#i think about the sixth extinction i & ii: amor fati more than i should

[pennyserenade]

dana scully you didn’t stand a chance and neither did i. this was one of the top ten romantic things i have ever seen in my entire life

[baronessblixen]

Hi I wrote a fic where Mulder reads an accidental admission from Scully. I saw you left me kudos (thanks!) so could you write one where Mulder makes an accidental admission to Scully?

This prompt is super old but inspired me today! It’s a post-ep for The Sixth

Extinction II: Amor Fati

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober

Fictober Day 19

When Scully returns to his apartment hours later, he is no longer wearing his cap or his tie. The bandage, however, still sits around his head, the only evidence left of what’s happened to him. 

“I brought food,” she says, holding up the bag full of Mulder’s favorite dishes from the Thai place around the corner. His eyes light up when he looks into the bag.

He licks his lips. “Hmm, Scully, you know what I like. Come inside.”

She toes off her shoes at the door, knowing she’ll be here a while. Outside, it’s slowly growing dark; cold, too. The days are getting shorter again. She listens to Mulder put out plates and mumble to himself. She can’t hear what he’s saying but it makes her smile. She’s missed him at work today. But she can’t tell him that. It will only make him want to come back even sooner. No matter what he says, he needs his rest. His brilliant mind needs to heal.

“Oh, Scully,” Mulder says from the kitchen, more to himself than to her, his voice making her name sound like a revelation. She blushes slightly, taking her time taking off her coat. Should she even take off her coat? His apartment is warm, cozy. She’s been looking forward to returning here all day. As much work as she gets done without Mulder there, the office feels cold without him. His irritating sunflower seed chewing, his finger drumming, his ramblings. It’s part of their basement office, part of her life. 

“I hope you’re not hungry,” he says as he passes her by, carrying several plates, looking like a waiter. “Cause I am.”

She chuckles and follows him. The TV is on but muted. There’s some old movie flickering over the screen, looking familiar.

“Sit,” he says, smiling.

“You’re in a good mood.” She sits on his worn leather couch, feeling right at home. When he sits down next to her, their thighs almost, but not quite, touching, she knows this is where she belongs right this moment.

“I have the two things I love the most right here by my side.” His smile is still in place. Unlike the bandage on his head; it’s slipping over his brow and she reaches out to adjust it. "Thai food and you.”

“Huh?” she says, temporarily forgetting what he is talking about. What he says next takes her breath away, stills the hand that’s still on his forehead.

“I love you, Scully.”

She’s frozen in the moment, a picture of bewilderment.

“Close your mouth,” he says softly. “I love you,” he repeats, more gently this time. “I didn’t mean to say it today. It just slipped out.”

“Mulder…”

“I’m not drugged,” he interrupts her. “And despite this,” he puts his hand over hers, still pressing against his forehead, “I know what I’m saying. Just because I didn’t mean to say it now, doesn’t mean I don’t mean it. Do you believe me this rime or do I have to wait another year to try again? Do I get another ‘oh brother’?” He smirks at her.

“I’m surprised you remember that,” she mumbles, stalling. “You were high as a kite.”

“Hm, I wasn’t. I think- I think you weren’t ready to hear it then.” He leaves the rest unspoken, but his eyes remain on hers, asking anyway. Is she ready now? Her heart has known the answer for a while. When Mulder uttered the words last year, she knew it, too. But he’s right (damn him for being right about this). She wasn’t ready then. She ran. From him and from her own unspoken, unfelt feelings.

And now?

“I’m ready,” she whispers. “To hear the words, I just…”

“You’re not ready to say them back.” She looks at him, fears to see disappointment in his face. Instead, he gifts her a beautiful, warm smile. “I know that, Scully. I'm a patient man.”

She snorts. "Since when?”

“Since you,” he says, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing each finger. Her breath catches in her throat. “Now let’s eat before it gets cold, hm? I wasn’t kidding when I said I was starving.”

She leans forward to pick up her plate. When she sits back, she makes sure she sits closer to him, their thigh pressed together. Mulder looks at her, the love he just confessed evident on his face. Maybe he is a patient man after all.  

[crescentmoon223]

Ships and Dreams

Episode: 7.02 The Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati

My prompt for the @xfilesfanficexchange Episode edition, written for @danceswithcybermen. I hope you like it!! xx

Read it on AO3. Read for:

1. This Scully, because...  🔥

2. Who killed Diane Fowley?!

3. What’s going through Scully’s mind in this moment?

Ships and Dreams

In the source of every illness lies its cure.

Scully held steadfast to her belief in this scientific truth, even as her fingers cramped and sweat slid down her spine beneath the heat of the African sun. The craft in front of her was the source of Mulder’s illness. She didn’t yet understand how or why, but the answers were here, and as soon as she’d figured out how to read them, she’d know how to save him. Carefully, she carried her most recent rubbing into the tent to add it to the patchwork of papers assembled there, a recreation of the symbols etched into the surface of the ship.

The rest of the team had already left for the night, understandably spooked after the series of alarming—and dangerous—events that had befallen them. First, a swarm of insects had invaded her tent, and then the water around the ship had become so hot it caused horrible burns on anyone near it. After Dr. Barnes’s arrival, the sea had turned blood red. She couldn’t explain it. She was at a complete loss to explain anything that had happened since the ship had been discovered. But one thing she’d learned in her time with the X Files was that sometimes, she had to accept what she couldn’t explain while she kept searching for the science behind it.

She placed her rubbing on the table and sat. Dr. Barnes might return at any time, and she was determined to get as much work as possible completed in his absence. The man made her intensely uncomfortable, and she had her suspicions that he’d killed Dr. Sandoz, that he would do anything to keep the information on this ship for himself.

She couldn’t let that happen, no more than she could sit helplessly by Mulder’s hospital bed, watching him die. So, she did what she always did when her life spun out of control: she buried herself in work. Except this time, she was working to save his life. She couldn’t lose him, not now, maybe not ever. Tears spilled unbidden over her eyelids, making her glasses fog. She swiped at them impatiently.

There was no time for messy emotions, not until she’d saved him. She drew a deep breath and took a drink of water, pulling herself back together. And then, by the light of her lantern, she worked late into the night, struggling to translate the symbols she’d found. Eventually, her eyes lost focus, and she rested her head on her forearm, just for a quick nap…

The tent flaps fluttered as someone passed by on the beach outside, a man whose profile she would know anywhere. There was a young boy at his side, maybe eight years old, his hair the same dusty brown as the man walking beside him.

“Mulder?” she called, rising from the table.

He didn’t pause, didn’t turn, didn’t seem to have even heard her. Confused, she trailed behind them, watching as they began to build a sandcastle together. Except, it wasn’t a castle. Mulder and the boy carefully sculpted a spaceship in the sand, the same ship she’d spent the week mapping, its lines and etchings as familiar to her now as her own skin.

Mulder focused on a spot on the left-hand side of the ship, carving something into its sandy shape with his finger. What was he doing? What was she doing?

“Mulder!”

She lurched upright, elbow knocking against the lantern beside her, causing it to wobble dangerously. Her hand shot out reflexively to steady it as she blinked her way into consciousness. Dr. Barnes stood in the entrance to the tent, watching her. Something dangerous gleamed in the gray depths of his eyes, behind the round rims of his glasses.

“Dr. Barnes,” she said, her voice deep and raspy. Behind him, the sky had lightened with the coming dawn. She must have been asleep for hours, slumped over the table. Well, that explained the crook in her neck and the frog in her throat. And thank God, honestly, because she wouldn’t be able to sleep another wink now that Barnes was here.

He didn’t say a word, only turned and waded into the surf toward the spaceship. Scully took a minute to freshen herself up before the rest of the crew arrived, remembering her dream. Mulder and the boy. The spaceship made of sand. What did it mean? And then she shook her head at herself, because it was just a dream, an attempt by her unconscious mind to release some of the stress of the week.

Dr. Ngebe arrived, and Scully walked with her along the beach, going over their plans for the day. It had become almost routine at this point as they settled into their work. After lunch, Scully walked to the edge of the surf, picturing the sandcastle ship from her dream. It matched the one in front of her almost perfectly. Before she could second guess herself, she walked to the spot where she’d dreamed Mulder had carved something into it.

This was a spot she hadn’t studied yet, and her eyes tracked now to a symbol along the waterline, somewhat larger than the others around it. She’d seen that symbol before. But where? She crouched, waves lapping at her knees and casting stray drops against the overheated skin on her face. As her fingers traced the shape etched into the side of the ship, she remembered.

Diana Fowley.

Scully’s face contorted involuntarily into a scowl at the mere thought of the woman. This symbol had been on the cover of a book Diana was holding when Scully saw her last week, right after Mulder became ill. She was sure of it. Was it possible she’d come all the way to Africa only to have the ship send her straight back into Diana’s web?

“Have you found something?” Dr. Ngebe asked from behind her.

Scully stood, nodding as she turned to face her. “It’s time for me to go.”

* * *

“Bum a cigarette, Agent Fowley?” Scully asked dryly, lifting her chin until she felt as if she were looking down on Diana, despite the other woman’s height advantage.

“I don’t smoke,” Diana responded, her tone as flat as the expression on her face.

“Really? I could swear I smell cigarette smoke on you.”

Diana scoffed. “Let’s cut the crap, shall we?

“Yes. Let’s.” Scully had no patience left for games, especially with this woman. Mulder had gone missing from the hospital, and her gut said Diana was involved. She led the way into an empty office. “Where’s Mulder?”

Diana folded her arms over her chest. “Maybe before you go around blaming everyone you can find for what’s happened to Mulder, you could think about what you could’ve done to prevent it.”

“Actually, I think you’re the one who should be asking yourself that question.” Scully pulled the piece of paper out of her jacket, the last symbol she’d rubbed from the surface of the ship, the one that had led her back to this continent, this office, and this woman. “What does it mean?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Diana said, eyes locked on the paper Scully held.

“I think you do.” She stepped closer, hearing the desperation in her voice and not much caring. “I think you know exactly what it means and how it’s going to help me save Mulder.”

A faraway look came into Diana’s eyes. “It’s too late for that.”

“It’s not too late. It’s never too late.” She forced the words past the lump in her throat. “I just want you to think. Think of Mulder when you met him. Think of the promise and the life in front of him. Think of him now. And then try and stand there in front of me, look me in the eye, and tell me Mulder wouldn’t bust his ass trying to save you.”

Diana swallowed, a flicker of hurt flashing in her eyes. “I’m thinking, Agent Scully. I’m always thinking.”

* * *

Scully jerked awake, hands flexing instinctively to protect herself as she realized she was laying, fully clothed, on the floor in her living room. Her car keys bit into the palm of her right hand. What was happening? The last thing she remembered was standing right here, praying for Mulder with Albert Hosteen. Where had he gone?

She lurched to her feet, eyes tracking to the envelope that had been pushed under her front door, the sound that had awakened her. She stood for a moment, breathing through her confusion. Exhaustion pressed over her like a too-heavy blanket. She hadn’t eaten or slept properly since Mulder became ill, but surely she hadn’t just fallen asleep on the floor. Had she? And where was Mr. Hosteen?

Quickly, she crossed the room to pick up the envelope. Inside was a keycard labeled “Department of Defense. MSF 1225 L1.” Her brain was still sluggish, a step behind her feet as she opened the door and looked outside. Following the sound of footsteps, she raced into the hall, down the stairs, and outside into the parking lot, lit only by the yellowish gleam of the streetlamps above.

“Agent Fowley!” she called as she ran, knowing instinctively who she’d find inside the car already pulling away from the curb, just as she’d known who sent her the book of Native American Beliefs and Practices, the one with the symbol she’d recognized in Africa. “Diana, wait.”

“You know what to do, Agent Scully,” Diana said, mouth set in a firm line. “There’s no time to waste.”

Scully stopped, nodding as she took a step back from the car. “Thank you.”

Another car roared into the parking lot, black as the night around them. Scully’s hand was beneath the hem of her shirt almost before she’d registered the threat, already closing over the gun holstered against the small of her back. She drew it as her eyes focused on the muzzle protruding from the driver’s window of the approaching car.

“Go!” she screamed at Diana as she squared her shoulders, aiming her weapon. She’d entered the time warp that always accompanied high adrenaline moments like this one, where time seemed to simultaneously speed up and slow down, her voice echoing inside her head as she yelled, “Freeze!”

The black car lurched to a stop as Diana threw hers into reverse, tires squealing against the pavement. A gunshot rang out, and Diana slumped over the wheel. Scully sprinted toward her, gun still trained on the other vehicle, where she could now see Alex Krycek leering at her from the driver’s seat, gun pointed directly at her.

“Drop it, you son of a bitch,” she shouted as she stopped beside Diana’s car. Blood coursed from the bullet wound in her forehead. Diana was dead.

“See this?” Krycek said, holding up an electronic device Scully couldn’t identify. “This is the reason you’re going to put that gun down right now and walk away.”

“What is that?” she asked breathlessly, keeping the gun trained on his chest, finger hovering over the trigger. Her mind still felt a step behind her feet, racing to catch up to everything that had happened since she woke on the floor of her apartment just minutes ago. The keycard Diana had given her pressed against her hip, reminding her of its presence.

Mulder. She had to get to Mulder before it was too late.

“This is the device I use to control your old friend Walter Skinner,” Krycek told her, waving it in her direction. “You’ve already seen what it can do. Even now, he’s writhing on the floor as his blood thickens. I’m the only one who has the code to deactivate it. If I die, he dies. Your choice, Agent Scully.”

She clenched her teeth, gun wavering slightly as she processed this information.

“I’m in a compromised position. The less I know about Agent Mulder’s whereabouts and yours, the better.”

Skinner’s words to her yesterday now made perfect sense. Krycek and his nanobots. Yes, she’d seen the damage they could cause. They’d already effectively killed Skinner once.

“You won’t get away with this,” she growled, even as she lowered her gun.

“I already have,” he said with a wicked smile.

Her gaze darted from Krycek’s smug face to Diana, an uncharacteristic tug of sympathy swelling inside her for the woman who’d just died to help her save Mulder. She reached in through the driver’s side window and closed Diana’s eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

When she stepped back, Krycek was still watching, device in one hand, gun in the other, although it was no longer trained directly at her head.

“I don’t understand,” she said as she took another step backward. “Why not kill me too?”

“Because you’re more valuable to me alive.”

She swallowed that silently as she holstered her weapon and sprinted toward her car. Instinctively, she knew that both vehicles behind her would be gone by the time she returned, all evidence of what Krycek had done neatly cleaned up the way it always was. Goddamn him and the Cigarette Smoking Man too. Would she and Mulder ever be free of the evil they had brought into their lives?

She pressed her cell phone to her ear as she pealed out of the parking lot, listening as it rang, hardly daring to breathe until the connection clicked over the line. “Sir?”

“Agent Scully?” Skinner sounded hoarse, weak, as if he’d just been through exactly what Krycek had described.

“Are you all right?”

“I will be,” he told her. “Did you…did you get what you needed?”

“Yes, sir. I did.”

“Go and save him, then.”

“Already on my way.” She disconnected the call as she nudged the gas pedal, driving across town as fast as she reasonably dared, knowing her desperation to save Mulder would all be for nothing if she got into an accident on the way. The nondescript government building appeared deserted as she arrived. The parking lot was empty, no lights visible from inside. But somewhere in there…

Please let me be in time.

She blinked away the moisture in her eyes as she swiped the keycard and let herself inside. What had they done to him? The hallway she found herself in was dimly lit. She followed it, walking deeper into the building, around a corner, and down another hall. Light spilled from beneath a doorway ahead, and she hurried toward it, hairs on her arms standing at attention, every cell in her body humming with danger, with awareness, with the absolute certainty that Mulder lay on the other side of that door.

She swiped the card again, exhaling quietly as the light on the keypad changed from red to green. “Mulder,” she breathed as her eyes found him, lying prone in the center of a large operating table, arms outstretched. A small sheet covered his hips, white gauze over his forehead. She rushed to him, hands feathering over his face, down to his neck, feeling for his pulse. It fluttered beneath her fingers, weak but steady.

Thank God.

She pressed her face against his chest, steadying her own frantic pulse as she listened to the faint rhythm of his heart beneath her ear. One hand went to the cross at her throat as she sent up a silent prayer. She couldn’t think yet about what they’d done, or why. She needed to get them both to safety, and then she could process everything that had happened. “Mulder. Mulder, you’ve got to wake up. I’ve got to get you out of here. Mulder, can you understand me?”

His eyelids flickered, and a faint cry escaped his lips.

She felt rather than heard his pain, his fear, his desperation. Tears welled in her eyes. “Mulder, you’ve got to get up. I don’t know how much time we have. You’ve got to get up, Mulder.”

He twitched beneath her, still lost in whatever private hell they’d left him in.

“No one can do it but you, Mulder,” she whispered, pleading with him. “You have to help me. Please, Mulder.”

A tear rolled down her cheek and splashed onto his eyelid, running down his face as if he were crying too. She bent her head, pressing her lips to his cheek, willing him to find strength, to wake up, to live.

“You…help…me,” he rasped, his voice raw and weak.

“Mulder, oh my God.” She lifted her head, meeting his bloodshot eyes. “You came back to me.”

“Always,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her.

She cradled him against her, supporting his head and neck as he shuddered in her arms.

“Had…the strangest dream,” he croaked.

“Me too,” she whispered. “Come on, Mulder. Let’s get you out of here.”

* * *

One week later

Scully’s heels echoed against the wood floor as she walked down the hall to Mulder’s door. She felt herself smiling as she raised her hand and knocked, the secret knock she always used to let him know it was her. Her heart quickened in anticipation of seeing him, so many emotions welling up inside her. Their lives were always complicated, but these last few weeks had been enough to make her question everything she’d ever thought she knew or felt or believed.

Mulder pulled the door open, his shirt half-buttoned, a Yankees ball cap pulled low over the bandage on his forehead. He grinned at her, hazel eyes burning with all their usual fire and passion, no hint of the man who’d so recently laid helpless in a hospital bed while his mind spun out of control. “Scully, what are you doing here? Actually, I was just getting dressed to come see you but I…I couldn’t find a tie to go with my victory cap.”

“Mulder, no work.” She reached up and lifted the cap off his head. “You have to go back to bed.”

She tugged at his tie, but he grabbed it back playfully. “Oh, wait. Tie goes to the runner.”

He chuckled at his own joke, and she couldn’t help the smile that stretched her cheeks. Oh, how she’d missed him, missed that laugh and his ridiculous sense of humor. How many times had she stood on the beach in Africa and wondered if she’d ever hear it again?

He sobered. “Scully, I, um…I was coming down to work to tell you that Albert Hosteen is dead. He died last night in New Mexico. He’d been in a coma for two weeks. There was no way he could have been in your apartment.”

What? She drew back. “He was there. We prayed together. Mulder, I don’t believe that. I…I don’t believe it. It’s impossible.”

His expression was tender as he reached for her, his hands cradling her face. “Is it any more impossible than what you saw in Africa or what you saw in me?”

Was it? How could she ever explain anything that had happened, even to herself? “I don’t know what to believe anymore. Mulder, I was so determined to find a cure to save you that I could deny what it was that I saw, and now I don’t even know. I don’t know. I don’t know what the truth is. I don’t know who to listen to. I don’t know who to trust.”

But even as she said the words, she realized they weren’t true. She knew who to trust. Even when he was out of his mind with whatever the rubbings from that ship had done to him, her faith and her trust in Mulder had never wavered. They had been to the ends of the world for each other. He’d saved her time and again, and she had done the same for him.

Tears slid over her cheeks as she allowed her feelings to surface, feelings she had never spoken out loud. With Mulder, she never needed to. The connection between them ran deeper than words could ever express.

“Diana Fowley was found murdered this morning,” she told him, voice breaking as she relived the scene outside her building a week ago. “I never trusted her, but she helped save your life just as much as I did. She gave me that book. It was her key that led me to you. She…she gave her life for you, Mulder, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know she was your friend.” She put her arms around his shoulders, giving him a gentle hug.

“Scully,” he said, one hand sliding through her hair as he held her close. “I was like you once. I didn’t know who to trust. Then I…I chose another path, another life, another fate, where I found my sister. The end of my world was unrecognizable and upside down, but there was one thing that remained the same.” He pulled back, cupping her face in his hands as he stared deeply into her eyes. “You were my friend, and you told me the truth. Even when the world was falling apart, you were my constant…my touchstone.”

“And you are mine,” she whispered, voice trembling with emotion. More tears slid down her cheeks. Hell, she wasn’t even trying to hold them back at this point.

He leaned in, and her whole world stuttered to a stop. This was it, the moment their relationship had been building toward for the last seven years. Except…it wasn’t right. This wasn’t the time for their first kiss. She deflected him, going up on her toes to press her lips against his forehead, kissing the bandage there and the man beneath it, letting her lips speak the words she wasn’t yet ready to say.

She loved him. She knew it as surely as she knew he loved her back. It had been growing between them from the moment they met, a bond forged on a rainy night in Bellefleur, Oregon, standing over a spray-painted X on the pavement.

At this point, a romantic relationship between them felt inevitable. They’d fought their feelings for so long, both of them hesitant to make the first move, to do anything that might damage their friendship or their partnership at work. When it happened, when they said the words they needed to say, when their lips touched for the first time, when their bodies came together the way she was yearning for, it would be on her terms, and it wouldn’t be on a day when either of them had spoken Diana Fowley’s name.

For today, she was content to have him back. As she kissed his forehead, body trembling, heart pounding, it felt more intimate than sex. She pulled back, blinking through her tears as they smiled at each other. How much of her thoughts and feelings had he already sensed? She put the ball cap back on his head, giving it a playful tug before she cradled his face in her hands. They stared at each other, as every bit of love, trust, respect, and friendship passed between them without a single word.

And then, knowing nothing else needed to be said—not today anyway—she touched her fingertips to his lips, a gentle touch, a promise of what was to come, before she headed for the door.

Tomorrow. Maybe the next day. Maybe next month. She didn’t know when, but she knew it was coming, and soon. Her constant. Her touchstone. Her one in five billion. The man she loved with all her heart. Soon, they would be together the way her heart and her body craved.

A knowing smile touched her lips as the door clicked shut behind her.

Soon.

[frangipanidownunder]

Can I be greedy and ask a few? #3, #14, & #35 Please and thank you. I hope you're feeling better soon.

3. I just answered this one.14. If you could change the outcome of any episode, how would you rewrite it?I answered this the other day (I would rewrite the entire two hours of The Truth to be just them making out in motel rooms) but maybe I should pick another one! Maybe I would choose Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati because although the hallway scene is a tender MSR moment, I can’t cope with the fact that it all takes place outside his apartment. I think by this stage of the game, she would just walk in to his place and they would have a conversation inside. I like the sentiment of the scene, but I think they both know what’s likely to happen from hereon in. His dream sequences exposed the truth about his relationship with Scully - that it’s much deeper than friendship. They can’t ignore the attraction any more. And behind a closed door, they might have chanced a more passionate kiss to demonstrate the depth of their feelings.35. I’ve answered this a couple of times, but there are so many! I always giggle at the scene in Dreamland II where Mulder asks Scully, ‘if I shoot him, is that murder or suicide?’ and she replies ‘neither, if I do it first.’ Although, Dr Scully, I hate to break it to you, that’s still murder.