny would never prioritize his feelings like this over a case. You hadn’t seen Scott as you left. All of this pretending, playing house had gotten to you. You were in real danger now.

The other thing that happened? Johnny burst through the door, wearing clothes he hadn’t been wearing when you first left. He was panting heavily. There was a bruise on his cheek and his wrists were red.

You backed away from Not Johnny, who turned to you, gaze now furious. A wave of nausea passed over you, breathing heavily. Whatever Not Johnny had in his system, he had passed onto you with his spit, and you could feel it settling into your system. You looked up at Johnny, before pulling out your gun. Taking a deep breath, you looked at your work partner, closest confidante, love of your life.

“I had a feeling,” You mumbled, realizing how the sinking feeling in your stomach was actually dread.

Stumbling, you heard Not Johnny let out a ghastly screech. You fired your gun at him before passing out. 

SAN FRANCISCO METROPOLITAN, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—10:39 hours, Saturday, July 14th, 1994

The room smelled sterile. You knew this smell. You’d lived it for several years before in medical school rotations. This had to be a hospital, you realized. Slowly, you let your eyes open. You let out a soft groan at the discomfort of having been stuck in one position for so long.

“You awake?” A deep, familiar voice asked. Your vision was blurry, but you could still recognize it was Johnny. His eyes were rimmed red from exhaustion, but he looked relieved. 

“No. I died, actually.” Your voice was raspy. Johnny scoffed, shaking his head.

“You’re impossible,” He mumbled, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“What even happened after I passed out?”

Johnny took a second to gather his thoughts before speaking. “You hit him in the face. It wasn’t pretty. He freaked out a bit, and then he took off. I couldn't catch him. Called Son, she came in with the precinct and they looked through Hernandez's house."

His gaze turned somber as you sat up with a soft huff. Your muscles were stiff.

"They found the real Scott Hernandez, his two kids and his wife, in their basement. Autopsies are being performed today, but it looks like they've been dead a few weeks."

Your eyes shut. Two kids, a man, and another woman. Seven victims total.

"And that thing is still out there," You mumbled, "If only I hadn't been so stupid—"

Johnny put his hand on yours. "Don't say that. Even if you hadn't gotten knocked out, he would still be way too much for just the two of us to handle. Y/N, you shot him in the face and it barely stopped him. He wasn't human anymore."

You shook your head, burying your head in your hands. "Still… I know you, Johnny. I should have seen the signs, but he was so—somehow he knew everything—"

"It's something to do with touch," He said with a nod, "He knocked me to the ground and locked me in a closet before he found you. I was a bit out of it, but I remember he touched my wrist for a few seconds and then he turned into me. My head still hurts, too. Maybe he can also copy some memories from the people he touches long enough."

When you didn't answer, he grabbed your face. He looked desperate. "Y/N, you're only human. I would have fallen for it too."

"I fell for it because he told me exactly what I wanted to hear," You whispered, feeling tears spring to your eyes, seemingly out of nowhere, "He played me like a fucking fiddle and I fell for it."

His thumb brushed away a tear. "Don't think about the what-ifs, Y/N. It's already happened, and now we need to focus on what's gonna happen next. We need to find a way into Fort Talbot. Somehow. Turn your report into the bureau and we can figure it out from there. There’s something going on there. Human experimentation on soldiers, or something."

"We're never gonna get clearance to search a military base, Johnny. It's impossible."

He shook his head. "Y/N, if you were able to convince Brooks to let me, Spooky Suh, FBI's most unwanted? keep running around hunting ghosts and aliens and Bigfoot all over the country, you can figure out a way to get access in there. I know you can."

You were shaking now. "We won't be safe if we do. You think the military won't retaliate? We'd be dead, Johnny," Your words were garbled and your voice wouldn't stop cracking, "There has to be another way."

He shook you gently, shaking his head. "Dammit, Y/N, I can't do this without you."

"They placed me with you for a reason, Johnny," You snapped, "To debunk your work, to reign you in and shut you down—"

"But you saved me," He insisted, "You did exactly the opposite. And as a result we kept working together, and you kept me honest. You… you've made me a whole person."

He rubbed his face with his hand, pushing a strand of dark hair out of his eye. "Y/N, as frustrating as it's been sometimes working with you, your stupud science and rationalism have saved me a thousand times over. I owe you everything. Y/N, you owe me nothing."

His forehead brushed yours, and his eyes fluttered shut. "I can't do this without you," He murmured. And despite the fact that you knew that this was your Johnny, you shook your head. The deja vu was making your head spin. 

"Tell me something the real Johnny would know," You whispered, putting a hand on your chest.

He thought for a second, before sighing. "I had three moments when I realized I was in love with you. When you first walked into my office that morning, I had a feeling," He said, voice full of conviction, "It grew into something concrete when you told me my glasses were crooked. And the moment I knew—I mean, I already knew from that first moment but this was when it truly hit me—was when you told me you'd kept that stupid fucking nasal implant in your sports bra so that you wouldn't lose it."

He laughed warmly, obviously thinking back to the moment. "No one else has ever believed me the way you do. And I doubt anyone else ever will. You're my one in…" He looked to the side, trying to remember the number, "Five billion."

Your hand came up to caress his face. He seemed to melt against your touch. 

This time, when your lips met, everything felt right, despite the feeling that the world was crumbling around you. His hands squeezed your face gently, as if you were about to disappear. When your hands slid into his hair, it felt slightly sweaty still, but it wasn't tacky with gel. 

This was your Johnny. You knew it with your entire being.

Yes, Johnny was sarcastic, stubborn, eccentric and had low impulse control. But he was also highly intelligent, empathetic, hilarious and yes, you could now admit that he was the most beautiful human you'd ever seen in your 30 years on this planet. 

If it had to be him and you against the world, so be it. The truth was out there. You and Johnny would just have to be the ones chasing it.

taglist: @doderyscoffee​ @always-wishing-for-rain​

[atths--twice]

Saw this picture on Twitter the other day and immediately began to imagine a college AU. Hope you enjoy this little story. ❤️

Just Tea and a Walk

A knock sounded at the office door just as the knob turned and the door opened.

“Excuse me, Professor Harding?” A woman’s voice said and Fox Mulder’s mouth went dry as his heart began to race. “Oh… hello.” The woman smiled at him and he exhaled a breath through his nose, swallowing hard.

“He’s not here,” he said, clearing his dry throat. “I… uh… he had to leave for the day.”

“Oh,” she said, stepping into the office with a sigh. “I thought he would be here.”

“His wife… there was a thing that came up. Could I help with something?” he asked as he took off his glasses, set them on the desk, and looked at her.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m in his Tuesday/Thursday morning class. My name is Dana Scully.”

“Yeah, I know,” he blurted out and she raised her eyebrows as his cheeks burned and he shook his head. “I just meant, I know who you are. Being the teaching assistant for the class and all.”

“Right.” She smiled with a nod and then licked her lips. “Maybe it’s better if it’s you than him, that I speak to. I don’t think he likes me much.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked with a frown.

“He rarely calls on me. I… my papers are good, I know they are, but he never gives me more than a B. I work hard on the assignments, I really do. I wanted to talk to him about my grades and what he’s looking for, if what I’m doing isn’t right.”

“Oh. Yeah, I uh…” he said, feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

“You’ve seen it, right?”

“I…” He scratched his cheek and let out a deep breath, knowing it was not his place to say anything, but wanting to explain to her why the professor was harder on her.

“What?”

“You’re brilliant,” he said quickly and perhaps too loudly, judging by the way she took a step back from him. “Sorry. I… he and I have discussed you-”

“You’ve discussed me?” she asked, taking another step back and glancing at the door.

“Not… please… wait. I’m not… shit,” he muttered and scrubbed a hand across his mouth. “My social skills could be better.”

“Hmm,” she hummed and he smiled slightly as he looked at her.

“You’re incredibly brilliant. Professor Harding saw that right away,” he said and she frowned, no doubt not believing him. “He did. First day of class, when you all walked out, he said as much. Not that I hadn’t noticed, but he affirmed it.”

“Okay,” she said, stepping one step closer. “I… thank you? I don’t see how that correlates to him not calling on me much or grading me harder than the other students.”

“Hmm,” he agreed with a nod. “I told him the same.”

“And? He obviously didn’t listen,” she said, her tone hard.

“He did, in his own way. You have to know him. I… it’s really not my place, but…” He shook his head and let out a breath. “He had a daughter who died when she was only twenty. She had been sick for a couple of years and they thought she would make it, but…”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Dana said softly and he nodded.

“She was a spitfire- his words- but in the best way possible and he loved her immensely. He said they had spirited conversations from nearly the time she was able to speak, always debating everything: bedtimes, foods to be eaten, subjects in school, everything.”

“And… I don’t understand. What does that have to do with me?”

“You remind him of her,” he said quietly with a soft smile. “He told me you did after the class when you debated with him about public transportation.”

“I was convinced he hated me after that class,” she whispered.

“No,” Fox said with a grin. “He couldn’t stop smiling and said you had to have been brought to him by Chrissy, his daughter. He said she had to have known he needed someone to keep him on his toes.”

“But… I’ve been thinking all this time that he didn’t like me.”

“No. You’re his favorite,” Fox said, remembering of all the conversations he’d had with the professor.

“Oh,” Dana said, letting out a breath and looking down.

“Yeah.”

She sniffled and he handed her a tissue from the box on the desk. She took it, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, putting the tissue into her pocket.

“I came in here, intent on giving him a piece of my mind. I was going to call him a sexist old man.”

At that, Fox laughed and she raised her head, her eyelashes dark with tears.

“He can be a lot of things, but being sexist isn’t one of them. He grades you harder because he sees your potential. And if you gave you an A on every assignment, people would most likely accuse him of favoritism.”

“But apparently I am his favorite,” she stated with a shake of her head and he grinned.

“You are indeed. And to him, that means he needs to push you more so you advance and achieve your full potential.”

“Now I feel weird,” she said, making a face. “Like I don’t know what to do with this information or this kinetic energy I’m feeling. I feel like I need to move around or something.”

“Have dinner with me,” he said, surprising himself.

“What?” she asked, equally surprised and he shook his head.

“Or a coffee?”

“You want to add caffeine to this mass amount of energy I’m feeling?” she asked, gesturing to her body and he laughed.

“Maybe an herbal tea?”

“That sounds nice,” she said, biting her bottom lip. “Maybe a walk around campus? I need to move, man.” He laughed again as she shook her arms to show him she was serious.

“Okay. A walk and some tea,” he nodded and she let out a deep breath. “I’ll get my coat and we can go.”

He took it from the coat rack and put it on, smiling at her as she continued to shake her hands and let out a hmph occasionally under her breath.

“Ready?” he asked, putting on his glasses and picking up his keys. He opened the office door and looked at her.

“Yeah,” she said, glancing at him and smiling. “Oh. This is okay that we’re doing this, right? Me being a student and all?”

“It’s just tea and a walk around the campus. We’re discussing the class and your papers. That’s acceptable.” He smiled and she smiled back with a nod.

“Just tea and a walk,” she repeated and he hummed as he closed the door and locked it behind them.

“And that’s how it started,” Professor Harding said six years later, grinning as he raised his champagne glass, amid laughter and cheers from the others in the wedding reception hall. “A walk around the campus turned to sharing a meal on a bench a week later and then another stroll around campus. Three weeks later, Fox came to me to say he could no longer be my assistant as he had fallen head over heels in love with Dana and he wanted no repercussions for her or himself. I had known it was coming, of course, being a brilliant man, and I was beyond pleased. And so today, we celebrate how “just tea and a walk” led to this moment. Everyone! Please, raise your glasses to Fox and Dana. Congratulations to you both.”

Everyone echoed his words and Dana laughed as Fox tapped his glass to hers before kissing her softly on the lips.

“Just tea and a walk,” he murmured, kissing her again.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, smiling as she gently stroked his face.

[danascully77]

#10 angst and/or #10 general from the prompt list :)

#10 angst “How was I such an idiot, to believe that you, out of all people, could ever love me?” and/or #10 general “You want to play pretend? Well two can play at that game.” from the prompt list :)

I picked the first one, but tried to work in the second. Hope you like it! <3 

Mulder’s been back from the dead for a few weeks now and things are tense. He’s barely spoken to Scully and tries to avoid looking at her pregnant stomach when they are forced to be in the same room. His eyes will flutter down before snapping up to hers with a sad, detached look in his eyes.

The interaction breaks her heart every time.

Sighing, Scully knocks on the door to his apartment and waits. It feels foreign, this formality. Before his disappearance and subsequent death, she would knock once and then let herself in. It didn’t matter if she was there for work or a casual hangout (or toward the end, for sex). And then after he was gone, she would key into his place to spend the night in his bed. Even though it was lonely and her heart broke for a man she thought she’d never see again, it felt natural to claim ownership of his space.

Now she feels like an intruder even after he opens the door and lets her inside.

She wants to scream, to holler at him, to slap him when he glances down at her stomach before turning away with the same broken expression. He hasn’t even asked her about her pregnancy and it makes her want to throw-up. Why isn’t he happy? Does he regret getting her pregnant? Does he wish she had left him dead?

Too many thoughts burn in her mind. She’s trying to give him space. Coming back from the dead after an abduction can’t be easy (she knows about the latter) and doesn’t want to rush him. Yet, his complete lack of questioning hurts. She longed for him for months and now to have him back as a shell of himself is hard to take.

“I brought Chinese.” Scully says, awkwardly holding up the bag of take-out.

“Thanks.” Mulder takes it from her and settles them on the couch to eat the feast she brought. Scully catches him watching her out of the corner of his eye as she slowly brings herself down to the couch, grunting silently as the weight of her stomach pinches her spine before she rests against the cushions.

“Need another pillow?” Mulder offers, sliding it behind her back before she can nod in affirmation.

The question and action stun her. It’s the closest he has come to acknowledging her pregnancy.

“Thanks.” She whispers. It’s silent then, for the next few minutes as they both pick at their food. Neither are very hungry, but chewing gives them a distraction from talking. Mulder’s tv is on in the background and they both stare at the poorly written sci-fi movie playing out on the screen.

Scully tries to subtly study him from the corner of her eye as she eats. He seems tense and rigid, his lanky limbs coiled as if to spring to action at any moment. She knows his forced vacation/firing is hard on him, making his re-animation even more painful, but there seems to be something else upsetting him. Scully wishes he would speak with her, but can’t find the words to ask him about his feelings.

They were stunted in that department before the abduction. Now it’s even worse.

As a sigh draws from his lips, his food discarded on the coffee table, she knows she’s been caught studying him. She sets her own food to the side and turns to stare at him directly. “Can we talk?”

“About?” His response is smooth, but she catches the slightly annoyed undertone.

“Us.”

“Us?”

“Yes.”

“What is there to say?” This time his tone is less subtle and Scully bites her bottom lip at the irritation in his voice.

“How are you feeling?” It’s a weak question, a cop-out. They both know it. On a normal day, Mulder might let her get away with it, but not tonight.

“Scully, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Check on me.” Mulder waves his hands in front of him. “Hang out like we used to.”

“Why not?” Scully’s nervous. Does he not like her anymore? Does he blame her for not saving him?

“You must have more… important things to do now.” His eyes glance purposefully down at her stomach.

“Oh.” Scully breathes, looking down at her own body. “I’m fine. My doctor said I’m still okay to be active.” Her eyes glance back up at him to find that his jaw is tight and his fists are locked at his sides.

“I didn’t mean that you should stay home.” The low, dark quality of his voice scares her slightly. Scully can tell he is pissed, but isn’t sure why. At her confused expression, Mulder sighs again. “I just meant that you must have someone else to be with now.”

Scully’s confusion turns to utter shock. He doesn’t realize I’m pregnant with his kid. The realization slams into her like a ton of bricks. It all makes sense now. Mulder would have no reason to assume this pregnancy is because of their few nights together. She was sterile. He doesn’t know that they got their miracle.

Her jaw opens and closes twice before she reaches for one of his closed fists. “Mulder, look at me.”

“Scully, I can’t do this.” Mulder shakes his head, anger leaking out of every pore. She tries to cut him off, but he stands suddenly to pace the apartment. “How was I such an idiot, to believe that you, out of all people, could ever love me?”

The heartbreak in his voice draws tears to her eyes. “Mulder.” She tries again, but she can’t get off the couch quickly because of her large stomach and fumbles as he continues to pace.

“You haven’t even mentioned his name. Am I that much of an embarrassment that you don’t want me to know who he is?”

“Mulder, you’re wrong. Let me explain.” She’s desperate now, trying to get off the couch but the old cushions are too soft and she keeps sinking back as she tries to stand.

“I get it, Scully. You thought I was dead, but it’s only been a few months. Months. Am I that easy to get over?”

“Mulder.”

“I should have stayed dead. You should have left me in the ground.”

The moment he switches to self-deprecation in the form of suicide, Scully loses her patience. “Mulder!” His name is a loud shout and it finally draws his attention. “Get me off the fucking couch.”

The annoyance and anger in her tone surprises him and he moves quickly to assist her in standing. He sees her tears forming and mistakes them for frustration. When she’s finally vertical, Mulder’s eyes drop to the floor, deflated now that the anger is gone. “If you want to go back to just being friends, I can pretend that I’m okay with it. I’ll pretend for you, Scully.”

“Mulder, I don’t want you to pretend.”

“Oh.” Mulder nods, tears prickling his own eyes. It’s the first time since being back alive that he has felt any other emotion other than anger and betrayal. “I understand. Thanks for coming to say goodbye.”

“What? No, Mulder. You’re not giving me time to explain.” Scully grabs his hands and holds firm when he tries to pull away. “Look at me.”

“Scully.” “Mulder, shut up and look at me.”

His eyes lock with hers and he stops trying to pull his hands free. His taller frame bends slightly toward her out of an unconscious impulse to be closer and they take a few seconds to breathe. The emotions in the room feel like electricity and both of their bodies have goosebumps from the adrenaline.

“Ask me.” Scully whispers.

It takes him a second to understand, slowly shaking his head back and forth. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Ask me.” Scully prompts, blue eyes shining up into his with unshed tears.

Mulder gulps and glances at her stomach before meeting her gaze once more. “Whose child…” His voice breaks for a second. “How did you meet…” Mulder sighs. “Is it someone I know?”

Scully smiles a small smirk and drags his hands to touch her stomach. He flinches and tries to withdraw, but she holds steady and tries to ignore the pain in her heart as he attempts to jerk away.

“It’s yours.” Her voice comes out shaky and an octave too high, her fear evident in the quiet of his living room.

Mulder stutters for a second, his eyes rapidly moving up and down from his hands on her stomach to her face. “What?” It’s a breathless question when he is finally able to form words.

“I found out the day you went missing.”

“How? You were sterile. I thought the in vitro fertilization failed?”

Scully shivers as she feels his hands grip her stomach, no longer trying to rip away from her. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t realize he is actively holding her now. “The in vitro did fail.” Scully confirms. “But we had sex…” The word makes her blush despite everything they’ve gone through. “… and…” She breaks off, nervous about saying the word they used to promise to one another.

Mulder’s eyes widen and a tear falls down his cheek. “You got your miracle.”

Scully holds back tears at his wording, reaching up to swipe his from his cheek. “We got our miracle.” Scully holds her breath then. This is the moment. The one that’s been a long time coming. They are either in this together or Scully is about to become a single mother.

The baby kicks before Mulder can respond and he jumps back an inch, staring in wonder at her stomach. Her shirt moves a bit as the baby presses against her, flipping in the womb. Mulder’s mouth opens in shock, looking back at her face in wonder. “Does that hurt?”

“Not really. Sometimes the baby rests on my spine, which is painful, but otherwise it just feels… different. But good different.”

Mulder nods, listening to every word. His hand, which was pulled away from her when he jumped in surprise moves slowly back toward her body. “May I?”

“Of course.” Scully confirms, lacing their fingers before pressing his palm flat on her stomach. “If you hold here sometimes you can feel a kick or two.”

A few seconds later, Scully is proven correct as if the baby in her stomach was waiting for a performance cue. A foot kicks out against her stomach lining and Mulder huffs a pleased laugh in surprise.

“Oh, Scully.” Mulder whispers in breathless awe. The baby kicks again and Mulder pulls Scully into a tight embrace. It’s a bit awkward because of her protruding stomach, but he makes up for it by folding his taller frame around her. “We’re having a baby.”

The moment Mulder takes ownership of their child, Scully’s unshed tears burn down her cheeks. A sob breaks from her lips and she clings to him, fingers digging into his back through his t-shirt. “I’ve missed you so much, Mulder. I… oh god… I thought I was going to raise our child alone.”

Mulder pulls back to cup her face, stroking her wet cheeks. “Scully.” Her whispered name conveys all the emotions they are feeling. She cries openly, watching as Mulder does the same. He opens his mouth to say more, but a kick against his abdomen draws his attention and they both laugh instead. “Our child.” Mulder whispers with a broad smile.

Scully nods and gasps quietly as Mulder drops to his knees. Her hands land in his hair, fluffy from the few weeks he has been back without a haircut, and she strokes his scalp as he slowly lifts her shirt.

“Oh.” A startled gasp breaks from her mouth as his lips land on her bare stomach. The feeling of his pouty lower lip touching her skin makes her body tingle and her fingers dig lightly into his scalp. Emotions pull in her chest and she sobs when he kisses all across her stomach.

“I can’t wait to meet you.” Mulder whispers to the baby after he is done with his kissing exploration.

The words break Scully’s barely withheld resolve and she lets out a loud sob. Bending down, Scully tugs on his hair and slams her lips to his with a wild desperation. Her tears mix with his on his cheeks as she devours his lips. The kiss is messy and sloppy and uncoordinated. Too many emotions make it frantic, but neither of them seem to care. The fact that they are kissing again overshadows finesse.

They pull back as Scully whimpers a sob against his lips. “Scully.” He breathes, standing to pull her back to his chest.

“Please, Mulder.” She whines, not entirely sure what’s she’s asking for but knowing she can’t stand to be without him for a second longer.

As if understanding, Mulder laces their hands and leads her to his bedroom. It’s clean and organized, a sign that Scully was living there during the months that he was missing, but his worn clothes litter the floor. The sight makes another sob pull from her chest and Mulder is quick to remove her shirt, discarding it among his own clothing.

Scully turns slightly, suddenly bashful about the state of her larger body, but Mulder catches her by her arms, holding her steady. “You’re still so beautiful, Scully. I’ve missed your body.”

“Mulder.” She whispers. She realizes that she hasn’t said his name this many times since his disappearance and it feels heavy and reverent on her lips.

Mulder runs his hands across her hips, catching the band of her leggings. “May I?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, her pants are peeled from her legs and she is left standing in her bra and panties. Mulder moans softly, tracing his fingertips up her thighs. They are slightly larger from the extra weight she is carrying and he smiles as they tremble under his hands.

“Gorgeous.” Mulder praises, kissing her hip right where it meets leg.

“Oh my god.” Scully moans, emotions raging wild alongside arousal.

“Is it okay if we…?” Mulder trails off with a slightly embarrassed flush.

Scully giggles and the reprieve makes her feel lighter. The emotional break good for both of them. “Yes. We can have sex while I’m pregnant.”

“I have so much research to catch up on.” Mulder smiles from his position on his knees.

The statement makes Scully’s heart lurch. He is going to research how to be a father. The thought makes her reach for him, bringing him back to his feet. “Can we skip the foreplay? I need you inside of me.” She’s slightly embarrassed at being so blunt about their first time back together, but she doesn’t care.

Mulder must not mind because he nods and kisses her once before stripping off his own shirt and pants. The sight of his bare torso makes her reach for him, stroking up his chest with flat hands.

“Please.” She breathes again.

“How do you want to do this?” Mulder responses.

Scully bites her lip. She wants to be able to see him while they reconnect, but she also knows that doggy-style would be easier with her pregnancy. “I’ll start on top.” She decides. It won’t be for long, but she needs to look at him as she takes him inside her body.

Mulder nods and quickly drops his boxers before sliding onto his bed. He watches with admiration as she slips out of her panties and sheds her bra before straddling him on the bed. It takes a few moments and Mulder’s assistance to get her there, but once she is in place they hold hands on top of her stomach for a few beats of their hearts.

“Ready?” Scully whispers.

“Ready.” Mulder nods.

Their moans join as they cry out into the bedroom, the first few inches of his shaft slipping into her sex. When he is buried inside of her, pelvis to pelvis, they pause and stare at one another. Neither can believe they are here, like this. It’s breathtaking and surreal.

Slowly, Scully begins to bounce up and down. Her movements are small, unable to lift completely with her added weight, but they don’t mind. It keeps him incredibly deep and strokes against her g-spot almost immediately. Scully gasps in surprise at the sudden intense pleasure, stunned that they still fit together so perfectly.

Mulder unlaces their hands to hold her hips, a grin spreading over his features at her slightly wider hips. “Pregnancy looks good on you.”

Scully blushes. Her breasts are larger and swollen as well and sway heavily as she rocks on his hips. Her hands cup them when the swaying starts to ache and smirks a small grin when he moans in response.

After a few more minutes, her breathing gets heavy and her thighs sink against his legs. “Mulder, I can’t…” She doesn’t have to finish her sentence. He rolls them gently over so that she’s propped against some pillows on her back. It takes them a few minutes to get things just right for her back, but it doesn’t kill the mood. Mulder slips back inside of her still just as hard as he was.

With her stomach in the way, Mulder can’t hover above her and settles for pulling her legs over his hips as he rocks into her at a ninety-degree angle to her body. Scully re-cups her breasts as they bounce on her chest and Mulder groans softly at not being able to suck on her nipples.

“Another time.” Scully gasps, catching his longing stare.

He smirks and nods, keeping his thrusts steady in and out of her. Her wetness coats his shaft and he moans at the sight of their arousals joining between their thighs.

“Scully.” Mulder moans. “I’m not going to last much longer.” He sounds apologetic, but Scully shakes her head to dismiss his embarrassment. He just came back from the dead after all. He can’t be expected to have stamina. Not when the love of his life just told him that the baby in her belly is his.

“It’s okay.” Scully promises, reaching for one of his hands again.

“Are you close?”

“No.” Scully admits with no malice in her voice. “But the pregnancy makes orgasming tough sometimes.”

“I can wait until…”

Scully cuts him off with a shake of her head. “I don’t care if I don’t orgasm tonight. I just want to feel you come in me.”

The bluntness makes Mulder groan and he squeezes her hand. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Scully nods with a smile.

They had only slept together a few times before he went missing, but she learned quickly that he was a very thoughtful lover. She never went without an orgasm, often coming multiple times in a session. Scully knows it’s not in his nature to come first, but moans as he lets himself go just this once, confident that she is telling him the truth about her desires.

His hips piston a bit harder and quicker inside of her, stroking himself along her slippery walls before tipping over the ledge of pleasure. He cries out her name, fucking her through his orgasm as he empties inside of her.

The action makes them both think about the child in her belly and after he spurts the last of his orgasm into her core he falls next to her, collecting her in his arms. Her ass meets his softening cock, their arousals smearing on her lower back, but neither mind the mess. His arms keep her close and they breath in unison for a long time.

“I’m going to be a father.”

“I’m going to be a mother.”

Mulder holds her stomach, feeling the baby wiggling around in her stomach and Scully’s hands join his on her body.

There are a lot of unknowns left to figure out. Their relationship, the x-files, if they will co-parent while living together, etc. but for right now they are back together and that’s all that matters. Scully’s in his bed with him and she isn’t alone anymore.

Turning onto her back, she kisses him deeply before settling back to be the little spoon. “Mulder?”

“Yeah, Scully?” “You do know I love you, right?”

Mulder hugs her tighter to him. “I do now. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“I should have explained the pregnancy the moment you woke up.”

Mulder kisses her shoulder. “Let’s talk about this later. I just want to hold you and our baby for a while.” Scully smiles as his thumbs brush her belly back and forth. It’s quiet for a second longer. “I love you too, Scully.”

[misslilli]

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 15 - Siblings And Secret Sting Operations

[ DS ]

Sundays are reserved for church and phone calls with my family, so after mass and the church brunch, I make myself a cup of tea and grab my blanket, heading upstairs to curl up on the Adirondack chair on my private balcony. I take out my phone and call my brother Charlie.

He picks up on the second ring. “City morgue. You kill ‘em, we chill ‘em!” I almost choke on my sip of tea.

“Hey Charlie! That’s a new one, very funny. Almost killed me with it!”

“Aah killing with jokes is my specialty. Sorry sis! How’s it going over there on the main land?”

“We mere mortals manage to get by, always a little in awe of the Gods of the Cape. Hey can you see me?” I get up and wave across the bay to where I can picture him standing in front of his little cottage, waving back.

“I deign to gaze at the mere mortal waving like a crazy person, yeah! So what’s new with you?”

“Nothing much, busy with school, the usual. How about you? How’s Pete? Did he get the promotion?” I can hear the smile in his voice at the mention of his boyfriend.

“Yeah he did, I’m insanely proud of the big-shot broker that I call mine!” Against all odds, they make a pretty great couple, the artist and the stock broker. “So, speaking of… how’s your love life? Seeing anyone?” He always asks me this and the answer’s pretty much the same every time, but today, I surprise him.

“Mhh yeah, there’s someone…” The gasp he gives is so loud, it almost carries across the bay.

“Shut up! What? Who? When? Are you really seeing someone?”

“No… not exactly. But… there is the dream of someone else….” I sigh into the phone, smiling at the mental image of Fox Mulder that pops into my head.

“You’re kidding. Who is he?” As I recount the moments that happened between the two of us, Charlie is practically jumping with glee.

“God, that’s so great, sis! So, what happens now? Why are you pining for him from afar instead of putting on the big-girl pants and ask him out on a date?” I shake my head.

“You know why, Charlie. I’m really scared I’ll screw this up and the fact that I care about his kid so much makes it even more difficult. Oh God, and can you imagine what Dad will have to say about him being divorced and a single parent?” Charlie groans into the phone in frustration.

“Not this again, Dana. You can’t live your life the way you think will get you dad’s stamp of approval, you deserve to be happy and from the sound of it, you’re pretty excited about this guy. I can tell you from experience, if I had chosen to chase dad’s approval, I’d still be so deep in the closet I’d need a map and a compass to find my way out. So, your other concerns are valid but you’ll never find out if he’s the one if you don’t try!”

“I know, I know, you’re right, just like you were right the other thousand times we’ve had this conversation. What am I supposed to do, just walk up to him and ask him on a date? I can’t do that!” The thought alone sends a cold shiver down my spine.

“YES Dana, that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do! We’re living in the 21st century, we’re not playing this stupid game where a boy has to ask a girl out, it’s okay if it’s the other way around!” I hang my head and sigh in resignation, he’s right, as always. I want to hate him a little for it.

“Alright, I’ll think about it, happy?” – “Overjoyed! So let me tell you about that art show that I’m putting on at the gallery!”

We chat for a little while longer, waving at each other again as we say our goodbyes.

----------

In the meantime, downstairs in the kitchen

The three other girls are sitting around the kitchen table having a very late breakfast, the smell of coffee and pancakes filling the house. They speak in hushed tones, not wanting to be overheard by the fourth friend upstairs.

“Girls … This Mr.Mulder- Dana situation is killing me. I just can’t take it anymore, they’re pining for each other so hard but they’re both too chicken to do something about it!”

“What are you saying, S?” Alex blows a cooling breath over her coffee cup.

“I’m saying that these two need a hefty kick in the butt!”

“Ooooh I get it now!” Holly bounces in her seat excitedly. “We’ll be the trusty matchmakers for these love-birds!”

“The two of you are out of your minds. She’ll see right through it, you know she will! We’ve talked about it with her Friday after Friday but nothing has happened! And he’s not making a move either.”

“Yeah… we can’t just go up to him and ask him if he’s blind or stupid or both and tell him that he should get his ass in gear and ask her out already!” Sarah spears a piece of pancake with her fork, twirling it thoughtfully.

“What if we enlist the help of his kid?”

“Holly, no, we can’t do that! He’s six for god’s sakes. Besides, I think they have another thing coming with him when they actually dostart dating. You know how kids lash out when their parent starts dating again, and he loves D to pieces. No, we need a more subtle plan.”

“How about we spike her drink at the birthday party with some hard stuff? You know, lower the inhibitions and all that” Sarah waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

Holly gapes at her friend. “Sarah! We can’t drug our friend into sleeping with him! It’s not right and she’ll have our heads for it if she ever found out, rightfully so! What about the Halloween fair, they’re both working there, but D doesn’t know that he got roped into it?”

Realization dawns in Sarah’s eyes and her mind works out a plan. The other two nod enthusiastically when she tells them about it.

“Oh this is so exciting! We need to talk to Miss Hannigan and some other people but I think it’s a good start to push them closer together! Now that we’ve got a plan, we just need to figure out how to keep it all from D. We live together, so she’s bound to overhear us talking about it at some point.” Holly and Alex nod in unison.

“We’ll go all secret sting operation on their ass, codenames and all. They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“Codenames, S?”

“Yes codenames, come on it’ll be so much fun, like a secret society, Illuminati-style!”

Alex laughs: “Alright, what are our codenames for these two?”

They all think hard about this. “Well their real names are out, of course. Middle names too. Red and brown?” – “No, hair color’s too obvious, A!” – “Mom and Dad?” They share a laugh, shaking their heads. “That’s weird. Can we do something with the first letters of their names? F and D? S and M?” Holly bursts out giggling. “Okay maybe not S and M! … M and S? Can we do something with that?”

A slow smile spreads over Sarah’s face. “I’ve got it! A thunder of jets in an open sky, a streak of grey and a cheerful “HI!” – BOOM - a loop, a whirl and a vertical climb and once again you’ll know it’s time for the adventures oooof…?”

Holly jumps out of her chair and yells out excitedly: “Moose and Squirrel! Sarah that’s brilliant!!” Alex nods her agreement, grinning.

“We’ll call it Operation: Bullwinkle!”

“Man, Squirrel’s so gonna kick our asses…”

[scullyverse]

Covered In Skin

Prompt by Laura @bohoartist for the MSR Smut Exchange 2021;

One of them (your choice) is dealing with some sore muscles while away on a case. This leads to the other giving them a massage in one of their motel rooms. One thing leads to another... yaddayaddayadda. First Time Sex please.

This is for the lovely Laura! Your prompt was so fun to write and I really hope you enjoy it! <3 Part of the MSR Smut Exchange 2021! I had so much fun participating in this event!

Also available to read on ao3

Mulder pulls a muscle during an assignment and Scully is only too happy to give him a massage in his motel room. One thing leads to another and first time sex ensues. Set early season 7. Fic for the MSR Smut Exchange 2021.

Mulder/Scully || Smut || 9.4k words || Rating E (Explicit for smut)

“Mulder! He’s headed your way!” Scully shouted, gun raised, eyes focused as the suspect made a turn away from her.

She watched as Mulder lunged out from the corner, bringing both his own body and that of the suspect to the pavement. Scully grimaced at the noise, lowering her gun now that Mulder had the suspect pinned under his knee. The safety was flipped and her gun put back into its holster as she made her way towards him. Police removed the suspect and left Scully to help her partner to his feet, smiling up at him as her hand shielded her eyes from the sun.

“Nice job there, Mulder. I didn’t take you for the tackling type.” Scully mused, her tone light.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me yet, Scully,” Mulder teased as he brushed dirt from his pants. “I’m not just going to give all my tricks away at once.”

Her eyes rolled but she was unable to stop the slight tug of a smile on her lips as he bumped her shoulder playfully while both of them walked behind the police who loaded the suspect into the car. They had been called onto this case for an extra set of hands and though it wasn’t an X file, even Mulder had jumped at the opportunity to get off desk duty. It was a fairly simple drug bust, but Scully missed how her pulse pounded and how her adrenaline surged from being out on the field again. They stopped to watch the police car drive away and Scully crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes squinting once again against the sun.

Mulder looked down at her with soft eyes, placing his hand on her lower back; a sign of comfort, support, and - recently discovered - affection. Scully felt herself relax into his familiar caress. How can a simple touch make me feel so comforted and at the same time make me feel like shaking?

She wasn’t sure what had formed between them, they had exchanged a few odd kisses here and there over the past few months, which Scully had to admit were new and exciting. It had started one night when she had felt particularly bold, he had dropped her off at home and she’d taken a leap of faith and stood up onto her toes to kiss him. It had been short and sweet and had left her with a shy smile from the look of pleasant surprise etched onto his face. Then it had happened again, this time he had taken the initiative and kissed her at work. It was gentle and at first she had been taken aback by his forwardness, but then he had said she looked beautiful and she’d wanted to kiss him again. So she had.

Neither spoke of what it meant but it was nice nonetheless. That night they shared in his hotel room in Bellefleur, just talking into the early hours of the morning all those years ago, sparked her initial attraction to him, to his brilliance and remarkable mind. It wasn’t until later that the attraction expanded to his body too. Scully couldn’t speak for Mulder, but she knew her own hesitations towards the progression of her feelings for him. She was scared, even if it made her angry to see herself so succumbed to that fear. They were gravitating towards each other in a bubble and she feared the moment the bubble would burst, that the after effects would ruin the relationship they had before. But in their bubble she just couldn’t stop herself from constantly being sucked into his energy and inviting eyes. Eyes that seemed to captivate her for a moment now as he smiled down at her and led her towards their rental car. Her body hummed with the feeling of his strong hand on her back. So warm .

---♡---

Once they arrived at the hotel, the sun had only just set so they arranged to make use of their spare time and finish their paperwork. Scully took her time to shower and change into something more comfortable before she knocked on his door, files under her arm and glasses in hand. The air conditioning made their rooms much more accommodating than the heat outside, though Scully had still opted for silk shorts and matching singlet. Gone were the days of keeping herself overly covered in his presence; she had found herself gaining confidence around him and secretly loved the way his eyes would linger on her, finally outwardly admiring her as someone desirable. It gave her such a thrill.

It wasn’t long before Scully heard him shuffle on the other side of the door and open it with a smile. She took in his appearance; wet hair, shirt stuck to some wet spots on his skin and a pair of simple sweatpants. She was well aware he usually slept in nothing but his boxers; having been greeted by the sight in the early mornings when he answered the door rubbing sleep from his eyes. Is he being considerate to me by wearing these? Should I have been more considerate to him and changed into something more appropriate? She swallowed a slight hiccup of breath when she saw him completely transfixed on the expanse of her bare legs before his eyes moved to her chest and she felt her nipples tighten in response. His eyes met hers and she noticed his cheeks blushing. Scully could feel herself growing warm. So maybe he doesn’t mind me wearing this.

Mulder raised up his arm and Scully smiled as she ducked her head and slipped under and into the room, looking around the room with a sigh. The hotel was nice but it didn’t give much in the way of work spaces. She opted for the floor in front of the coffee table, legs crossed and tucked under her as he stood by the door for a moment.

“You okay on the floor, Scully?” He walked towards her but seemed hesitant to sit on the chair. “You can have the chair.”

“It’s fine, Mulder. I’m quite comfortable down here.”

He watched as she slid on her glasses and he finally sat down on the chair doing the same. They worked in silence, only the occasional question asked between them. With him, even silence was a comfort and Scully worked better with him next to her and the sound of his pen scrawling over paper. It reminded her of them working in their old basement office before the fire. Their old office. They continued to work and Scully was only brought out of her concentration when she heard a groan, Mulder stretching and rolling his neck. She studied him out of the corner of her eye for a moment as Mulder continued, discomfort evident on his face.

“Are you alright, Mulder?” She asked, her head tilted and tone curious.

“I’m fine,” Mulder groaned again. “Just pulled a muscle or something. Maybe tackling that guy wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve had.”

Mulder rarely showed discomfort, so Scully knew it must be uncomfortable for him. She put her glasses down and got to her feet, walking towards the bed.

“Come on. Lay down and let me give you a massage. It will help with the pain and loosen up those muscles of yours.” Scully gave the bed a pat. “Your body is probably tense in an attempt to protect the area you hurt.”

“A massage?” Mulder looked at her with a glint in his eyes. “Well, how can a guy turn down an offer like that?”

Mulder made his way towards the bed and stopped in front of her, his eyes flicking between her and the bed for a few awkward moments as his fingers hesitated in the idea of removing his shirt. In the end he chose against it and crawled onto the bed face down, a pillow pushed under his cheek for support.

“This okay? Or should I wiggle back so you can reach?” He teased.

“Shut up, Mulder,” Scully retorted in jest and rolled her eyes, climbing onto the bed and kneeling at his side as she rubbed her hands together in an attempt to warm them. “The position you are in is just fine. Push your luck and you’ll get nothing.” It was an empty threat and Mulder knew it because he just smiled and tucked one arm under the pillow.

Scully looked down at him and thought about the best way to tackle the situation before she found a spark of courage and threw caution to the wind. She rested her hands on his back before tugging at his shirt. “It will be easier if you take this off.” Scully had to bite a retort in her throat as he looked back at her with a cocked eyebrow. A playful scowl, though, was enough for him to close his mouth. Pulling the shirt over his head, Mulder revealed the vast expanse of his back to her. Scully’s eyes raked over him and for the first time she let herself admire his physique. He really is attractive. Mulder adjusted himself and got back into a comfortable position.

Straddling his thighs, a slight blush crept onto across her nose when she heard a soft moan slip from his lips. He felt hot and smooth as she ran her hands up the middle of his back with enough pressure that evoked a content rumble. Scully knew these muscles like the back of her hand but everything left her brain after a few moments of her hands on his skin. Instinct kicked in and she followed the curve of his spine, allowing her weight to travel down to her fingers. Mulder’s head tilted with a soft smile on his lips, his bottom lip pouted out in relaxation. That bottom lip looks so goddamn kissable . She shook her head in an attempt to erase the lustful thought, which caused her hair to fall and curtain her face. Good. Now maybe he can’t see me looking at that fucking lip of his.

Scully rose to her knees and shuffled forward so her hands could reach his shoulder as she worked her way towards the area that caused him pain. Settling on his ass, her eyes focused on how his skin rippled under her the movement of her fingers until Mulder suddenly jolted away from her.

“Is that where it’s uncomfortable?” Scully questioned, easing the pressure off slightly as she looked down at him with warm eyes.

“Yeah,” Mulder nodded. “Keep going though. Feels amazing, Scully.”

Scully pressed harder once again and settled back into a rhythm as Mulder moved his head and rested it back into the pillow, shielding his eyes from her. His muscles soon relaxed under her touch as she continued to work, a deep blush blossoming on her cheeks, and a warmth soon settled in her stomach as she bounced slightly against his ass with every movement of her hands. The way the curve of his right ass cheek managed to hit just the right spot applied a delicious pressure between her legs. Stop, god, you need to stop right now . She knew she should but she didn’t seem to have control over how her hips rocked gently against him. Scully heard a sudden intake of breath and she stilled instantly. Was that noise from me or him? She couldn’t be sure and she mentally chastised herself for being so focused on the feeling of him underneath her to maintain awareness. Suddenly everything seemed deathly quiet and she could swear she could hear her heartbeat.

“Keep going.” Mulder whispered just loud enough for her to hear.

There was a sudden shift in the air as Scully swallowed, her fingers continuing once more, this time making a solid attempt to keep her hips still. He wanted her to continue the massage and she would keep herself professional and do just that. Though it was impractical to keep them completely still and she couldn’t help the slight movement as she bore her weight down into her hands. Scully bit her lip and tried to focus on her fingers moving against his muscles, which became increasingly harder when she felt fingertips brushing delicately against her knee. Don’t look. Just keep going. She tried, but after a few moments she looked down and saw Mulder’s fingers playing with the skin of her knee with his head still planted firmly into the bed. Is he aware he is doing it?

Scully said nothing and the more it continued the more she didn’t want it to stop. Every touch sent butterflies to her stomach and it was those butterflies that spurred her on, to rock her hips again now unable to stop her natural instinct to seek relief of the heat she could feel between her legs. Scully bit her lip as a warmth crept up her chest. When did I become so aroused? The air seemed thick and she held back a moan when she felt his hips move beneath her. The way his hips rolled against the bed only added to the palpable tension of the room.

“S-Scully.” Mulder cleared his throat.

She opened her eyes when she heard her name. Wait, were my eyes closed? Scully looked down to meet his gaze, his eyes were almost black and his cheeks had a flush all of their own.

“I’m not sure this is the type of massage you signed up for,” he chuckled in an attempt to ease the tension between them, rolling his hips once again to keep his weight off the bed. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Wha-oh!” Scully exclaimed.

It took a second for everything to register, then the flush of arousal on her cheeks was suddenly replaced by a deep blush of embarrassment. She removed her hands and quickly moved off him before moving back to sit on her knees. “I’m sorry Mulder, I didn’t realise.” Well that was a lie. It was obvious her movements had some effect on him, she could feel it in how he seemed to be dry humping the bed. Scully bit her lip and couldn’t take her eyes off him as he rolled over and she caught a glimpse of the erection tented in his pants, a small wet patch on the fabric. Mulder grabbed a pillow, pressing it into his lap as he moved to sit against the headboard.

“I’m sorry about this,” Mulder paused, looking at her with a childish blush of his cheeks as he nodded to the pillow before avoiding her gaze. “It will go away soon.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Scully felt his eyes on her again. He watched her with his bottom lip still pouted, though Scully now figured it was from arousal. God, how I want to kiss you. Scully licked her lips as her thoughts raced along with the rapid pounding of her pulse in her chest and between her legs. She had seen Mulder in all states of human emotion before. But arousal hadn’t been one of them until now and the way he looked at her kicked her hormones into overdrive. It was like the last six years of pent up energy hit her all at once and her body ached for him now that he was so close .

“I guess you just give one hell of a massage.” His voice was rough and low but he gave her a gentle smile.

She could tell he was trying to lighten the mood and she appreciated him for that; her lips curled into a small smile to show him she was thankful for his attempt to ease the tension between them. But her body was tuned into him now and she found herself unwilling to hold herself back any longer. Please, God. Don’t let this be a mistake. Please. A silent prayer was sent above as she got to her hands and knees and crawled towards him, stopping beside him before getting up onto her knees. Mulder watched every movement with a tightened grip on the pillow. They were now close enough to share the same breath as she reached out to trace his jaw with her thumbs and over the slight stubble on his chin. Her thumbs stopped on his lips as they pushed gently down on his bottom lip, the air thick and all Scully could feel was his warmth.

“Kiss me.” Scully said with a hushed whisper. She wanted him. Oh, how she wanted him.

Mulder searched her eyes and kissed her thumbs before arching his neck and meeting her lips. Oh, I forgot how soft his lips are . Scully moaned into his mouth as she tasted the salt and liquid warmth that was just so Mulder . She leaned forward and urged him to deepen the kiss with a lick of her tongue on his bottom lip and when he parted his lips, that was all the invitation she needed. When their tongues touched for the first time she felt a shiver shoot down her spine. This is new. They hadn’t shared anything but chaste kisses in the past and that was nothing compared to how he felt against her tongue. Mulder rumbled deep in his chest which caused Scully to whimper in return, allowing herself to be consumed by him. How have I not kissed him like this before? When on earth did he learn to kiss like this? I feel so hot. How can a kiss make me feel this hot? Damn him.

The kiss was heated and fervent and Scully found herself conflicted; she didn’t want it to end but she also wanted to turn and run in the opposite direction. Though that hesitation got smaller and smaller with every brush of his fingers on her skin and movement against her lips and when he nibbled on her bottom lip, her knees buckled with arousal. He pulled away from her sudden movement and she swallowed a whine of disapproval, sitting back down onto her heels. Her lips were hot and swollen as she caught her breath, his fingers still resting on her collarbones and every brush sent pulses down to her centre. He looked so beautiful in this state of arousal and she didn’t think it possible for his bottom lip to look even more kissable than before.

The air between them sat heavy as they both looked at each other and gathered their bearings. Scully found herself unsure of what to do; her mind and body were still conflicted, but the longer her eyes lingered on his lips, the more she found herself running out of excuses to push him away. There was a primal attraction and if he was willing, she wanted to submit to it and give herself to him. Well, only one way to find out. There’s no turning back now anyway, right? Scully moved one hand and reached for the pillow, intertwining her fingers with his as Mulder gripped the pillow tighter.

“Scully…You don-“

“I want to.” Scully’s voice was soft but firm.

Mulder searched her eyes before he relented. Scully felt her pulse quicken as she removed the pillow and threw it to the side of the bed, his eyes on her as she looked down to admire the full state of arousal he tried to shield from her. They had seen each other naked before and she hadn’t been able to stop herself from looking at him, purely out of curiosity, under the spray of the quarantine showers, but she had never seen him aroused and so proudly on display just for her.

A deep hunger settled in her body and she fought herself to not just reach out and touch him. I know that I want him. But I need to know that he wants this too. Straddling his lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck for support and this time he was the first to make a move. He pulled her in for a kiss with a smile on his lips, one that Scully eagerly replied with one of own. Mulder’s smile faltered when she rubbed herself against him, pushing his erection flush between them. A groan fell from his lips as she rolled her hips, the friction delicious as Scully pulled away from the kiss, their foreheads pressing together as they continued to rock. His hands hovered above her exposed thighs, his fingers opening and closing in fists as his hips rolled with her, making serious attempts to thrust against her damp centre. He’s so eager and man do I want him inside me.

Her eyes watched him as he fought with himself, obviously unsure if he could touch her like he wanted to. Is he hesitant to push me too far? There was something inside her that felt guilty for how she pushed him away so much in the past. He looked at her confused when she stopped her hips before she reached down and took his hands in hers, putting them on her thighs to give him encouragement.

“You can touch me. I want you to touch me,” Scully coaxed, her voice soft and husky. “Please, Mulder.”

Scully sucked in a breath as she allowed him to move his hands up her thighs, resting her hands on his arms in a soft hold as he explored her skin. Mulder guided his hands under the thin fabric of her shirt and her hips began to move again, her body now pulled flush against him. She bit her lip as he looked down at her breasts pushed against his chest and her nipples hardened from the sensation. Mulder’s hands moved to grasp her ass with no hesitation now as he encouraged the movement of her hips. Yes, touch me.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to feel you in my lap like this.” Mulder remarked with a smile on his lips that Scully could only describe as a smirk of pure lust. His thumbs tucked into her underwear and the touch was so intimate it caused arousal to flood from her centre.

“I’ve wanted it too,” Scully bowed her head with a smirk which only made Mulder’s smile grow. “I still want it.”

Scully moved to kiss him with instantly parted lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss with enthusiasm. His hands held her tight as he gave a sharp thrust of his hips, causing Scully to give a high pitched sigh as she bit his lip once before resting her nose on his cheek.

“I need you.” Scully whispered.

Her hands slid down between them and rested either side of the erection tented in his pants as her fingers itched to touch him. He’s so close . Scully shifted back and his hips stilled as she looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Please, Scully.”

Her whole body quivered as a sharp jolt of arousal shot through her at how he begged her. Fuck, Mulder, you need to beg me again . She bit her bottom lip, removed his pants and watched how his erection sprung itself free and lay hard and swollen against his stomach. God, you are so beautiful . The tip of his cock leaked for her and it nearly made her whimper. Nearly. His fingers tangled in her hair as they kissed, his thumbs brushing her cheeks in affection that made Scully’s heart jump. Trust didn’t come easy for her and especially not in the bedroom, but right now she trusted Mulder with her body. He smiled into the kiss and gasped when Scully’s fingertips brushed the underside of his cock, her blunt nails dragging softly from base to tip.

“I didn’t know a bed could get you so aroused, Mulder.” Scully purred.

Mulder opened his eyes, looking at her smirking in affection while her nails continued to tease him. “You know full well it wasn’t the bed, Scully.”

“No. I guess it wasn’t.” Scully bit her bottom lip as she watched Mulder’s head fall backwards with pleasure.

She wrapped her fingers around his cock and began to stroke up and down. Mulder was so warm and his skin so soft in her hand as she collected his precum and used it to coat her fingertips so she could glide easier against his cock. Mulder groaned, gripping the sheets as he started to thrust his hips in a desperate attempt to achieve some relief. Taking her time, Scully marvelled at the different moans and gasps she brought out of him with the different movements of her hand; like a twist of her wrist or a squeeze of the tip of his cock. She caught him off guard when she cupped his scrotum and his hips jolted up, parting his thighs to allow more space as her hand sped up. Soon though, Mulder stopped her.

“Wait. I want to touch you too.” Mulder cleared his throat. “And if you keep doing that this is going to end much quicker than either of us want.”

Scully blushed in understanding. “I want you to touch me too.” Fuck how I want you to touch me .

Mulder nodded as Scully stood up on shaky legs as she removed her shorts, her fingers resting on the band of her underwear. She watched how Mulder visibly swallowed, eyes fixated on her. Scully would have been embarrassed with how wet she knew she was if she wasn’t already so far gone. He was so close to where she desperately wanted him and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head when she felt his forehead on her stomach, his hands resting on the back of her thighs, holding her against him. Scully whimpered and her body arched into him when he placed a tender kiss on her underwear. This man is going to be the death of me.

He sat back and it gave her space to take a breath before removing her underwear. Mulder helped her back to her knees, her chest heaving as he touched her. O-Oh . His fingers slipped between her folds and she parted her legs further to let him explore. The way he touched her was soft but firm. No comment was made about the slick sounds from his fingers exploring her wetness, but her arousal seemed to only spur him on. She gripped his shoulder to keep herself balanced as she closed her eyes. Mmm keep going. Please keep going. Mulder’s fingers brushed over her clit and her knees shook as Mulder helped her to straddle him once again. As he collected her wetness onto his fingers, nuzzling into her neck, Scully couldn’t help arching into him.

“God, Scully,” Mulder moaned, his breath tickling her ear. “Is this for me?”

“Yes,” Scully gasped when his fingers teased her entrance. “All for you.”

Scully’s toes curled and her hips shifted closer in an attempt to achieve more stimulation as her hands wrapped around him, his chin resting on her shoulder with his lips brushed against her neck. Her breath was harsh when his fingers finally entered her. Yes. Mmm yes. Scully moaned when he started a gentle rhythm of fingers inside and his thumb against her clit. Her body craved more and it was if he read her mind, adding another finger and curling them to hit the soft spot against her inner walls which caused her inner muscles to grip him tightly.

“Yes.” It was a whisper against his skin as she rocked her hips, focusing on the pleasure that he sparked inside her.

It was like she felt him everywhere all at once, his scent filling her nose and she felt nothing but the warmth radiating from him. She needed to feel him, it was a sudden urge deep down that craved the skin on skin contact. Scully pulled away and he arched an eyebrow before she bit her bottom lip and pulled her shirt over her head.

She heard him suck in a breath as his eyes stared at her stomach. Scully looked down and watched his thumb brush against the gold ring in her belly button with a glint in his eyes.

“Wow, I wasn’t expecting you to have a piercing,” Mulder teased. “Knowing you have this under those suits of yours…there’s just something so incredibly hot about that, Scully.”

Scully chuckled at his captivation. “Just my piercing?”

He looked back up at her but stopped when he caught sight of her breasts, her nipples hard, dusky pink and desperate for his touch. Scully could have laughed at the look on his face, like he had momentarily forgotten she was naked and was caught off guard by seeing her breasts for the first time. She had seen Mulder aroused, but the look in his eyes now as he admired her was something else. It was just pure unadulterated hunger and she felt a shiver.

“Definitely not just the piercing. Jesus, Scully.” Mulder praised.

Mulder’s eyes never left her breasts, and her nipples - if it was possible - grew harder under his gaze. Stop looking and just put that mouth on me alre-Oh! She didn’t have time to speak, even her thoughts faltered when he leaned down and licked the valley between her breasts before wrapping his lips around her nipple.

“Oh. Mmm.” Scully breathed out.

Her head fell back and her hips rocked harder against his willing fingers, his mouth hot and wet around her. She just wanted to be completely consumed by him and that fucking talented mouth of his. It was easy to fall and get lost in how his tongue swirled around her and she jolted back to reality with a sharp pulse of arousal to her clit as he bit down on her nipple.

“F-Fuck!” Scully gasped with a high pitched whine.

Mulder paused instantly and looked up at her, her eyes snapping open with a whimper as she looked to him with pleading eyes. Why did you stop? Don’t stop! She was about to open her mouth and complain when she felt his fingers ram into her suddenly, the wind sucked out of her lungs, her muscles clamping around his fingers in appreciation. The new pace made it hard to keep eye contact with him, but the look of awe and lust he gave her seemed to make it unavoidable.

“Say it again.” Mulder commanded, his fingers thrusting into her again.

Her body jolted forward, her head lulling to the side when he returned to her chest, now focused on the nipple he ignored the first time. It took her a moment, but she smirked when her brain realised what he was talking about. Oh, so that’s it. You like to hear me curse. She was going to retort with a smart remark but her brain lost function when he bit down on her sensitive bud again.

“Fuck.” Scully whimpered, her fingers threading through Mulder’s hair. “So good.”

She felt him smirk against her and the warmth between her legs began to grow, her body completely tuned into him and the way he worked her higher towards that peak. Her thighs shook and as much as she loved him against her chest she needed his lips again. Her fingers tugged at his hair, pulling him to her again, the kiss messy and hot, just what she needed. She panted and rocked her hips harder against him as she felt his hips take full advantage of their closer position, his cock bumping against her pelvic bone on every thrust of his hips and she found it incredibly arousing that he was getting so caught up in what he was doing to her.

Scully was getting closer as his fingers sped up, his thumb unrelenting against her clit and she found herself needing to touch him. Fuck, I’m so close, and you’re going to come with me, Mulder. I want you to come with me. Her hand slipped between them and her thumb collected his precum before sliding down slickly and in time with how his fingers worked inside her. He groaned loudly as his head fell back and Scully took the opportunity to lick the exposed column of his neck, her eyes fluttering closed when the saltiness of his skin hit her tongue. Mmm you taste exquisite. Mulder gave a loud moan as his hips shot upwards, his fingers faltering for a moment when she bit the underside of his jaw.

“Hold on.” He stopped her hand and intertwined their fingers with a smirk. “I can’t think properly when you do that. And I’m trying to make you come here.”

“But I want to come with you,” Scully replied, tugging his hand to her lips and kissing it, so desperate to have him inside of her. “I need you inside me. Please.”

Mulder’s fingers paused as they kissed again before he removed his fingers, much to Scully’s reluctance, changing their positions. It ended in tangled limbs and they both laughed, Scully on her back with him settled between her legs. They continued to chuckle together as they kissed, Scully’s hands on his arms as they kept his weight off her. It was sudden, the way the air shifted and their chuckles died down, looking into each other’s eyes, Mulder brushing her hair away from her face. All previous hesitations she had before were gone and she wanted nothing more than for him to take her.

“Please, Mulder.” Scully begged. She wasn’t normally one to beg, but her body needed the release he had promised earlier, already completely on edge.

Her legs widened in invitation as he kissed her, the kiss seemingly different than the ones before. This was slow and warm and it seemed to convey all the feelings he had for her without words, her heart thumping in her chest and her fingers gripping his arms in an attempt to keep herself grounded. She had never felt such almost overwhelming affection before and it took her breath away. I need him. I need him. I need him. It was a mantra in her head as her fingers slinked down to rest on his stomach, his muscles rippling under her touch.

“I need you, Scully,” He got to his knees and stroked himself as she watched him. “I can’t wait anymore.”

Scully nodded and bit her lip. “I need you too.”

She got to her elbows and watched him as he slid his cock through her folds, gathering her arousal and using it to lubricate himself. There was something so erotic about the sight that Scully felt her clit pulse with her heartbeat and arousal drip down to the bed. Can’t he see how ready I am for him? Stop fucking teasing! She arched her hips and gave him a raised eyebrow and was about to tell him to hurry up when his strong hand held her hips down, her head falling back when he pushed against her and slipped inside.

“Yes!” Scully moaned loudly.

Mulder’s bottom lip was tight between his teeth as he continued to slide inside with little resistance with how aroused she was and every inch he moved inside her felt incredible. They watched their bodies coming together until he was flush against her and her head thumped back against the pillow. Fuck, yes! That’s what I’m talking about. He adjusted his position and she wrapped her legs around the back of his knees to hold him close against her. Their lips met in a deep kiss as she took her time to adjust to him, her inner muscles fluttering against him with a hum of approval. His hips flexed when her muscles relaxed and she gave him a squeeze with her legs to encourage him to move.

He moved and she had to break the kiss in order to take a sharp breath as she dug her nails into his skin, Mulder’s head falling forward and his hot breath panted against her skin as he struggled to maintain a slow, gentle pace. She admired the way he cared for her but she was already so desperate, she needed to feel him and feel how much he wanted her. Scully’s fingers moved down to rest on his ass, gripping his cheeks firmly, her hands moving in time with his hips.

“Don’t hold back,” Scully emphasised her words with a tight grip of his cock with her inner muscles. “Show me how much you want me.”

Mulder grunted against her before he moved his hips more eagerly as he exposed her neck and wasted no time in kissing and sucking the soft skin behind her ear. Cheeky. She was sure it would leave a mark but she was too far gone to care. All she needed was for him to keep going, his mouth was right on her ear and the way his hot breath tickled her made her back arch.

“I want you so much,” Mulder’s hips continued to thrust, the slapping of their skin and panting breaths, the only sounds in the room. “I’ll always want you.”

Her vision became slightly blurred as she captured his lips and urged him on faster, his heartfelt sentiment sparking something inside her that made her want to give all she had to him. They were never good with words but their bodies seemed to speak for them as years of sexual attraction and emotional connection finally came to a peak. Her body was warm and so surrounded by him, making her feel protected and vulnerable at the same time. Her toes flexed when he changed the angle and he brushed against her g-spot, causing the sparks of her orgasm to build.

“Keep going. Please, don’t stop.” Scully hummed.

Mulder rested his forehead against hers and his hips pumped harder, Scully’s back arching into him. Sliding one hand between them to her clit, Mulder looked down and moaned his approval before he kissed her again, whispering against her lips. “And don’t you stop doing that.”

Scully wasn’t planning on it, especially not with how quickly she could feel her orgasm building, and not with how he managed to brush her hair off the sweaty skin of her cheeks so tenderly while he fucked her into oblivion. Her legs fell from around him and parted wider, causing him to get a deeper angle which was about all her body could take. Her eyes closed and she dug tight into his ass, her inner muscles clenching tight in preparation for the orgasm that had started to blossom in her toes, ready to shoot through her whole body at a second's notice.

“Look at me, Scully.” Mulder begged.

Scully’s eyes opened, desperation on her face as her fingers rolled against her swollen clit, her legs raising off the bed to achieve the right angle. She was so close she could almost taste it.

“I can’t hold on anymore!” Scully all but sobbed in pleasure, her nails deep into his ass with a force that caused him to hiss and rock against her, frantically desperate to push her over that edge.

“Come for me. Let me feel you.” Mulder coaxed, lips right next to her ear.

“I’m coming!” The whine from Scully’s throat was primal and raw. There, fuck, right there, oh god! Her eyes slammed shut and her legs shook when she felt her orgasm rip through her body, lights exploding behind her eyes.

Scully panted as her orgasm crashed over her, her entrance contracting around him in rapid succession, the white heat of her orgasm washing over her in blissful waves. Mulder groaned and slowed his hips down in an attempt to draw out her pleasure in replacement of his own obvious desperation to achieve release.

“Jesus, Scully!” Mulder grunted.

Scully’s body continued to shake beneath him as she rode out her orgasm, her whole body alive and sparking just for him. When the pleasure began to ease, her body relaxed and her legs fell open onto the bed, her chest heaving in an attempt to get her breath back as she opened her eyes to watch Mulder brush her hair away, a smile on his face.

“You are so beautiful.” Mulder confessed and it made Scully break out in a warm smile, her face relaxed in pure bliss. His words only made her body feel warmer, her heart swelling in her chest.

She got lost in his eyes as he kissed her, the kiss soft before desire kicked in and he groaned against her lips, rolling onto his side, and although Scully was momentarily confused, she smiled and allowed him to pull her with him as she rested her leg high on his waist. One of his hands held her thigh against him and the other slipped between her and the bed to pull her closer to him as he started to thrust again. This new angle was different and allowed deeper penetration which caused her head to fall forward into the crook of his neck as his hips worked harder against her, his fingers digging deeper into the supple flesh of her thigh.

She felt so enveloped by how his scent and sweat covered her skin, his large frame cradling her close in an entanglement of limbs. It was an intoxicating feeling and she could already feel herself becoming addicted to it. Burying her nose into his shoulder she nibbled on his exposed skin, tasting the saltiness of him on her tongue and she could sense he was close with how his hips lost their rhythm and became erratic. Scully suspected he was trying desperately to hold on and she had to admit that she didn’t want it to end either, but she wanted him to feel the pleasure he had given her moments before. She wanted to see him completely and utterly vulnerable for her.

“It’s okay, let go,” Scully whispered as she kissed his lips, pulling back only enough to speak again. “Come for me, Mulder.”

He nodded with a whine and it quickly became her new favourite sound. Mulder gripped her thigh tighter and she knew there would be marks there in the morning but it felt too good to care. Mulder’s hips faltered for a moment when he rolled them back into their original position, Scully’s leg’s spread wide and open for him as he lifted his head, picking up his pace with closed eyes and parted lips, panting as his hips started to shake. Wow, you look absolutely gorgeous like this, Mulder. So beautiful.

Mulder’s hand quickly let go of her thigh and she let it fall to the bed as he pushed himself up and pulled out of her. Scully grunted in disapproval with the emptiness left, clenching around nothing and missing his fullness until her brain clicked onto what he was doing a few moments later. If she hadn’t already been completely soaked she would have been now. Mulder held himself up on his knees and elbows with his cock resting close to her, his fist frantically pumping, Scully biting her lip as she reached down, resting one hand on his pubis, so close that his fingers brushed against her wrist with every stroke.

His eyes were closed and she took the time to look down and watch his swollen cock slide effortlessly in his fist with the mixture of their arousal. How she so desperately wanted to touch him and feel him release into her hand, but she didn’t want to ruin his pleasure so she just dug her nails slightly into his skin in compromise and that seemed to be enough of a stimulation as his hips bucked and his eyes snapped open. Scully’s stomach muscles rippled as the tip of his cock brushed against her skin and poked into her belly button on occasion, the slight tug at her piercing sending fresh jolts of arousal straight to her core.

“S-Scully…” Mulder stuttered as he looked down between their bodies. “So close.”

“Yes.“ Scully purred in return, her eyes fixated on him as he brought himself over the edge.

Groaning loudly, Mulder let his orgasm wash over him as he held his cock against her, spurting thick ropes of cum that coated her stomach. Scully arched up as the hot liquid hit her skin, her eyes focused on him in the throes of his orgasm. His hand continued to stroke himself as he whined, the head of his cock bumping into her belly button as he gently thrust against her, cum still dripping out of him. Oh wow . It was one of the hottest things Scully had seen and she bit her lip, her fingers digging into his skin as he slid against her stomach, coating her even more with his desire. He moaned as Scully gripped his hair and pulled him down to kiss him again.

He was almost breathless and after the kiss she let him fall down onto her, the mess between them forgotten as she wrapped her arms and legs around him in a warm embrace. She wasn’t normally one to enjoy the heavy weight of a man on top of her, but with Mulder it just felt so comforting. A hum of approval rumbled in her throat as he nuzzled into her and she closed her eyes, just taking in his warmth and enjoying the post-coital bliss. It wasn’t until Scully became aware of the stickiness between them that she started to pull away and he got back onto his knees, a blush on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry about that, Scully,” Mulder smirked as he ran his hands up her thighs and to her bent knees. “You took away my brain function there for a second.”

Scully smiled and shook her head. “Don’t apologise, I liked feeling you on top of me. It felt...” She paused as if trying to find the right word as she got to her elbows. “Comforting.”

They looked at each other before she looked down at her glistening stomach. It made her clit throb knowing that she was covered in him and nothing but him. Mulder followed her eye line as Scully reached down to collect the liquid in her belly button before his eyes grew wide.

“Oh, shit! Your piercing!” Mulder spluttered with panic in his eyes. “I didn’t mean…Is it going to get infected? I didn’t think! I’m so sorry.”

Scully let him rush out his panic before she giggled, her head falling back as she struggled for breath. Opening her eyes, Scully immediately felt guilty when his face still showed nothing but worry. She smiled before she carefully sat up and brushed his jaw with her thumb.

“No, no, please don’t worry. It’s okay, honestly,” Scully traced his frowned eyebrow. “It won’t get infected. It’s been healed for years, it’s okay.” Scully watched him nod and sigh with relief.

“Was that okay?” He asked.

She guessed he wasn’t just talking about the way his desire was cooling on her stomach but about what they had just done. It was definitely a huge step in their relationship and one she didn’t think would have happened like this - well, if she was honest she hadn’t really been sure if it would have happened at all, even though there had always been a part of her that wanted him. Scully got up onto her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck, sucking his cum off her finger, Mulder licking his lips in approval.

“It was more than okay,” Scully confided as she looked into his eyes and tried to swallow down the lump of emotion that dwelled into her throat at the look of love in his eyes. Oh god, please don’t look at me like that, my heart can’t take it. But she smiled and bit her lip. “A lot more than okay.”

Mulder nodded in relief before he kissed her again, Scully moaning into his lips as she pulled away. “Come on, we should go get cleaned up. I don’t want to ruin the sheets.”

Mulder smirked as Scully struggled to move on wobbly legs. “You okay there, Scully?”

Scully playfully smacked his arm, taking the hand he offered to help her off the bed. “Shut up, Mulder.” Her tone was light as she intertwined their fingers and pulled him towards the bathroom, Mulder following behind her and never letting go of her hand.

---♡---

The shower was just what Scully needed. They washed together, Mulder made sure she washed her belly button thoroughly, and she smiled when he washed her hair before they melded together under the spray of the water. It was soft and gentle, even when Mulder took her again against the cool tiles of the shower. Their orgasms came quickly and even though they weren’t as strong as the ones before, they were just as pleasurable. Once they finished, he lowered her to the floor and they washed again, Scully cleaning their mixed arousal off her inner thighs. They dried together, smiling, before they made their way back into the room. Mulder got under the covers of the bed and watched as Scully gathered their clothes and put them onto the coffee table next to their forgotten paperwork, which they could finish over the weekend. Scully looked over at him as he lay there with the empty side of the bed’s covers pushed back in invitation.

There was a part of her deep inside that went on high alert and told her she needed to run, to get out of this situation and that the feelings of love and adoration she felt for him were too much, as they started bubbling up in her chest. They were too intense to process with her brain pumping endorphins around her body and she knew she couldn’t trust her judgement right now. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind to make a decision when her body called for her to go to him and leave the consequences to be dealt with tomorrow. Oh, how easily she could succumb to them. It was frightening, really. She stood there for a moment in the middle of the room, her towel loosely wrapped around her body, her heart pounding in her chest. Scully felt her eyes drawn to him, his gaze soft as he sat up against the headboard.

“You don’t have to stay, Scully.” Oh, how well you can read me, you always have been so good at it. Damn you. His voice was soft and she felt a sting to her heart when she heard a trace of sadness there. “I understand if you want to go. It’s okay.”

What are you doing? Stop with this shit! This is Mulder. This is the Mulder who you just slept with. This is the Mulder who looks at you like he truly loves you. Just go to him! Her heart screamed at her, but her head told her she needed time to process and she shouldn’t jump into something just because her body wanted it. She couldn’t fuck this up. Not with Mulder, he meant far too much to her. Scully swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded before collecting her clothes and leaving the room, not looking back to him because she knew it would be too hard to leave if she did. Scully rested her back against the door after it shut and looked into her room; it was so dark and empty, the light of his room peaked from under the door and she already missed the warmth.

Walking over to sit down on the bed, Scully let her arms hug around her body in an attempt at self comfort. She so desperately wanted to allow herself the happiness of being wrapped in him, but she didn’t want to possibly ruin what they had; because what they had was just too fucking important to her. It was probably the most important thing to her. Sex could just be sex. But feelings would make things harder, they always did.

Scully ran her hands over her face and brushed her wet hair back as she let her towel pool in her lap. But you want to go back there, stop denying yourself that. Things felt right, didn’t they? It had actually been amazing how naturally they had come together, as though they’d been doing it for years, and she supposed that parts of them had. He hadn’t given her any reason to doubt how much he cared for her and she felt herself wondering if maybe she should ignore her head for once. In all the years what has it gotten me? An empty bed and an even emptier heart . Biting her bottom lip, Scully gave a little strangled whimper when she tasted him still on her lips.

There was a deep ache that had settled between her legs and a bruised feeling on her thigh and all she felt was him, the thought only causing her heart to ache too. She wanted him and she wanted to let herself have that happiness she craved. Hell, even if it only lasts a little, it will be better than not having it all, right? They could work things out later, she just wanted to let herself have tonight. If that was all God was going to give her, she would make it count.

She pulled her towel back around her body and got to her feet, making her way towards the door, her hand lingering on the door knob before she decided to knock. It only took one tap of her knuckles against the wood before she heard him on the other side. “You don’t have to knock, Scully.”

Opening the door, she saw Mulder sitting up in bed, the covers still open in invitation for her. He gave her a questioning look, and just him so close to her again made her heart beat faster. This is where she wanted, no, needed to be. In the warmth and the light, not in the cold darkness alone. Not anymore . Scully gave him a reassuring smile and she could have sworn she had never seen him smile so big before. He lay back, his eyes raking over her body, and when she dropped the towel to reveal her bare skin to him once again, he moaned in approval. His eyes lingered on her breasts before they moved over her piercing, the patch of auburn curls between her legs, then travelled up to her eyes.

“You’re killing me over here, Scully,” Mulder chuckled and Scully smirked, walking towards him with a confident sway to her hips. “You need to give a guy some warning before you do that. So I can at least prepare myself.”

Scully giggled as she reached the bed, only hesitating for a split second before she slipped under the covers and looked up at the ceiling. Feeling him shift, she rolled onto her side with her back to him, unsure of how much he was willing to give her after she had pulled away once again. It didn’t take more than a few seconds before she felt his arms linger around her, hesitant to touch. Scully turned and looked into his eyes, his warmth so inviting as she shuffled towards him before raising her finger in warning, his eyebrow cocked in amusement at her playful attitude.

“If you steal my half of the blankets, I’ll kill you.” Her lips curved in amusement as he nodded and mock-pouted.

Moving as close to him as she could, she wrapped her arms around him. Mulder finally rested his arms around to hold her in a close embrace. Scully hadn’t even been aware that she’d been holding her breath, but it came out in a content sigh when he cradled her head to him and kissed the crown of her head deeply. This feels so right. He’s so soft. Legs slipped between his and there was something so intimate about how their hips connected, his cock soft and rested against her centre, curls rubbing against curls. Closing her eyes, she couldn’t help how her lips curled up when the wiry hair of his chest tickled her breasts, her body relaxing into the gentle way his fingers moved up and down her back.

“I hope your muscles are nice and relaxed now.” Scully smirked as her arms tightened around him and she kissed the skin of his shoulder.

“Very relaxed. Never felt more relaxed than right now,” Mulder paused and pulled her tighter to him, his voice a whisper. “And I’m not talking about the massage. Just being with you is so...” He paused again. “Comforting.”

As he relayed her earlier sentiment, Scully’s heart leapt. I’ve never felt so warm.

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 6

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“I still think you should wear the blue one,” Missy says from her spot lying on Dana’s bed, having long ago tired of the lengthy debate over what she should wear for her date with Mulder.

It’s now 5:30 and while her hair and makeup have been meticulously complete for over an hour, she’s found herself unable to decide on a dress.

“I was wearing that when Ethan proposed to me, Missy. It’s tainted,” she replies with a glare, alternately holding up a red dress that hits just above the knee and has spaghetti straps, and a black one that is ankle length and has a halter top.

Missy rolls onto her side with an exasperated sigh. “It’s just a dress, Dana. And the man is already in love with you, I doubt he cares that much about what you’re wearing. You’re overthinking it, Sis. Though I think I do have some sage in my bag if you want me to smudge it,” she adds helpfully.

Dana gives her sister a pleading look.

“Fine. Wear the red one,” she acquiesces, moving to sit up. “I better get out of here before he shows up,” she says, and the second the words leave her mouth they hear a soft rapping on the door. They look at each other, Dana still in her bra panties, and then Missy stands. “I’ll let him in, you get dressed.”

Missy pulls the bedroom door closed behind her and answers just as Mulder knocks for a second time. He gives her a quizzical look and turns to check the number on the apartment.

“You’ve got the right one, I’m Dana’s sister, Melissa. We met once,” Missy says as she extends her hand.

Mulder takes it, nodding with recognition. “Right, I remember. Uh, is Scully, I mean Dana, here?”

Missy gives him a sympathetic frown. “No, I’m sorry. She changed her mind.”

Mulder’s expression falls until he hears Scully call out from behind her “Missy, don’t be a jerk!”

She crosses the living room, pausing by the couch to pull a shoe the rest of the way over her heel, and then arrives in the doorway. Mulder is dressed in a black suit and crisp white shirt, his dark grey tie patterned with little triangles. His hair looks freshly cut, barely long enough to run your fingers through, and he’s holding a small bouquet of flowers. He looks delicious.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Missy says with a mischievous smile, grabbing her satchel from the dining room table and slipping past Mulder out the open door. “You two kids have fun,” she calls over her shoulder.

Dana rolls her eyes at her sister's remark, then turns to see Mulder staring at her with an oddly intense expression, his lips slightly parted.

“What?” she asks with genuine concern, looking down at her dress to make sure nothing is out of place.

He shakes his head gently as if pulling himself from a reverie. “You look...you look incredible. I mean you always look incredible but now that I’m allowed to tell you that you look incredible…” he drags his eyes down to her shoes and back up to her face where he finds a soft smile on her lips. “You’re so beautiful,” he completes.

She looks away sheepishly, pressing her lips together to hide the grin that it would feel too conceited to let show. “Thank you,” she says quietly, then meets his eye. “You look very handsome yourself.”

They look at each other for a beat, and she can tell he wants to kiss her. She wonders if he will, and if she should let him. They’ve already done much more than kiss, but everything still feels so new. Starting over indeed.

“Oh, these are for you,” he blurts out, breaking the tension as he offers her the flowers.

“Thank you, they’re beautiful,” she replies, taking them and going to the kitchen for a vase. She can sense his eyes on her back as she fills it with water then sets it on the table. She feels a little tingle in response, one she hasn’t felt in a very, very long time. “Shall we?” she asks as she grabs a sweater from the closet, avoiding his eye lest she throw him down on her sofa and never make it to dinner at all.

He steps just outside the door into the hall, so close as she locks it behind them that she can smell his aftershave. When they turn to leave, his hand drifts to rest on her lower back and it sends a little shockwave through her, and a flush of warmth between her thighs. Knowing that they can actually do all the things she’s imagined is exciting and scary, and she wonders how long she can wait. Wonders how long she wants to.

———

He steals glances at every stoplight or stretch of straight road, basically any chance he gets to look away without causing an accident, to take in the stunning beauty in the passenger seat beside him. That little red dress hugs her curves in all the right places, the pale swell of her breasts peeking out and rising gently with each breath. He shifts in his seat, willing his dick to behave and not make him look like a sex crazed lunatic. Though he is pretty sex starved, so it wouldn’t be an entirely untrue assessment. Every bit of self control he’d mustered when they spent time together last year has worn thin, and though he knows that she is no longer off-limits, that doesn’t mean she’s ready to get physical. He would have waited forever for her, so what’s a few more days, or weeks. Months? He really hopes it’s not months.

They pull up in front of the restaurant and he jogs around to the passenger side to open the door for her before the valet can get there. She gives him a shy little smile when he offers his hand to help her out of the car, pulling her to stand in the small space between himself and the doorframe so that the front of their bodies are nearly flush. She tilts her face up towards him, her tall shoes still only bringing her to his shoulder. He lets his eyes fall to her mouth, which is bare of any lipstick but naturally pink and pouty. He could kiss her now and not smudge anything at all.

“Sir?” the valet interrupts, holding out his hand in request of the keys.

The spell broken, he gives over the keys and takes Scully’s hand, her slim fingers threading between his own as her thumb brushes against his palm, a secret acknowledgement of the moment they shared. He smiles to himself as he leads her to the front doors of Marcel’s, looking over to see her curious appraisal of the venue. She clearly hasn’t been here before, which makes him happy. They are led by the host to a small table near the window draped in white linens and she gives him a skeptical glance as he pulls out her chair.

“Are you always this chivalrous? Don’t set expectations you can’t live up to, Mulder.”

He chuffs a laugh. “I actually am, it’s not an act. I was raised in a very upscale, old money environment. I can also tell you which fork to use for each course, if you’re interested.”

She lifts her eyebrows in surprise, watching him curiously as he takes the seat beside her, not across. He doesn’t want an entire table between them.

“Really? Where was that?”

“Martha’s Vineyard,” he answers plainly, not ever wanting that to sound like something he’s bragging about. “What about you, where are you from?” He changes the subject as quickly as possible.

She makes a face. “Nowhere in particular. I was born in Annapolis but my father was in the Navy so we moved a lot. The place he was stationed the longest was San Diego so that area feels just a little bit like home, but we’ve also spent quite a bit of time on the East Coast. We lived in Japan for a bit when I was a baby, but I don’t remember it.”

The waiter comes by to take their drink orders and Mulder orders a bottle of red he assumes they’ll have without looking at the menu. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Scully opens her menu and her eyes expand in shock. She closes it quietly and waits for the waiter to leave before leaning towards him.

“Mulder,” she says very seriously, as though she’s about to deliver devastating news, “that bottle of wine is three hundred dollars.”

He leans further towards her so their foreheads nearly touch. “Scully,” he says in an equally serious tone, “I warned you I was going to go overboard.”

He watches her try to suppress a surprised smile as she leans back, eyeing him appraisingly. “You’re quite the enigma, Mulder. With your fancy country club upbringing and expensive taste in wine in contrast to aliens and worn down bachelor pads.”

“Worn down?” he says in mock offense, “Priscilla will be horrified to hear that you said that.” The full-toothed smile he gets in response makes his heart swell, even if he suspects it has more to do with the mention of Priscilla than his winning sense of humor.

Wine and water are delivered, and Scully tries to order the cheapest thing on the menu before he insists that she wants the surf and turf and she acquiesces with a pained look.

“I think you’ve mischaracterized who among us is the enigma, Scully,” he picks up after their menus are collected. “I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered another Navy brat brainiac babe who cuts up dead people for a living.”

“Really?” she asks, eyebrows furrowed as though this is surprising to hear. “I’ll have to invite you to our next chapter meeting.”

“You’re also funny, add that to your list of enigmatic qualities,” he retorts, and she shrugs demurely. “Speaking of enigmas, there was a case I did a little poking around on, about some suspicious deaths in a community of carnies. There was a sideshow act where a man who was tattooed head to toe in jigsaw puzzle pieces ate live animals. He was sometimes called The Conundrum, and other times he went by The Enigma.”

Her eyes light up at the mention of his old work. “Was this an x file?” she asks excitedly.

“Not technically, no. This was just a couple years ago so the files were closed, but every now and then I get a lead and take some time off work to run it down.”

Scully looks a little disappointed. “Have you ever tried to have the X files reopened?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine and making a little expression that he takes as her being impressed.

“Sure, especially at first. The people at the heart of these government-run conspiracies don’t want the files open again, but the main reason bureau leadership gives for now is that I don’t have a partner, and they won’t let me work on them alone.”

“Couldn't they just assign you a partner? I’m not a field agent, but I was under the impression they somewhat randomly pair people off.”

He smiles sheepishly. “In theory, yes. But I haven’t had much success with the partners I’ve been assigned in the past. One might say that I don’t play well with others.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she says with a skeptical look, “you strike me as fairly easy to get along with.”

“Maybe so, Scully, but there’s a significant difference you’re omitting,” he leans forward and lets the tips of his fingers brush her bare knee. “I like you.”

There’s that million dollar grin again. This night is going so much better than he possibly could have hoped.

———

She could not have possibly imagined how good it would feel to be with him and truly be with him. No boundaries, no barriers, no lines to walk between what’s acceptable for ‘just friends.’ They openly flirt and smile at each other all through dinner, casually touching an arm or a leg, holding hands briefly a few times. She feels like a giddy schoolgirl and can’t recall the last time she felt this happy. So when the waiter collects their dessert plates and drops off the bill, she feels a little wave of sadness that the night is coming to an end.

She knows that if she invites him to come up to her apartment, he will say yes. And she knows that if she does that, they will end up having sex. She would very, very much like to have sex with him. But she’s also worried that she’s rushing things and potentially ignoring possible red flags or other signs that they might not be compatible because she wants this to work so badly. She decides she’s not going to invite him up.

They stand on the curb outside Marcel’s, waiting for the valet to bring the car around, and she crosses her arms and shivers against the cool evening air. Mulder notices and slides his arm around her shoulders, rubbing his palm briskly over her upper arm. Not satisfied that he’s done enough, he then moves to stand behind her and opens his suit jacket, pressing his chest to her back as he wraps the jacket around her, folding them both up inside it. He’s warm and firm and she lets her weight rest against him, the back of her head tucked into the crook of his neck. She sighs contentedly, feeling safe and cared for. It’s a feeling she’s really missed, being single.

On the short drive back to her apartment, he slips his hand over the console to rest on the seat next to her, an invitation, and she presses her palm against his, feeling the ache of missing him before he’s even gone. He pulls up to the curb in front of her building and they don’t let go, looking at each other in the dim glow of the street lights.

“Can I walk you to your door?” he asks, and she feels a mischievous smile creep over her lips. She nods.

They walk slowly, hand in hand, through the front doors and up the elevator. When they arrive at her door, she unlocks but doesn’t open it, leaning her back against the frame instead.

“I had a really nice time, Mulder. Thank you,” she says, her gaze lingering on his hooded green eyes and that full bottom lip.

“Me too,” he replies with a shy smile, stepping forward and placing his fingertips cautiously on her hips.

Her pelvis tips toward him unconsciously, seeking out the contact she has every intention of denying herself for now.

“Can I...would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asks, his eyes on her mouth. She opens it reflexively, tilting her chin up further.

He seems to take that as his answer, dipping his head to meet her at her level, and the pillowy press of his mouth against hers feels like such a relief she sighs audibly. His fingers on her hips press more firmly in response, pulling her gently towards him, closer still. She puts her hands on his forearms and slides them up until her fingers are gently scraping through the hair at the nape of his neck, and she feels his tongue slip out to taste hers. One of his hands leaves her hip and she feels it flutter over the side of her neck, cupping her jaw gently as they kiss slowly, languidly, like they have all the time in the world. His thumb brushes over the front of her throat and it somehow feels more intimate than if he were touching her in a more private place. To touch her in a vulnerable spot, one that can hurt and even kill someone, but to do it so tenderly feels erotic and exciting, and she takes his lip between her teeth and bites down gently to encourage him. He emits a little groan and arches his pelvis towards her, the stiff ridge of his erection grazing her belly.

“Mulder,” she says between kisses.

“Mmmmm,” he says in response, brushing his lips over the corner of her mouth.

“I don’t...I think….we should probably say goodnight.”

He makes a little sound somewhere between a whine and a sigh, but pulls away from her.

“I just...I don’t want to rush this,” she says earnestly, holding both his hands in hers. “I want to do things right this time.”

He nods, pulling her into an embrace. She has that feeling again, like she could crawl inside his chest cavity and make a home there, though this time it’s accessorized with an erection pressed against her.

“Sorry about that,” he says without embarrassment, and she laughs.

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” she replies, pulling away and reaching for the doorknob.

“You really, really, should,” he retorts, and she opens the door, backing in slowly. Once she is fully inside and looking at him through the slim crack she’s wedged herself into as though she were trying to keep him out, he leans forward so his face is inches from hers. “One for the road?” he asks hopefully, and she nods.

He presses his mouth against hers, chastely, no tongue, and holds it there for a very long time. Long enough that she starts to feel her resolve cracking. She pulls away.

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she says in a sing-song voice, and he backs away from the door with a dopey smile.

“Night, Scully,” he replies, not leaving until after she closes the door. She knows because she watches him through the peephole as he stands there smiling like a fool before looking up and possibly thanking the gods. Finally, he leaves.

Goodnight indeed. It was such a good night.

[agentwhalesong]

Fragments

Author's note:

Originally, this was supposed to be part of the second chapter of If That’s What It Takes. However, I couldn’t make the pieces fit and, quite frankly, that (still unfinished) fic is not one of my favorites, although I do love the previous one in that series. Anyway, these are fragments of Scully’s thoughts during season 9’s episode Trust No 1. I hope you like it =)

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Her tears surprise her. They moisten her eyes, blurring her vision in an instant. They don’t stream down her face, though. They linger there, waiting for permission to be let out, because she doesn’t know if she should laugh or cry. Doing both simultaneously seems like the best option.

She wasn’t expecting to see the e-mail. She wasn’t expecting the heartache that came along with the happiness of hearing from him. The weight of his words speaks to her very soul; his loneliness matches hers perfectly.

She wipes one of her eyes as relief takes over her heart, for she has finally allowed herself to feel what she has been avoiding since that day when they said goodbye by the door of her apartment.

The world seems unbearably heavy on her shoulders now, but she knows she can’t tell him to come home right away. She wishes she could find a way of teleporting to wherever he is so she can hold him, tell him everything will be alright, tell him to hang on to the memory of what they have and to the hopes of what the future holds.

But teleportation doesn’t exist, she reminds herself, so she clicks the reply button and thinks of words that might feel like a hug to him. She is brief, but she hides nothing.

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When she sends for him, she can’t help smiling. She wishes the situation were different, she wishes she were sure he isn’t going to be in any danger.

But he is coming back, and her smile doesn’t answer to anything but her emotional side.

She pictures his face, his hair, his voice…

Is there really something happening, or did you just miss me so much you had to do something about it?

She can almost hear him say those words, the sassiness in his tone, the jokes that always find a way into more complex subjects, because he wouldn’t be Mulder without them.

She sighs to remind herself that he is not here yet, that she has a job to focus on before he is all flesh and bones in front of her. And when he does get here, she knows things won’t be easy, that the endless X-File that has become their life has to be solved somehow.

She knows all that, and yet, she can’t wait for the kiss he promised when he left.

She touches her lower lip absentmindedly before taking the printed email out of her pocket once again. How many times has she done that in the past few hours?

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I want to see him so bad seems to be just a fraction of what she is feeling, but how can she explain it better? How can she tell Doggett he is wrong when he tries to warn her something doesn’t quite fit in this whole story?

She can’t.

She can’t express any of her feelings because they’re too private, because at least that was out of reach, could be hidden away from the cameras that have watched her for, possibly, the entirety of her partnership with Mulder.

She can’t express any of her feelings because some of them have been buried on the back of her mind. A type of protection she has built herself, she knows.

She doesn’t want to consider that Doggett might be right, that it is all just a trap.

She wants to slap him in the face for even suggesting such a thing, but he and Monica have become her rationality when it comes to Mulder.

She dismisses him and goes back to class anyway, but her heart is still beating irregularly. She doesn’t know if it’s because of the recent argument or because the feelings on the back of her mind are forcing their way out.

She hears her own heartbeats while her students do their assignment, and suddenly they’re so loud they match the sound of the clock on the wall.

Tick. Thump.

Tick. Thump.

Tick. Thump.

She looks at it and wishes she could make any sound as a payback, her revenge on it for laughing at her so many times with that incessant ticking. When Mulder gets here, she’ll throw all those damn clocks away. Not being heard by anyone should be enough payback.

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When she decides to write him one last email, she’s wearing her heart on her sleeve because, by this time, she had expected and hoped to be writing memories on his skin, not words on a virtual paper.

She types a few sentences that come out of her fingers as if they were her own heart. She has never been this open, never this raw. She had never thought it was possible for her to love someone with such intensity before realizing she was in love with him.

She pauses for a few seconds before typing the next sentences because she doesn’t want to say goodbye. She doesn’t want to say anything that confirms he might not come back to her, to them, at any time soon.

She goes with Until then I remain forever yours to finish because it translates a thousand feelings into just a few words. She hopes the email can be a source of strength for him in case he ever reads it.

She strokes William’s face for comfort while praying for Mulder’s safety. Just then she is ready to click ‘send’ and to wait patiently for the day when her life isn’t made up of tragedies.

She feels like she’s all fragments scattered all over the place.

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Author’s note 2:

If you liked this ficlet, you might also enjoy this chapter I wrote for another fic, but that also talks about this specific point in time when they exchanged emails, from Mulder’s POV. You can find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19850302/chapters/47191009