#i wish i could have a new scully and mulder story every night and that this show was good forever

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 18 thoughts

although i tend to care less about episodes that center upon aliens, i found myself intrigued by this episode and constantly wondering what was going to happen next- which i would take to be the mark of a successful episode! when we can get some big plot gears moving AND insightful character analysis, i'm gonna be sat

there were a few moments in particular that made me lose my MIND. you will see what i mean.

but let's return to the me from a few hours ago, who did not know what was coming, and was writing live on the scene:

we’re BACK. after a pause of… however many days??? 4, maybe? too many. i will need the little recap they stick on the second half of the two parters this time. and just to be safe, i’ll go over my notes again, too.

okay, i’m refreshed. there was diving, there was pendrell, there was a guy named frish who i still don’t trust.

reading the episode description… mulder getting placed under arrest… fork spotted in kitchen. let us resume.

the recap reminds us that somebody stole a bunch of watches, mustache man was spray painting one of the bodies from the plane crash (?) and then he burst into the bar where frish and scully were hanging out. and you may recall, that Things Went Down.

but now we begin with the new events.

mulder in the lake…. damn, filming that had to be awful. he is being approached underwater!!! by two divers…. he seems to have narrowly escaped them

oh they are looking for HIM, it appears. at first, i thought they were alien divers coming for their lost comrade. not sure if the aliens understand solidarity like we do. each time one of 'em dies they seem to just... leave their body on earth.

here we see a sad man in a wetsuit (mulder) being caught by a jeep. despite racing a moving vehicle and therefore being destined to lose, he gives it his best go. only to be arrested!

how undignified, to be arrested in a dive suit…

(intro time)

hey- the intro was different again!! don’t think i didn’t notice…

(they must have a version that is a few seconds shorter that they bust out for the really jam-packed episodes, because by this point i am not surprised by it, but it still is jarring that the typical rhythm is broken up)

back to the bar with scully, pendrell, frish, and mustache man. 

it appears that pendrell was shot in the chest, which is not promising. scully tells him she will be right back as she makes a break for the mustache man.

but where did he GO?!?!? how did he get away!! he was dripping blood!!!

(is HE an alien???? we may never know)

the police roll up and scully flashes her badge to them as they arrive late and confused as per usual!! smh!!!

a guy from the EMT squad is telling people to let scully through the crowded bar, and i appreciate him for that. we need more people advocating for her. it is hard to be a genius and also small.

AWWWW pendrell no... oh sweet scully :( she’s trying to stop the bleeding and she keeps saying he’s going to be okay and “we still haven’t celebrated my birthday, pendrell, i’m not gonna let you off the hook like this” <- the way she was trying to comfort him and give him hope is going to make me cry

(i know he’s busy dying, but it also must be insane to watch the woman you have a crush on shoving towels into your gaping bullet hole wound while she is covered in your blood. might need to try that sometime if the chance ever comes)

and he smiles because he’s down bad. but at least he smiles.

she says he has a puncture in his right lung. which sounds very bad. but she tells the EMT he’s FBI and will NOT die. i wonder if she believes that, and that is her Firm Doctor Opinion, or if she is just saying that because she knows he can hear

BUT NO!! scully!!! her nose is bleeding :(((( she looks very scared...

(are her nosebleeds stress induced? is that even possible? i mean, all things considered, it's not the wildest plot point to take place on this show)

despite being scared, she goes back to frish, who is still waiting at the table, and gets down to business. if he didn’t tell his girlfriend he was in DC, that means there’s someone inside, she says. wiping the blood off of her face and saying that like she didn’t just have to shoot someone and save her coworker. damn. she is very good at pretending to be made of steel.

they’re taking pendrell away and skinner arrived. skinner!!!

she is still covered in blood and she is asking him why wasn’t there someone to escort frish!!! that order was cancelled because frish is being put under military arrest for suspicion of murder and false testimony in a federal investigation! ohhhh!

(tbh, i don’t know what the difference between regular and military arrest is except for that maybe military arrest means you were in the military. that’s my best guess. follow for more educated guesses ❤️)

anyway, scully is gagged by this!!! and rightfully so. now, i still don’t trust frish, but it does seem like someone is trying to censor him because he can attest to the government’s crimes. hmm….

and skinner says that this comes from high up in the government, who also put mulder under military arrest!!

(well, there goes my theory on what "military arrest" means!)

scully is very pissed as she explains that the military SHOT THAT PLANE DOWN. and skinner says they admitted as much!!!! omg why????

they’re having this sort of face off, until skinner notices the bloody tissue in her hand, and asks if she is alright

(STOP. STOP I’LL CRY??? god, whenever skinner interacts with them tenderly.... i will fall to my KNEES with emotion when they care about each other)

oh my GODDDDD. wait you have to hear about this next part.

(grabbing her hand and looking at the bloody tissue, then into her eyes) “i have a responsibility for the safety of the agents under my supervision, agent scully. i’m not going to put another agent’s life in jeopardy just to keep her out in the field” 

WAHHHHHHH... HE CARES ABOUT HER AND SHE IS TRYING TO KEEP WORKING AND NOT THINK ABOUT HER SICKNESS, BECAUSE TO THINK ABOUT IT WOULD MAKE IT REAL... BUT SHE NEEDS TO TAKE CARE OF HERSELF, AND HOW DO YOU MAKE SOMEONE TAKE CARE OF THEMSELVES WHEN THEY FEEL HARDWIRED TO TAKE CARE OF OTHERS??? AND WHEN THEY HAVE WORKED SO HARD TO BUILD THIS FACADE OF BEING OKAY AT ALL TIMES?

the doctor needing the caring is always going to get me. a thankless task it is, to tend to the dead and dying, and how much more awful it must feel to her knowing the limitations of medicine

she has tears in her eyes and assures him she’s okay, but skinner has banished her to the hospital with pendrell. "thank you skinner", we all say in unison.

stop. stop. skinner :( he loves them both…. and she needs to rest :(

cutscene NOT TO HER IN THE HOSPITAL but to her at an air force reserve installation finding mulder 

GIRL HE CAN BE OKAY!!!! YOU NEED TO GO TO A DOCTOR PLEASE!!! 🙏 HE GOT HIMSELF INTO THIS MESS LET HIM GET HIMSELF OUT WHILE YOU GO TAKE A NAP

“mulder.” “hi, scully. you come to spring me from the joint?” <- he’s such a fucking loser (said with love)

is that all it takes to get someone out of military arrest? the bestie rolling up? damn. i thought it would be a lot harder than that.

so the military confessed to being responsible for the crash. that's surprising.

and oh my god, he’s getting undressed. just right then and there with her right in front of him. you see, at first i thought he was just unbuttoning his weird military arrest shirt, because maybe he was hot, but then scully turned around like they have done this a million times before (and they probably have) as he unzipped his pants. i’m taken aback by the intimacy of such an act. 

doing all of this while arguing, btw. deeply impressive.

they are so married. it's not even funny. not even just married. some weird soul tying thing is going on there.

the military is claiming that there were faulty coordinates given to the flight that had max on it. and they were the only two planes on the screen. 

and i appreciate them spelling this cover story out for us very clearly, because i was playing mental ping-pong trying to keep track of the amount of crash sites and planes last episode.

this cover story lays the blame on the man who was working with frish, who allegedly ended his own life- convenient to lay the blame on a dead man- and it also posits that frish lied to save himself, and came to the FBI to blame the military. 

hmm. it’s a cover story, alright. not even sure if it’s a good one, but it sure is a cover story.

the military is claiming the second plane that crashed into flight 459 was military, but then mulder reveals he has burns on his head that scully quickly realizes are from radiation!! he got them while he was underwater looking for the mystery craft!! this does NOT seem like a feature that the US military would want to have in their planes.

ooookay, so he says it was a UFO (well, we did see a little alien in there, may he rest in peace) that collided with flight 549- and when the military shot the UFO down, the passenger plane went with it.

see, this makes sense to me now. thank you for making it incredibly clear!!

plane man gets a name reveal!!! his name is mike millar. scully points out that he says there was no evidence of a collision, and while he could be lying, he seems to be the only one that really wants to know what actually went down. 

plane guy. i have called you this for a whole episode. and now, you have become plane guy mike. it would have been nice to know that last time, but we cannot change the past, a fact i struggle with daily.

and mike went to scully to tell her about finding sharon wandering about the crash site!! he didn't have to do that. so it adds more evidence to the "he seems to genuinely want to know what happened" camp

mulder asks, he found sharon, max’s sister? but PLOT TWIST: she’s NOT his sister??

maybe it’s a “blood siblings” sort of thing??? swearing loyalty? found family? because lying about being someone's sibling feels odd. there has to be some sort of story there.

well, whatever their dynamic may have been, here is what we know about sharon: she is an unemployed aeronautical engineer who has spent time in and out of mental institutions. WHERE SHE MET MAX!!!

omg….. the truth raises only more questions…

NO!!! scully tells mulder that pendrell is dead. oh my god. she did the best to make him smile right before he died…

scully, you are the best friend in all the world. i have said this many times before, but it still bears repeating.

mulder is shocked and grabs her shoulder, asking how pendrell died. she explains he was shot by mustache man, who was aiming for frish

“mulder, what are these people dying for? is it for the truth or for the lies?” <- i love her Need to be righteous and stand for the truth, even though she lives in a terrible and corrupt world, and how it drives her, how it vexes her to live in such a lawless place, but how her own moral compass keeps her oriented

he says it has to be the truth they’re dying for, and they owe it to those who died to find it out. damn. if that isn’t his whole life in a sentence.

they go to max’s trailer, where i recall mulder tenderly holding him through a seizure a few seasons back.

(i didn't even pick up on the fact that we had seen max before last episode. my b.)

scully hates his trailer LMAO “i remember being amazed at what some people will call a home” <- ohhh she wants a nice, comfy place to live... write that down, write that down

she presses a button and some music starts playing and then says “i think you were actually kindred spirits in some deep, strange way” “what do you mean?” “men with spartan lives, simple in their creature comforts, if only to allow for the complexity of their passions” <- OHHH you better analyze him!!! read him like a BOOK!!!

mulder wants to find whatever it is max wanted to tell him so badly, badly enough to get on the plane even though he knew it was dangerous. this seems like a reasonable thing to be searching for in such conditions.

they find a tape of max recounting his life story, how no one believes you when you’re an alien abductee, and how he wants to expose the people who have recovered the UFOs in the military and the FBI. and they’re using the alien tech in military operations!!! which is crazy.

we see the military taking pieces of the craft from the lake AND AN ALIEN BODY!! MANY ALIEN BODIES!!!!!!

and guys passed out and throwing up from all the radiation!!!

(musical flourish) IT’S GONNA BE CSM, RIGHT? 

NO!!!! it was mustache man!!!! maybe they went to high school together.

mustache man is just straight up watching this dude die but announces “we found it” as if that answers any and all questions

plane guy mike is working to identify the bodies from the crash of the flight, and announces they really cannot find any other evidence to figure out what happened. he asks his team to please wrap up tonight and then go home. 

plane guy seems nice… i know his ass is gonna die.

(author's note: rejoice!!! he might have made it!!!!!)

mulder and scully are here to talk to him!!!!!!! actually, plane guy mike called THEM!! he wanted to say thank you for the lead that it was the military’s fault. but he has no other ideas on what could have gone down.

WELL! mulder is going to tell him his story.

mulder thinks that max was followed by someone who wanted whatever he had on him. and what was the object? proof of the existence of aliens!!

(now what type of object could that be....?)

(plane guy mike glances back at scully) (she looks at him and raises her eyebrows as if to say “yeah, i know”)

then, mulder thinks that the flight was taken over by a craft that never appeared on any of the radars (because it was a UFO and clearly they don’t show up on radars)

((wait, they definitely have before in the past… well. i guess they didn’t this time. i'm sure there are plenty of different alien species with varying technological skillsets))

if all had gone to plan, the UFO would have taken Max right from the flight.... but the third plane shot the UFO down, and since the UFO had control of flight 459, it went down along with the UFO!

we then see max getting taken out by the aliens…… while time stands still and everyone on the flight watches. it is very creepy. 

he thinks that had the military plane not shot the UFO down, everyone on flight 459 would have had their memories wiped and no one would have known that max was ever abducted!

but the missile hit, and (plane crash scenes) (incredibly horrifying plane crash scenes) (people just keep falling and falling and someone is saying a prayer)

(quite upsetting to watch this, actually)

but back to the modern day. awaiting a plane guy mike reaction to such an outrageous tale.

plane guy says that even if it WAS true, they can’t prove it. damn. just can't get a read on this fellow.

scully says that while she had the same reaction, there is something that needs to be explained: the seats and the door showed traces of radioactivity!!!!!

woaaaaah… plane guy, you didn't find anything radioactive in the crash, did you?

surprise! he did find something from the wreckage that had some radioactivity… and he pulls it out… it’s max’s bag!!! it has his hat in it!!!! but seemingly nothing else beyond the hat.

plane guy says he has to write his final report, and that basically mulder is crazy, and goodnight.

ohhhh, said about the deaths of pendrell and max: “and if we don’t find out, what meaning do their deaths have, or their lives?”

sighs. the pressure these two put upon themselves to right every single wrong in the entire world. they mean well, but they cannot fix everything, and this will only disappoint them.

mulder proposes starting their renewed quest for answers with sharon, who is in a mental institution. he says he’d go with scully to find her, but he’s afraid they would lock him up, and she jokes “me too”. and i’m thinking, girlie needs to get to the hospital!!! now!!! mulder, YOU go!!!

(i think we were supposed to understand that scully DID, in fact, go to the hospital with pendrell, where she got checked out and learned of his death- we just didn't see it onscreen. however, as i was watching, i wasn't really processing what they were trying to say and was instead in "someone help scully" mode, which explains a lot of my thinking at almost all times)

but no, rather than going to the mental hospital to ask sharon some questions and letting scully rest, he instead goes back to max’s trailer, where he finds things all torn apart and scattered. someone must have broken in!!!! omg these bastards!!!

the trailer park manager asks what he’s doing here and mulder has to break the news that max is dead…. and the manager is deeply sad, but also (very practically) asks what he should do with his mail. 

WOAH!!! in the back of the video where max was talking about himself, you can see sharon!!! it looks like she was the one filming!!

mulder has max's mail…. and he is opening it. can you open a dead guy’s mail? maybe if you’re in the FBI?? it has this sort of badge thing with numbers on it.

(this was later revealed to be a luggage tag, or perhaps the writers and prop team expected people to immediately recognize its purpose. but i didn't. and you know i require honesty when recounting these things)

scully is here to visit sharon, who is sitting up on her bed in the night. a little spooky of her. and she immediately confesses to not being max’s sister. 

scully sees she is covered in blisters like max was!! so they were exposed to something… something sharon stole….

she stole something radioactive from her job!!! but what was it??? and how do you even DO that??

allegedly, it was alien tech. that was divided into three parts. but where is the third one???

that piece with the numbers on it was a luggage ticket!!! so mulder is taking it to find the bag, and presumably the radioactive part within.

but who arrives after him, but some people in suits!!! watching him take max's bag! and beginning to chase after mulder!

he uses the federal agent card to get out of there, which i fully support, and scully calls to tell him that this mystery thing was stolen from a military contractor. and i’m thinking, TELL HIM NOT TO OPEN IT, PLEASE

and she’s trying to tell him this, but the cell signal is breaking up!!!! PLEASE DO NOT OPEN IT BRO. it looks like he is about to, but he sees it a little through an x ray instead. PHEW!

scully says this must be high tech industrial espionage… which would be fascinating. but i don't think that is what is going on here.

and mulder’s getting on the plane with the mystery object!! BE CAREFUL- THEY’LL GET YOU!!

NOOOOO, MUSTACHE MAN IS ON THE PLANE!!!

did he regenerate the parts of him that were shot or something???!!!

mulder is sleeping on the plane…. mustache man comes to sit next to him…. and he sees that he has a gunshot wound on his leg… ah, so no regeneration

mulder clocks his nonsense very quickly, and says he has a weapon pointed at him!!

“what if you miss?” “i won’t” <- LMAOOO king has been practicing in the range!!!

but mustache man says he’ll depressurize the plane at 30,000 feet and jump away on a parachute. rude as hell. 

mulder guesses that it is perhaps alien energy in the bag he carries that so many people had to die for… and he tells mustache man to get to the back of the plane, NOW, so he can be exiled to the bathroom 

he calls scully from the plane (you can do that???) and tells her that he has the man who shot pendrell locked up!! and can she please give skinner a head’s up to get to the airport? thank you

“hey scully?” my watch just stopped” (he drops the phone and runs) “mulder? mulder?!” <- oh the DESPERATION in her voice…

he is always dropping calls and running, leaving her to yell with worry on the phone. we need to train him to stop doing this. in fact, the one time he did not do this was when he was on the phone with scully's mother, and it was remarkable for how much effort it probably took

mulder tells the flight attendant that the flight is about to be boarded, but mustache man comes out with his gun!!! saying to put the bag down NOW!! all the passengers are shocked to see this happening.

so he does set the bag down… and then the plane is rumbling… and the lights….. the UFO!!!! everyone is screaming!!!! 

mulder pulls a gun on mustache man as the door starts to get blown off, just like he thought it happened to max. and then everything is very very quiet…..

scully and skinner are RUNNING to the plane as the people disembark. 

and mustache man isn’t there anymore!! and his watch is off!!!! omggggg!!!

the alirans got him!!!

he seemed like a dick so no real loss on that end. but i'm sad mulder cannot use that mystery part to prove they exist.

although, it seems that claiming "it's just super advanced tech from (insert country that is not the USA here)" would be the government's first move. not sure how much the actual object would have helped if they had that trusty excuse hanging in their back pockets.

“would you like to tell me what’s going on here, agent mulder?”, asks skinner (scully intercepts) “i don’t think you want to know the answer” 

skinner looks very very confused. my poor guy.

back to the video of max, where he is talking about the secrets the government is keeping. sharon is watching it. WITH SCULLY AND MULDER!!! my besties :)

she asks if she can keep the tapes and he says yes, she should start a collection of all of max's things

when sharon mentions that scully also lost someone very close to her, she has to leave the trailer…. and mulder follows behind in his white sneakers

“you thinking about pendrell?” “i realized i didn’t even know his first name” <- OUCH. queen please do not feel guilt over this, because that is just how having coworkers is.

but she was really thinking about HER BIRTHDAY GIFT FROM MULDER??? OMG?? she’s looking at it and smiling

wait, this next monologue NEEDS to be copied down….

“you never got to tell me why you gave it to me, or what it means, but i think i know. i think that you appreciate that there are extraordinary men and women and extraordinary moments when history leaps forward on the backs of these individuals… that what can be imagined can be achieved… that you must dare to dream… but that there’s no substitute for perseverance and hard work and teamwork… because no one gets there alone. and that while we commemorate the greatness of these events and the individuals who achieve them, we cannot forget the sacrifice of those who make these achievements and leaps possible”

“i just thought it was a pretty cool keychain”

(soft music as the camera turns to the stars and fades to black)

WAAHHHHH

oh scully, i mumble for the hundredth time... she makes my heart hurt. she has so much good in her and yet nothing good happens TO her.

i love that she is so analytical and finds meaning in everything, even the little keychain <3 and i love that she is both dedicated to science and an idealist, and neither of those things are mutually exclusive even if you might imagine that the hard realities of the world do not mesh with optimism and faith.

and i don't fully believe that mulder just thought the keychain was cool... he knew what he was doing there. at least a little bit. now i will imagine it dangling from her keys for decades, jingling each time she unlocks her door, a little piece of their connection made physical.

so, what am i thinking about the episode?

well, we didn't get any closure on plane guy or frish, and i know better than to think we will get some in any future episodes. so that feels a little unfinished.

in terms of plot development, we are introduced to this mustache man and an object that could prove the existence of aliens, but both of those get wiped away, and we leave off sort of where we began. that left mustache man feeling underused, or sort of like a waste of narrative focus. unless he comes back?

still, while i might have qualms with the plot not being entirely wrapped up, i enjoyed this episode! the moment with skinner absolutely got to me, as did scully's kindness towards pendrell and her analysis of mulder's gift. the moment where he just started changing clothes and they had that unspoken understanding also killed me.

i was also glad that this episode explained things a bit more than the last one did. i was confused with the constant switches between theory and fact, that while i'm sure some viewers were annoyed with how they spelled it out so clearly, i was pleased.

i love the tales of mulder and scully's spooky job. it was a good episode!

[goddesspharo]

top five fic titles you haven't used yet; top five worst adaptations or reboots

ask me my top fives!

top five unused fic titles:

click the pieces into sharp arrangements

what would an angel say? (the devil wants to know)

memories are films about ghosts

searching through thrift store jungles

your stories ring of perjury

top five worst adaptations/reboots(/remakes):

Going with the first few things that pop into my head.

 I think most reboots/remakes of horror movies from the 80s are bad and unnecessary. Sometimes it’s because the original isn’t great - Prom Night (1980) is not my jam; Prom Night (2008) is somehow worse! Sometimes it’s because the original is good enough that it doesn’t need a remake, especially one so subpar - Brian De Palma’s Carrie (1976) vs Carrie (2013); Black Christmas (1974) is great so what the hell happened with Black Christmas (2006, 2019)? And sometimes it’s because certain movies really work for that decade and either don’t translate to a modern day setting or there’s nothing that putting it in a modern day setting will add to the story - John Carpenter’s original Halloween (1978) works because it’s so atmospheric and he knew how to light a movie so you could actually SEE what was happening; Rob Zombie’s Halloween (2007) is so terrible in so many ways, but mostly because I don’t need or care about Michael Myers’ tragic backstory; David Gordon Green’s Halloween (2018) reboot/remake trilogy thing said nothing new but annoyed me plenty AND killed off Judy Greer AND I couldn’t see shit so what was the point? Horror remakes: just don’t do them. 

Almost every time they take an animated Disney movie and turn it into an uninspired live action and/or photorealistic live action movie, I’m not into it. It’s never as vibrant, it’s never as fun, sometimes they miscast SO badly (sorry Emma Watson) - use your Disney+ subscription to watch 2D animation like the universe intended. The Lion King animated movie is gorgeous; The Lion King photorealistic movie looks like mud.

I’m not saying that the original Gossip Girl on the CW was a work of art (I’m not saying the first season was not a work of art either though), but it wasn’t as boring as the HBOMax reboot. Truly, no one was likable on that show and they made Luke Kirby a creep! No one asked for this!

Long before we had Marvel/superhero fatigue, 20th Century Fox made the first X-men movie with the positively inspired casting choices of Hugh Jackman, Patrick Stewart, and Ian McKellan and I loved it! Even X2 was fun. (X3 went off the rails and was bad.) Ten years later and a solo Wolverine movie in between, they decided to soft reboot the franchise with those First Class movies and you know what? They shouldn’t have. Except for one or two moments here and there, those movies are all pretty awful. I’m not sure how you can mess up the Days of Future Past storyline that badly or cast Oscar Isaac only to make him a member of the blue man group, but they should all be ashamed. I still maintain that the most worthwhile X-Men adaptation in media is the animated series from the 90s.

I don’t know if this qualifies as a soft reboot but when Fox brought The X-Files back in 2016, it was a lesson in “be careful what you wish for because it’s going to suck.” Except I didn’t wish for this because I watched the second movie and it sucked so I was completely fine with never getting more new episodes again. What we got was Scully whispering a lot, some half-assed search for William that I was not invested in (they spent nine seasons denying Mulder and Scully had boned even after she had his damn kid!), and monsters of the week episodes that were so uninspired that I didn’t even watch the second season of the reboot (maybe didn’t finish the first season of the reboot?). And now there’s talk of a Jordan Peele remake of the show to which I say - find something else. The (OG) X-Files worked because it was the perfect place in the perfect time with the perfect people and you’re never going to trap that lightning in a bottle twice so why try?

[baronessblixen]

Masterlist Fictober 2021

1. "What did I say?" What if Scully had come back to Mulder's hospital room at the end of "Triangle"?

2. Whispered Words How sick does Scully have to get before she will admit she is sick? (Cancer arc)

3. A Day As Sweet As Pie Mulder, Scully and William make a pumpkin pie

4. All The Possibilities Scully says something that hurts Mulder.

5. The Right Choices Mulder is just waiting for Scully to get back to his apartment. Some musing and some cuddling ensue.

6. Feeling (Un)Lucky Mulder has a little accident while helping Scully with her new mattress.

7. Tomorrow Isn't Promised After what happened in the hospital in MS3, Mulder takes Scully home with him.

8. Mornings and You Mulder and Scully wake up after having to share a bed.

9. Not Everything Is Lost What if Mulder didn't return Scully's cross while she was still in the hospital and kept it a while longer?

10. You Owe Me One Mulder owes Scully a massage after stealing the Magic Fingers from her in Chaney, Texas.

11. Somebody Knows You Now "People who are fine don't act like this."

12. Lucky Kisses Mulder is convinced good luck kisses are a thing and that they work.

13. Sleepy Words and Promises It's Mulder's birthday and he only has one (sleepy) wish.

14. On A High Note The morning after their New Year's kiss and Mulder's in the shower... singing?

15. Let's Never Do This Again It's been a long, long week and Scully and Mulder decide to get drunk.

16. What I Wish For You Mulder does something for Samantha's birthday every year. This time he invites Scully to come along.

17. Always Safe in Each Other's Arms Scully ends up having bad dreams after she and Mulder watch horror movies together.

18. Taking Care of Each Other Mulder's hands are full when Scully, Jackson, and the baby get sick with the norovirus.

19. Catch You If You Fall After Scully gets violently sick in "Requiem", Mulder calls a doctor to have her checked out.

20. When We Know What happens when Skinner witnesses a private moment between Mulder and Scully?

21. These Shoes Were (Not) Made For Walking Scully is wearing the wrong kind of shoes but Mulder has a solution.

22. Big Spoons and Little Spoons Bad weather forces Mulder and Scully to share a bed. Spooning ensues.

23. Be Sweet (AO3 Link) Mulder follows Scully to a bar, trying to find the words to explain what she saw happen between him and Diana Fowley.

24. All You Have To Do Is Breathe Scully has a moment of anxiety but Mulder is there to help her through it.

25. Every Morning, Every Night Three weeks and 9 hours. That’s all he could bear without Scully and their son.

26. Third Time's the Charm The morning after the high school reunion in Kroner, Mulder and Scully still can't leave Kansas.

27. Never Cold in Your Arms Set after "FTF": Still in the hospital, Scully gets cold and sneaks into Mulder's hospital room.

28. Father And Son Follow up to "Every Morning, Every Night" (Fictober Day 25)

29. May All Your Dreams Be Happy They're on their way home and Scully falls asleep against Mulder's shoulder.

30. Can't Hurry Love Companion story to "On a High Note" (Fictober Day 14).

31. Coffee With Mulder Diana didn't die and while she's recovering, Mulder spends more and more time with her. Much to the chagrin of Scully who wonders if it's maybe time to move on.

[slippinmickeys]

A Sequel: Amazon Archeologist/Scientist AU, Part 2:

You can read on AO3 here.

1. “How does it feel to have cured cancer?” asked Kathy Lee. Scully couldn’t take her eyes off the rim of the host’s wine glass; it was smeared with lipstick, and the wine contained therein had legs, running down the bell curve of the glass in thin amber stripes.

It was oddly, surreally quiet on the unnaturally blazing stage -- multiple cameras pointing at them, a team of professionals sitting in dead silence in the dark spread out below.

“I only wish I’d done it sooner,” Scully said, going off script a bit. “I think of the people that died while we were still searching, still researching, while the studies were being checked and… I just wish I’d found it sooner.”

The host’s face softened, and she reached forward and put her hand over Scully’s on the arm of the chair where it was resting. She gave it a squeeze and Hoda took over, “Up next, the group BTS is going to sing us their latest single!”

There was a dull bell that rang off to Scully’s right and the stage manager stepped forward, headphones clomped over his ears, his mic slung low around his jaw.

“We’re clear!” he called, “Sixty seconds!”

The show would be cutting to a co-host standing at a stage set-up outside 30 Rockefeller Center. Scully reached up to unhook the mic attached to her lapel, and a trio of sound technicians descended on her. In ten seconds, she was relieved of all equipment, and she was left swaying in the funnel of the Fresnels on the too bright stage.

“You did great,” she heard from her left, and the show’s host winked at her, and retook her hand, leading her to the dim cool just off stage.

She found Mulder standing before her once her eyes adjusted, just outside the reach of the stage lights, looking nervous and out of place, his hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing a turtleneck and a suit coat, looking every inch the tenured professor.

“And who’s this?” Kathie Lee asked, looking at Mulder brightly.

Scully shook herself, trying to remember her manners. It wasn’t always easy, having spent so much time in the field.

“Uh, this is Mulder,” she said, “Dr. Fox Mulder. My, um… my fiancé.”

The television host smiled warmly at Mulder and clasped his hand.

“I’ve heard the story of your meeting,” Kathie Lee said, “It’s a real pleasure.”

“I’m a big Giants fan,” Mulder said, giving her hand a firm shake, “the pleasure’s all mine.”

The host winked at him and then stalked off, and Scully exhaled, falling a little into Mulder’s side.

“I’m glad that’s over,” she said.

“The price you pay for changing the course of human history,” Mulder mumbled, squeezing her into his side and kissing her hairline. He led her off the soundstage and into a waiting limo.

2. It had been a whirlwind since the Nobel Prize Award ceremony in Stockholm. It was cold in Sweden in December — especially to a person who’d spent years in the humid jungles off the beaten paths of the world, and she and Mulder both felt out of place and perpetually in the clasp of a bone-clutching chill.

“I just want to be back in the field,” she’d whisper to him, and he would kiss her hand. With the prize money, they could buy a house, start a family — but they both would rather be in a jungle somewhere, sweating into the other’s skin on a too-narrow cot, in a too-hot clime. There was no science when they were in the cradle of the other’s hips, there was just each other. Sex made life more simple. Sex made life more fun. But sex didn’t cure cancer. Pleurotus Mulderatus did that, and the world wanted to hear about it.

3.She had a free ticket. Any university, any assignment.

“I feel pressure,” she told him, her nose pressed into his ear. “What do you do after you’ve cured cancer?” she asked, earnestly, “there’s nowhere to go but down.”

He’d taken her to Rhode Island, to his family’s cottage in Quonochontaug, creaky and drafty and smelling of mildew and old pine. No one had visited in decades and everything needed to be cleaned and aired out.

They kayaked and frolicked in the waves, drank coffee in adirondack chairs and listened to the pinched squawks of hovering sea birds. They’d find a place in the dune grass, down low where the wind wouldn’t catch them. They’d soak up the sun and then go into the cottage and make love between the knotty pine walls, their moans absorbed by the thick shag carpet laced with the grit of sand, faded drunkards path quilts nailed to the walls.

“Down is a state of mind,” Mulder would murmur into her ear, “Up is fighting gravity. You have nowhere to be but here. You have no one to impress but me.”

He would catch her lips with his own and they would sink into each other gratefully.

4.Mulder was burning pancakes in the kitchen when there was a dull knock on the screen door.

Scully was laughing at Mulder’s culinary ineptitudes when she turned toward the sound, her laugh fading when a well-done-up woman appeared on the stoop, holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare, trying to see into the murky depths of the house.

“Are you press?” Scully asked through the screen door glumly, her mood taking a nose dive.

“I’m Samantha,” the woman said, and it took Scully a full five seconds for her synapses to fire, to figure out the identity of the visitor.

“Oh my god,” Scully said, swinging the door open to admit the polished woman waiting on the other side. The door itself was swollen with humidity and didn’t shut all the way -- it caught like there was a second latch. “Come in, come in!”

Samantha had a full head of thick hair just like her brother, but it was curled and tawny, streaks of not-quite-blonde highlights running from the roots. She was wearing Lily Pulitzer pastels, and would have looked at home in a sun hat or on the pages of Coastal Living.

“You must be Dana,” she breathed, smiling widely. Scully nodded and looked around self-consciously. “God, this place hasn’t changed in thirty years,” Samantha finished, shaking her head ruefully. “Where’s Fox?”

“Kitchen,” Scully said, inclining her head toward the cooking space, though she knew Samantha knew right where to go.

“You’re using the cast iron?” Samantha said boldly and apropos of nothing, stepping into the sunny kitchen, “God, I hope you seasoned that thing.”

Mulder’s face brightened at seeing his sister, and he turned to her fully, enveloping her in a hug, a greasy spatula in one hand, held out so as not to soil her clothes.

“Like you can cook,” he drawled, turning back to the smoking pan.

“I know enough to hire a caterer,” she said, plunking down in an olive green vinyl kitchen chair, looking at ease but totally out of place in the dated decor of the cottage. “So. Who do I have to fuck to get a mimosa around here?”

“Me,” said a voice from the entryway. The screen door slammed ineffectually shut and Scully’s own sister Melissa stood awkwardly in the slant of sun showing through it, holding several plastic bags laden with glass bottles and juices, a hopeful, nervous smile on her face.

“Missy?!” Scully squeaked, and Mulder looked to the door, his face chagrined and pleased as Scully launched herself at her sister, wrapping herself in the earthy patchouli smell of the woman, the plastic bags clunking to the floor at their feet.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“I got ordained online,” Melissa said, drinking a Bellini from a yellow smiley-face mug, her feet tucked under her on a rough-hewn dining chair. “It’s perfectly legal.”

“But it’s--” Scully started, then abandoned her argument. She looked to Mulder desperately, who smiled and plunked a cup of hot coffee in front of her.

“It was only an idea,” he said, squeezing her hand and sliding an ancient sugar dish in front of her. The crinkles around his eyes had hardened in the ocean-reflected sun, lending him an air of easy humor she hadn’t witnessed much of in the jungle.

“Don’t you need two witnesses?” she asked, realizing how lame it sounded the second the words were out of her mouth.

Samantha leaned over and grabbed her hand, squeezing her fingers in such a way that made her feel bolstered and secure. “Not in Rhode Island,” Mulder’s sister told her, looking her square in the eye.

“We don’t have to do it,” Mulder said, still standing at her side, “but I thought…”

She felt overwhelmed with emotion, thinking of her father, who hadn’t lived long enough to witness her greatest achievement, which would have saved his life.

“Mom sent her wedding dress,” Melissa said, holding up a garment bag -- it was a yellowed ivory in the kitchen sun, the zipper up its middle aged and brittle.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They exchanged vows on the beach in front of the old cottage in a whipping Atlantic wind. Gulls hovered overhead and the sun was as bright as a brass doorknob, the air clearer than glass.

Samantha had read a poem by an amateur poet named Tim Pratt called Scientific Romance (Mulder having confessed to her later that night that it only seemed right to have had a reading replete with scientific notation for a wedding between two people such as themselves). Melissa had read words as old as the institution of marriage itself and they exchanged simple rings and had eyes only for each other. Scully handed her bouquet -- a small posy of wild swamp azalea and yellow flag that Melissa had picked the hour before -- to her new sister in law as she strode up the peeling wooden steps of the house. Mulder had insisted upon carrying her over the threshold and Melissa and Samantha had stood back thoughtfully, and were now sitting closely on the beach, heads bent together, talking in hushed tones.

Scully didn’t know quite what to do with herself, dressed in old lace in the heavy salt air, her left ring finger feeling as heavy and pendulous as an old bell. Mulder wrapped his arms around her from behind and told her they never had to leave.

“Nobel Laureates live in Rhode Island, too, you know,” he whispered into the hair behind her ear.

“Mmm,” she said happily, watching her sister and his dig their feet in the gritty sand.

He kissed the skin where her shoulder met her neck. “Life can be as simple as the state motto.”

“Which is?” she asked.

“Hope.”

5. She stood above the riverbank, the grass a trampled, muddy squelch. A monkey called from overhead, a high primate shriek that echoed through the canopy. Its compatriots soon joined in, the welcoming committee announcing the rare arrival of a visitor.

He sat in the back of the approaching hollowed-out canoe, his knees practically to his neck, the lanky bones of him jutting out at all angles. He wore jeans and chambray, all wrong for the climate, but the blue set off the dark mink of his hair, and his eyes -- as green as the river upon which his boat perched -- caught hers from twenty yards away -- they held her gaze as the craft glided to shore, and he leapt off with the galumphing grace of a power forward.

“Dr. Scully I presume,” he said, finding his balance on the slippery shore and reaching a hand forward. She clasped it gratefully, then brought it to her belly, which was protruding out like a carved fertility statue, a life-sized goddess, gravid and full. “I thank God, doctor, that I have been permitted to see you,” he finished, and they embraced on the shores of the jungle river, perspiring and damp and finally, finally feeling at home.

[atths--twice]

Quiet, Soft

Needing a break from living life on the run in motel rooms, Mulder and Scully venture out to a different living environment.

A few weeks ago, I was driving home and decided to listen to a 90s playlist on Amazon and heard the song in this story. I was instantly back to nights of parties and having fun with friends. When being in my twenties was the best and life was easier. 

THEN, it made me think of MSR, out in the world enjoying places from my own memories.

Hope you enjoy. 

August 2003

The air around them was warm, stars filling the sky. There was word of a meteor shower happening later and they were sitting out waiting for it. Well, he was anyway. He was not sure Scully was even thinking about it anymore. Currently, she was swaying to the music echoing from across the river.

Two weeks ago they had been leaving a motel room, after an exceptionally long stay, and she had sighed as they put their bags into the car. Looking at her, she had shaken her head and sighed again.

"What is it?" he had asked.

"I don't know," she had answered. "I feel like we were here for too long or something. It’s a small town and thankfully people left us alone, but something feels… off. I know I wasn't always overly excited about our past trips to the forest, but I feel the time in the motel here has left me wishing for some fresh air." She shrugged and he nodded in understanding.

"Well, we do have the tent with us. We could head to the forest if that’s what you want." He had raised his eyebrows and smiled, knowing that was not exactly what she had been implying.

"I wouldn't go that far," she had said with a laugh, as they got into the car and shut the doors. "Something different would be nice, though I’ll never admit that I want to camp out in the woods." She had smiled at him and he nodded, his mind already thinking of what they could do.

After some discussion, they rented a cabin cruiser boat from a jovial, red cheeked man on a large river, despite Mulder’s tendency toward seasickness. They had stayed both on the boat and also camped out in their tent on little sandbars or grassy picnic areas with public bathrooms and showers.

About halfway down the river, there was a small dock. A path led up to a small convenience store where Scully stocked up on supplies, bringing them back to the boat with a happy smile.

Food and other necessities procured, they had driven around the river, the wind blowing through their hair as Scully laughed happily, her arm around his waist. Other times they had floated lazily, the boat rocking as Scully lay on the bow of the boat on a towel in a bikini, the sun warming her skin, as he had walked over to join her on silent bare feet with a bottle of sunscreen in his hand.

They made love in the early morning, the sun just beginning to brighten the sky, or late at night, the stars above them twinkling down through the mesh of the tent.

They went skinny dipping, day or night, shivering in the chilly water, laughing as they dunked under and swam around.

Simple meals had been cooked over a campfire or in the small kitchen of the boat, touching and smiling as they worked together.

Sitting on the boat at night, with her between his legs and leaning back against his chest, as her fingers ran gently up and down his thighs, they had listened to others who were camping around the river, music and laughter sounding in the still air.

Needless to say, she had the fresh air she had been seeking.

Tonight, there were people on the other side of the river having a party around a large fire, their music playing loudly. If they had not been there, Mulder was certain that he and Scully could have been the last two people on earth, and that would have been just fine with him.

"Mmm…” Scully hummed as she swayed, her eyes closed, a happy smile on her face, and he smiled as he watched her.

They were drinking tonight, not something they usually did, but when she had suggested margaritas by the fire, he’d had no argument. Margaritas had then turned into drinking tequila straight from the bottle, her cheeks becoming more flushed with every sip. But she was happy and he loved seeing her that way.

"Mulder, come dance with me," she sighed and he poked at the fire before getting up and coming to stand beside her. She smiled at him, her eyes half closed and head tilting back. He took the bottle of tequila from her and capped it, tossing it onto the sand.

Smiling at her, he reached out and grabbed handfuls of the new sun dress she had bought before they came onto the boat, and pulled her close. It was an interesting dress that simply wrapped around her and tied in specific spots. A wrap dress, she had called it.

“Or an unwrapped one,” he had said, tugging at the tie and kissing her neck, her laughter in his ear as his hand had slid into the dress. Finding her wearing nothing underneath, his kiss had become a nip as he growled and she shivered.

It had quickly become one of his favorite clothing items she owned.

“Hmm,” she hummed, leaning heavily against him, and he smiled.

They were not exactly dancing, but standing in the sand holding one another. She smelled of tequila, sunscreen, and sunshine; having spent the day swimming and lying lazily in the sun.

"So have you had all the fresh air you were craving?" he asked and she hummed again in response. He chuckled and ran his fingers through her hair as a yell went up across the take and he glanced in that direction.

"What do you suppose they’re doing over there? Excited for the meaty shower?"

"Do you mean meteor shower?" he asked with a soft laugh and he felt her shrug. “Are you excited, tequila drinker?"

"I've seen many me-teor showers, Mulder,” she slurred, her hands locking around his waist, her thumbs stroking his back. "But, I know you like them, so..."

"Yes, how odd of me to enjoy something as romantic as gazing up at the stars,” he said dryly as he rolled his eyes and she laughed. Tipping her head back, she looked at him through heavy lidded eyes.

"I like that you're a romantic person," she said softly. "Have I ever told you that before, Mulder?" He smiled, stroking her cheek, and brushing her hair back.

"I don't know if you've ever said as such, but l know you do."

"Good, because I really do. I always have you know." Her eyes closed and he smiled, stroking her cheek again.

"What was it that you liked most about my romantic side, Miss Scully?" he asked teasingly, but knowing her answer would be more forthcoming, the alcohol in her bloodstream loosening her tongue.

"Most? Hmm...” She licked her lips and ran her teeth slowly across the bottom one. He swallowed as he watched her, wanting to taste her lips. She smiled and opened her eyes, the moonlight shining in them. "You’re a quiet romantic, Mulder. I think that's what I’ve always liked most. It's not something… overstated or really known unless someone was paying attention."

"And you were of course.”

"Damn straight I was," she replied, her nails pressing into his back. “I always pay attention.” She stumbled slightly and he chuckled as he held her tighter.

“Mmhmm,” he murmured and she stared at him, her eyes having a hard time focusing.

“Do you… doubt me?” she slurred again and he shook his head.

“I would never,” he whispered with a shake of his head, a smile on his lips.

Strumming my pain with his fingers

“Oh… Mulder…” she said, her eyes widening as she pulled away from him unsteadily, before she closed them and began to sway and hum, the people across the way cheering and singing along loudly to the song now playing.

Singing my life with his words Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly with his song Telling my whole life with his words Killing me softly with his song

“I really like this song. Hmm…” She raised her arms over her head as she danced, and he grinned as he watched her, the people still cheering and chanting hey, hey, hey as the song began past the chorus, Scully humming and singing along.

I heard he sang a good song I heard he had a style And so I came to see him and listen for a while And there he was, this young boy, a stranger to my eyes

Loud singing continued, Scully joining in a quieter tone, and he shook his head, closing his eyes as he smiled, listening and swaying slightly.

Strumming my pain with his fingers (one time, one time) Singing my life with his words (two times, two times) Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly with his song Telling my whole life with his words Killing me softly with his song

Her hands on his chest caused his eyes to fly open. Staring down into her eyes, she sang quietly, the words slightly slurred, her body pressed close to his own, his hands falling to her hips.

I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd I felt he'd found my letters and read each one out loud I prayed that he would finish, but he just kept right on

Strumming my pain with his fingers (one time, one time) Singing my life with his words (two times, two times) Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly with his song Telling my whole life with his words Killing me softly with his song

From across the river, the singing grew louder, men and women joining in and Scully stepped away from him, her eyes closed and arms over her head again, singing along loudly in their direction.

Woah Woah-oah-ah-ah-ah uh, uh La-la-la, la, la, la Woah, la Woah, la La-ah-ah-ah-ah

It seemed everyone was now singing and he smiled as he nodded along, not knowing all the words, but enjoying the beat, and the sway of Scully’s hips.

Strumming my pain with his fingers (yes, he was singing my life) Singing my life with his words Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly with his song Telling my whole life with his words Killing me softly with his song

She hummed as the words died down and the people laughed and the occasional chorus continued to ring out before the next song began to play.

“Strumming my pain with his fingers,” she sang softly as she turned around and stepped over to him. He pulled her close as she stumbled slightly, her feet touching his in the sand and her arms wrapping loosely around him. “Killing me softly with his song… hmm.”

He smiled as they stood, only slightly moving, the warm air blowing. Moving his head down, he kissed just below her ear as he breathed in deeply. Better than any alcohol he would ever drink, her scent intoxicated him, leaving him with a hangover from which he never wanted to recover.  

“I think I should sit down,” she whispered and he laughed, kissing her neck again as she leaned further into him.

Walking to the large quilt spread out before the fire, he helped her down and then sat beside her as she laid on her back.

“The earth is spinning,” she mumbled.

“Every second of every day,” he retorted as he looked at her, a slight smile on her lips as she closed her eyes.

“Even more so right now, for me anyway. I don’t know if I’ll make it for the meteor shower.”

“That’s okay.”

“Is it?” she asked, reaching for his hand, her eyes opening with only a slight struggle. Appearing sober for a moment, he saw sadness within them and he wanted her to remain happy, the thoughts that haunted her lingering and causing pain.

“Of course I’m sure,” he said with a smile, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. “There are many meteor showers every year. You can catch the next one.”

He laid down beside her and she turned onto her side, releasing his hand and snuggling into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, looking up at the night sky, the stars shining brightly.

“Your understanding. Your touch. Your eyes on me. The way you lean in and it becomes only the two of us, even if there are hundreds of others around. How you care for others, for children especially. It’s quiet, soft…” She fell silent and he was sure she had fallen asleep, her breathing deep and even. He smiled, kissing the top of her head as his fingers massaged it softly, and he looked back at the sky.

“It’s quiet and soft,” she repeated in a whisper, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’re a good looking man, anyone can see that, but that’s not what attracts them to you.”

“No? You don’t find me attractive?” he teased and she breathed out a laugh.

“Fuck yes I do.” He laughed and she shifted, finding a more comfortable position. “But it’s not the physical, not completely. It’s you, your intensity and caring. It’s so damn attractive and sexy.” He laughed again as she ran her hand slowly up and down his chest with a low hum.

A flash flew across the sky and he tapped her head, tugging her hair a little to raise her head back and look up.

“It’s starting, Scully. Look.”

She shifted again and they watched the sky flashing with meteors passing quickly, some brighter and longer than others. Once again he stroked her hair, her breathing deep, her fingers nearly still.

“Strumming my pain with his fingers,” she sang in a whisper and he smiled.

“One time, one time,” he sang back, and she exhaled a chuckle.

“Killing me softly with his song…” she whispered, shifting again and kissing his neck, breathing out her love for him before she fell asleep, her fingers gripping his shirt.

The party across the way continued, seemingly unaware of the wonder of nature happening above them.

He stayed awake as long as he could, but the warmth of the fire, the woman beside him, and the summer evening, soon pulled him to sleep.

He dreamed of her. She was dancing in the sand, her hands beckoning to him, a beautiful smile on her face as music echoed all around them.

Strumming my pain with his fingers…

[gaycrouton]

Fox Mulder’s Senior Thesis

Scully reads Mulder's thesis to get even since he read hers, but she wasn't expecting just how much autobiographical insight she would gain into her new partner.

5k - MSR

Ao3 Link Here

Scully felt the indignant burn of embarrassment on her cheeks every time she thought about those words coming out of Mulder's mouth. "Einstein's Twin Paradox, A New Interpretation. Dana Scully Senior Thesis. Now that's a credential, rewriting Einstein." Worst of all, he said he'd actually read it. She didn't know him well enough to be able to tell if he truly liked it, but regardless, the fact he'd looked at it embarrassed her. She was a certified medical doctor, she'd written plenty of articles she was genuinely proud of over the years, yet Mulder had chosen to read her undergraduate thesis from the University of Maryland. She was only 22 when she wrote it, and she was pretty sure coffee and sleep deprivation contributed more to the final product than she did.

When she got home after that first day of work, the words still danced around her head "I read it. I liked it." Out of curiosity, she went through some old boxes to find a copy she knew she'd hidden away with a bunch of other college knicknacks, and just as she'd expected, it was full of errors and the misplaced arrogance of youth. The knowledge that Mulder had read it and formed an impression of her based on these old musings made her uncomfortable, and an irrational part of her wished she could go back in time and make it better.

It wasn't like it was an invasion of privacy, but to read her writing from years ago felt like a level of intimacy she wasn't ready to share with a near-stranger.

It had been a few months since he'd mentioned it, and they'd been working together just fine, but the thought that he'd seen this small side of her, Dana-the-co-ed who wanted to impress her professor so badly that she tried to rewrite Einstein, nagged at the back of her mind. Did he read her vulnerability, the way her words begged for her professor's praise? Could he read the pride she'd felt at the time for having taken on something so advantageous? Did he ever consider how forward that was, how off-putting to have one's thesis dug up from the grave?

But she knew that was exactly why he'd done it. Mulder wanted to make her uncomfortable. Not her exactly, but the new partner assigned to invade his space. She wasn't the profiler, but she knew he did it as a defense mechanism. Mulder had done it in front of her a few times now: if he acted as spooky as people thought he was, they would make fun of the caricature of himself he was playing, not the real, vulnerable Mulder.

Scully wondered if the thesis had any part in endearing herself to him, or did he look at it through a lens of judgement, finding every flaw and analyzing what he'd use to tease the new partner coming down to see him.

"I read it. I liked it."

It was one of the many times she'd started to spiral while thinking of how he thought of her. The spirals were usually brought upon anytime he ditched her during a case or when he investigated something on his own. A nagging feeling would grow in her abdomen that asked "Why doesn't he trust me fully?" And she would think back to that embarrassing insight he had into her. A few times she considered sending some of her other work, some of what she was more proud of to him, before ultimately realizing that he'd probably seen the titles and gone with the one that intrigued him most. The one he was probably most ready to laugh at, her brain would supplement.

Then she decided it would only be fair to read his.

She'd read his monograph on serial killers and the occult as part of her profiling training at the academy, but she knew there was probably an embarrassing thesis floating out there somewhere.

After the seed of an idea was planted in her mind, the roots started to overgrow all rational thought. She was fueled by a curiosity of what Oxford educated psychologist Fox Mulder sounded like in his early twenties. He was a bit arrogant now, though it wasn't repulsive in him like she found that quality to be in most men, but arrogant nonetheless. She could only imagine what a 22 year-old version of him sounded like.

Scully wondered what that must've been like, what the look on his advisor's face was when he inevitably postulated some intergalactic theory. Or did he choose a more mammalian creature to examine? Perhaps little grey men were too extreme, and he scaled it back to the cultural differences between Bigfoot, the chupacabra, and a yeti.

Luckily for her, she had a friend in the archival department who was able to locate his thesis for her with the payment of a coffee. It was dropped on her desk in an inconspicuous manila envelope, and she was able to sneak it into her purse before Mulder had a chance to notice.

Scully waited until she was home before tearing into it. It was about 60-pages, a nice length for a bachelor's thesis. She'd prepared for the event with a glass of wine and some snacks. A highlighter and some pencils were scattered around her in preparation for her night of learning more about her enigmatic partner. Despite the frivolity of it, she felt her heart thrumming in her chest, excited to meet this Mulder even if she intended to make jokes at his expense tomorrow to his older self.

She smiled to herself as she tried to have a last minute guess at what phenomena he'd focus on before a gasp tore from her lips at the reality.

Shared Grief and Repression: An examination of the psychological long-term impact of parental invalidation regarding familial trauma on childhood development

Fox Mulder - Senior Thesis

Oxford University

May 15th, 1983

Scully felt numb with the implications of this, but she couldn't help her curiosity. She read the entire thing in one night, unable to put it down. She barely knew Mulder well enough to distinguish if there was an autobiographical hurt child ghost-writing these hypotheses or if it was mere speculation, Mulder being desperate to understand himself. For all she knew this could have been a result of Mulder assisting a professor in their own research, the ties to his own past merely coincidental. Somewhere in her soul, she knew that despite her hesitance to admit it, she'd just learned far more about Mulder through this than he had learned about her through her nonsensical ramblings about Einstein.

What she did know, unquestionably, was that she would never tell him. That night she placed his thesis on top of hers, and hid their past selves in a box deep in her closet. She couldn't bring herself to throw his words out, so she would just have to live with them.

She didn't have Mulder's eidetic memory, but lines of his thesis stood out to her with the same clarity in which he'd recited hers. She never called upon them, they just came like a bolt of lightning that left a charred mark in its wake. It was as if she was the scientist observing if his hypotheses were true while Mulder acted as the living case study.

1993

"Adults who lacked comfort in their youth are prone to seek human connection out through other, non-conventional means, (Jenkins, 1945)."

While part of her acknowledged this was Mulder's office, the other part of her knew this was also the official office of the X-Files, of which she was an equal part. She hadn't felt this way since the last time she moved into one of her boyfriend's apartments. A few sweaters left in the closet, food in the fridge that was only for her, messages for her left on the answering machine - things that accumulated slowly until she decided it would be stupid to re-sign the lease at her own place.

That was effectively what she'd done here. She noticed that two women from the financial crimes unit were being forced to share a space, and, being she couldn't remember the last time she was in her own office, she decided to give it to one of them. Now, despite the fact Mulder was the only name on a placard outside and she was still trying to elbow space for herself on the other side of his desk, this was her office now too.

The space heater at their feet was hers, she'd brought a plant that was thriving in the annex of the office, she'd even managed to put a TV Guide clipping about Alf amongst all his other ones to see how long it would take him to notice. Even though those small things made her feel more 'at home,' she still wanted to claim a little more space for herself.

One day she decided to arrive before him, a box of her office supplies in hand, and take over one of the drawers of his desk. Just one - for now.

Scully plopped down in his chair, amazed at how much larger the indent he'd created was than her diminutive frame. With a sigh, she decided he'd probably be less inclined to be irritated if she took one of the bottom drawers. Pulling one out, she had to suppress a gasp of surprise.

She'd caught him reading nudie mags before, claiming they were for the abduction stories in the feedback sections, but this was… a lot.

Snowed in! Plowed out!

Shared Space (And a tight one at that!)

Years of Waiting, Big Explosion!

The titles made her grimace, but they weren't as bad as some she'd seen in her brothers' room growing up. The VHS tapes were lined up in the drawer in alphabetic order and their neon titles stuck out brightly to her. Pausing to listen for the sound of the elevator, she grabbed the one labeled Years of Waiting.

The summary on the back alluded to a couple who'd been in love for years finally consummating their shared attraction. It was surprisingly less crude than she'd anticipated. She picked up the one with space in the title and saw it was about two friends who had to share a room together while on vacation, and after a while, they can't keep their hands off each other.

She felt a furrow in her brow in confusion. These tapes all had similar descriptions to the dimestore paperback romance novels she'd buy from time to time. It seemed the story was just as important as the sex itself. One of them even had a cover of two people cupping the other's face as they leaned in for a kiss. Of course, the photo on the back was a naked sexual position that made her back hurt, but it overall wasn't as crude as she'd anticipated.

Mulder was into softcore, oddly sweet pornography?

She wasn't quite sure what to do with that information before she heard a ding come from down the hall. Scully quickly stuffed the VHS in her hands back in the drawer without looking, and instead moved to the bottom drawer on the other side of the desk. She was relieved to see it was some of his spare clothes and she dumped them on his desk before relocating her stuff into the drawer.

1994

"Children mimic what they see demonstrated in front of them (Smith, 1975). When a traumatic event occurs and parents cope without any outward displays of emotion, the child learns the expectation is that emotions are hidden. A potential development due to this is that the child understands how negatively invalidation felt, so they try to overcompensate when offering comfort to others, appearing unrelenting in their efforts to provide the comfort as the act itself is a comfort for them as well."

She stood there sobbing into his arms until she felt numb, soothed by the way his hands rubbed circles into her back as he whispered "You're alright. You're alright," into her hair, as if to assure himself as much as her.

The flash and subsequent whir of a crime scene camera made her jump and Mulder tightened his grip on her. "Can we have a minute?" he snapped, his voice coming out so harsh and stern compared to how he'd just talked to her.

She turned her head and saw they were in a room with at least ten other law enforcement officers - all with varying levels of pitiful expressions on their faces as they couldn't help but look at the embracing FBI agents.

Embarrassment flooded her and she withdrew her arms from around Mulder, bringing them together near her abdomen as she tried to take a step away. Mulder looked down at her in worry, cupping the side of her head with his hand. "Scully, don't push yourself," he lamented.

Scully shook her head and brought her hands shakily to the back of her neck, suddenly feeling choked by the table runner that had been used as a gag.

"Ma'am, we need to take a picture before yo-."

"I think we have enough evidence, don't you?" Mulder snapped, stepping forward in front of her like he was about to fight anyone who so much as looked at her.

She felt the crime scene analyst take a step away as they apologized to Mulder, but Scully was too busy fumbling with the tie at the back of her neck. She was starting to feel like she couldn't breathe and she was worried she was somehow tightening it. "Mulder?" she gasped.

Scully instantaneously felt his hands cover hers as he deftly untied the fabric, throwing it on the ground before brushing her hair back to make sure she was okay. "Breathe," he whispered, pulling her back to him so he could rub her shoulders.

"I'm fine," she whispered, her eyes focusing on the portrait of a Pfaster that was hung on the wall next to them.

Mulder stepped in front of it, replacing her line of vision with himself instead. "Please don't shut me out, Scully," he pleaded, his brows furrowed in concern. Mulder had comforted her a few times before in the past, but usually it was just a word or two of affirmation. Right now, he felt like he was the sole thing keeping her from drowning.

She glanced around and met the eyes of several people who instinctively looked away. "What do you need, Scully?" he prompted.

Scully looked back at him and noticed that he looked like he was going to combust if he couldn't do something to help her. She could pretend she didn't want his help tomorrow, for tonight, she'd allow them this symbiotic comfort. "I need to leave," she whispered.

"Will you let me take you to the hospital?" he asked.

She nodded once in response and that was all he needed. Without conferring with anyone else, he wrapped his arm around her and took her away from this nightmare.

1995

"Parents in these situations often do not realize the damage they are causing, nor are they actively trying to cause harm. Familial trauma effects all involved and, more often than not, the inattentiveness to the child's feelings is a result of parents being unable to handle their own."

Scully thought when she finally met Teena Mulder that a vital piece to the Mulder-puzzle would fall into place. She'd imagined a witch of a woman devoid of smile lines and with a tongue that could cut like a razor. The jagged-edged puzzle piece that would shift and create the perfect match to the soft edges of her partner who carried a burden from childhood that drove his every move.

Instead, she was met with a rosy cheeked woman who looked at her son's grave like she was contemplating if there was room for two.

It wasn't the piece she anticipated, but the puzzle shifted into place nonetheless, and she saw why Mulder could never admonish his parents while Scully had held so much resentment. Mulder was the sweetest man she knew. He could never find a place in his heart to resent a childless mother, even if she did have a child right next to her waiting to be loved.

Scully couldn't imagine the pain of losing a child, but she could empathize with this woman's pain at losing Mulder, even if only temporarily. Deciding it would be appropriate to go and talk to Mrs. Mulder now that the service was over, she steeled herself to tell the woman a sentiment she must have wanted to hear for decades.

"Your child is still alive."

Just not the one she was used to mourning.

1996

"Some children deal with internalized guilt because of the event. If parents or healthcare professionals neglect to discuss the event candidly to the child, this can cause them to believe they have done something wrong and that is the cause of the omission. When a memory of the event is triggered and the subject is reminded of the event, this can send them into a depressive state because of their guilt."

Mulder was contemplating dealing with Roche. She knew it without him telling her, not that he was saying much of anything in the first place. He hadn't been himself since this all started. No - he was being himself, and that's what was so painful about this all. Scully could see the guilt written all over his face, a guilt and a sense of responsibility so strong that her normally affable, goofy partner who always had something to say was resorting to one word responses and pensive stares. She was seeing the twelve year old little boy who blamed himself for his sister's disappearance, and it took everything in her not to bring him into her arms and tell him it wasn't his fault.

She wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to erase the look on his face when he dug into the dirt of the forest with his bare hands, the desperation in his voice when he said "Help me, Scully." She was still deeply touched that when he was faced with the potential of finally finding his sister, he asked for her help. It sounded animalistic coming from his mouth, like his very soul was begging her. It felt like such a private moment, she was certain this was a part of Mulder he never showed anyone.

Finding out the truth about Samantha was the core being of his mission, his life's work, and being this close to the potential truth had left him bare like exposed nerves so oversensitized that he was numb. She'd never seen him so withdrawn and it killed her.

After they met with Roche and he'd teased Mulder, yet again, she drove him home. As grateful as she was he'd accepted, she was worried that he hadn't even refused in the first place.

"Mulder?" she tried, looking at him as they hit another red light.

He was staring at the dashboard as if the answers to his problems would manifest in front of him. Mulder didn't seem to hear her, so she tried again. "Mulder?"

"Hmm?" he hummed in response. If she hadn't heard it, she wouldn't have believed the sound even came from him as he didn't even slightly move. It was like a Mulder deep inside this shell answered, though his mouth couldn't form the words.

She put her hand on his shoulder, her thumb touching the exposed skin of his neck. He blinked and she took that as him acknowledging her. "Mulder, I'm worried about you," she whispered.

He finally turned to look at her and she saw exhaustion painting his features. "I have to know, Scully," he sighed, looking through her.

"He's using you, Mulder," she lamented, desperate to appeal to the part of him that begged for her help in the woods. The part that knew she was there for him, even if that meant telling him what he didn't want to hear.

Mulder shrugged lightly before turning to look ahead. "Probably," he sighed, resigned. He sounded used to this, used to being disheartened.

"I-" she started before a car honked behind her, making her hand shoot back to the wheel. They were only a block from his place, and he was getting out of the car before she had a chance to try talking to him again.

"Do you want me to come up with you?" she offered, reaching for her seatbelt.

He shook his head as he put his hand on the frame of the door. "I just need to think," he murmured, his eyes refusing to meet hers.

"Please, try to get some sleep, Mulder," she pleaded, only for the words to reach the interior of a closed car door.

1997

"Adults who have gone through this experience may find forming attachments difficult. It is not that they are emotionally stunted, but they've been primed through the childhood trauma to question if showing their authentic emotions is appropriate or not since they never received emotional validation. This desire to appear stoic is a defense mechanism that may seem like callousness, indifference, or flippancy in those around them. Because of this, when they do form bonds, they may be perceived as overbearing or clingy to the person they are close to."

She awoke to the sight of her own vigil taking place.

At first the only thing she was able to piece together was that the top of her hand was warm and wet. Then she smelled Mulder's hair and realized he was crying against her hand. For a moment she almost considered turning her hand so that her palm could press against his cheek - anything to comfort the man mourning the loss of his best friend.

"I'm still here," she wanted to say, but her throat clenched and her eyes burned as Mulder's choked sobs reiterated what they both knew: "For now."

She knew she meant a lot to him, but she never imagined herself being the person he bowed his head to in silent prayer.

1998

"These children may exhibit a pattern into adulthood of accepting behaviors and attitudes that others would refuse to put up with. As they are less likely to have positive self-worth, they may see themselves as deserving treatment that reaffirms these negative ideologies of self."

Mulder smirked. Fowley said they were allowed to investigate the X-Files as an indulgence, making Mulder seem like a child being pacified to keep busy to a room full of their peers, but since she said she held interest in his work, he smirked.

Now Mulder was talking to Skinner in his office while everyone else was told to step out into the hall. Most people in the room were content with going on a small walk, stretching their legs, but two people were left in the anteroom of the office poised in an awkward stand-off as they waited for Mulder to emerge.

His partner and his chickadee.

Scully sucked on her top teeth in annoyance as she glanced at Diana, watching as the woman appeared unfazed at the situation. Scully wished Arlene was here - anything to distract from the metronome of her aggravation.

Indulgence.

Chickadee.

Indulgence.

Chickadee.

The Gunmen hadn't explained why they broke up, seemingly shocked they did in the first place, and somewhere deep in Scully's soul she knew it was Diana's doing.

Was that why Mulder acted like that around her? Desperate to get some sort of validation, despite the fact this woman seemed to treat him poorly. Protectiveness flared up in Scully's chest and it threatened to choke her. At least, she wanted to blame it all on protectiveness. Acknowledging the part of herself that felt the bitter sting of indignation as she was condemned for wanting to make sure they were taken seriously while Fowley got a smirk for belittling their work.

"Things got a little heated in there. Didn't they?" Fowley called out, her voice sounding calm and collected as ever.

"I'd say so," Scully bit in response, sounding quite the opposite.

The door swung open and Mulder stepped out, looking around the room at the two women before telling Agent Fowley that Skinner was calling the Attorney General now.

Another smirk.

1999

"Because of childhood trauma, it may be harder for these individuals to let people in. They may be honest about their trauma, but when it comes to letting people see the intimate details of their life, they might be shrouded in mystery (Evans, 1969). Traumatized individuals will only share personal information with people they believe will not hurt them."

The young boy had to go home after thirty minutes of loading balls for them to hit, but Mulder didn't seem to be ready to call it quits yet - and, to be honest, neither was she. It was so rare that they got to spend time together that didn't involve a case. Even rarer was time spent together with so much levity.

Mulder paid the boy some extra money before picking up two mitts that were lying by the machine. "Here," he yelled before throwing one to her.

She caught the worn leather in both hands with a laugh that caused Mulder to smile. "What're we doing?" she asked, instinctively putting her hand in the oversized glove.

"Ever play catch, Scully," he replied, throwing a ball at her.

"I was never invited," she called out, shifting her feet against the sand underneath her to feel how it shifted. "You're my first."

"Mm," he hummed lewdly, causing her to blush at the way she phrased that.

"Underhand can be easier for amateurs," he replied before throwing the ball at her lightly from a few yards away.

Scully caught the ball in the mitt, smiling when he praised her. Then, mimicking him, she threw it overhand to him.

Mulder lifted his arm and caught it with a small jump. He looked at her with raised brows and a boyish grin that made the sensations she'd felt with him behind her stir back up in her abdomen. "You husslin' me, Scully?" he replied, tossing the ball at her with a little more speed.

She caught it with ease and shrugged. "What can I say? I learned from the best," she teased before throwing it back.

Teased. Scully didn't do that often, but she was starting to think maybe she should based on the way his lips curved up shyly. He'd been teasing and gently flirting with her since she met him. She was starting to see the appeal.

"I hope I didn't ruin any evening plans," he replied, throwing it at her.

It was always expected for Mulder to make himself sound like an inconvenience. Even after she just spent thirty minutes giggling in his arms and 'accidentally' moving her body against him in ways that she was sure to revisit when her hand was in her underwear, he still managed to convince himself he was a burden.

"I haven't had fun like this in a long time," she replied, bending to catch a lowball. "Besides, you let me listen to my music on the last road trip even though you didn't like it just because you wanted to hear what I like. I like learning what you like too," she replied sweetly, throwing it back to him with more speed.

Mulder smiled, playing with the ball in his hand before joking, "I just think Alanis Morissette needs to date better guys."

"Like you?" She didn't say it outloud, but she thought it. She jumped to catch a high ball he threw at her, causing him to burst out laughing.

"I'm serious though, Mulder. I like learning more about you," she replied.

Mulder ran to the side a bit to catch the toss before smiling shyly. "I want to learn more about you too."

She caught his next throw as she contemplated her next words. Deciding to take a page out of his book and be bold tonight, she asked, "I think… I think it would be fun if we spent more time together. Maybe we could have movie nights at each other's place or something?"

A smile erupted on Mulder's face before the ball hit him square in the nose - too distracted to catch what she'd hurled at him.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry," she chuckled sympathetically, running over to him and putting her gloved hand on his shoulder.

"I'd love that," he replied, his nose as pink as his cheeks.

2000

"It is not until the individual manages to come to terms with the familial trauma that healing may take place."

She never imagined what she might feel like in this moment because she never thought it would come. A potential romantic relationship with Mulder seemed like it was slowly migrating from the periphery into the foreground, and she was starting to come to terms with the idea that she may forever share the foreground spot of Mulder's sight with the memory of a little girl.

He said he was free, and he'd never looked more so. She had been worried after Harold Piller took off, but Mulder seemed nonplussed, just staring into the sky as if he was looking at an old friend, a small smile of acknowledgement on his lips. "Are you sure you're okay, Mulder?" she asked, reaching out and entwining her fingers in his.

He turned to her and, to her surprise, placed a kiss to the top of her forehead. She looked up at him with wide eyes and saw he was looking at her in adoration, as if nothing existed in this moment except her.

"Let's go home, Scully," he murmured, brushing a tendril of hair behind her ear.

2000

"Adults dealing with residual trauma crave the emotional validation they did not receive as a child. Words of affirmation, consensual physical touch, and other forms of direct reassurance help the traumatized adult feel more self-assured with how they are being perceived."

This one comes to her, like most of these recollections of his thesis do, in the most random of moments. She was standing in his kitchen, wearing his shirt that acts as a dress on her, while she watched him make breakfast. For background noise, he just pressed play on the VCR and the Caddyshack tape from last night started playing over again. Maybe now she'll find out how it ends.

She'd been so desperate to know more about him during that time years ago when she'd read his thesis, that any line she read seemingly became permanently filed away in the Mulder folder of her brain. So now, as she stood here taking in all the new information about him that she was newly privy to - his inability to whistle despite his valiant efforts, the fact he can crack an egg with one hand despite having seemingly basic culinary skills, how he often takes moments to look at her as if he wants to make sure she's still here - the process of filing away the new information caused that little tidbit from seven years ago to leak out.

Deciding to test 22 year old Mulder's hypothesis, she walked over to him with her bare feet padding along the tiles of his floor, and wrapped her arms around his waist so that her chest was flush to his bare back.

"Is this about to be a culinary version of that scene from Ghost?" he asked, his muscles moving as he flipped a pancake over.

"I like being here," she murmured shyly, her words sounding weird from her cheek being smooshed against his back.

It felt weird, but not horribly so. They didn't communicate verbally all that well, it wasn't their thing, but if little moments like these held a chance of letting Mulder know how she felt, then she could overcome her own hang ups. It was a lot easier than mustering the courage to say the three words they already knew.

She felt Mulder's back twist, as if trying to look at her, before he turned back, likely not wanting to dislodge her. "I-I like you being here too," he stammered. While he also was clearly unused to this type of openness, the upward lilt of his inflection told her she'd made him happy.

She liked it.

Squeezing him once tightly, she added, "I'm glad I get to spend the day with you." They were sentiments so PG and mundane that she'd probably even said them to her mother before, but within this special context of her and Mulder's relationship - it felt like a huge step.

"If I knew making you breakfast would have gotten this reaction I would have done it years ago," he joked, though his words were laden with sincerity. She felt him pause for a moment before timidly moving one hand to rest on top of hers.

She smiled into his back and pressed a gentle kiss against warm flesh as Mulder's own version of those three words wrapped around her heart.

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with tatooedlaura (Laura Sprys)

Laura has 28 fics at Gossamer, but the big treasure trove of her stories is at AO3, where she has 193 fics. Thank goodness for the richness of the X-Files and for talented, creative people like Laura who can find so many interesting ways to tell tales in the show’s universe. Big thanks to Laura for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Maybe reading mine but reading older fic in general is something I still do and something I still find entertaining. I do wish i could get into my old fics and post a warning that some of those were written before the author: ever had a drink, ever had sex, ever had a boyfriend, ever lived on her own, ever had a real job, or ever experienced much of anything in the real world.

Then again, fanfic is a perfect time capsule for the age and it’s always fun to see where the originals started and how they’ve grown.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

Back in the day and up and through today, it has always been a fun experience. From it, I’ve learned to love writing. I’ve learned that fans are crazy, weird, wonderful, generous, talented, committed, passionate, and imaginative. In a fandom, you can think whatever you wish and write about anything you like and because I’ve been around so long, I’ve gotten to watch the storylines shift and the relationships change ...

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Originally, I never had much interaction with people other than ones who sent emails commenting on my fanfic … the internet at my parents house was dial-up and I had to access through the AOL free disks that arrived in the mail so, for the most part, I didn’t have the bandwidth or the connection speed to do more than upload stories and download episode guides.

Good lord, I remember submitting a story and having to wait upwards of two days to two weeks before the new batch of stories was posted ... then ephemeral came around and you could actually have your story up in under a day ... all ya'll who started on tumblr and ao3, you have it great, let me tell you :)

One thing that stands out in my mind still (and I’m still friends with her on Facebook) was a woman from western Canada who I stumbled across somewhere while looking for the blooper reels. She offered to send me her copies on VHS for my collection. I don’t think she asked for payment and one day, a package arrived from a lovely woman near Lethbridge, bloopers playable, tapes labeled in clear printing. I still appreciate that 20 some odd years later :)

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Fandoms are crazy places. Tread lightly at first but enjoy what you want, ignore what you don’t, rewrite what you hate, and write what you love. Don’t be an asshole when you don’t agree with someone … when you do, tell them …

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I was on board from the first episode. It was a show about two people who you felt were destined to be together but weren’t, and wouldn’t be for years. It was a cop show about aliens and a monster show with cops. I was in the right place at the right time in the right frame of mind and there was just something that clicked and I never looked back. Friends were not allowed to call me on Friday night and once it switched to Sunday, I made sure that my parents got us on early evening bowling league so we’d be home in time to watch. Even my boyfriend (eventual husband) knew to shut the hell up from 9-10pm, even if he was sitting next to me on the couch (with my parents in their chairs watching as well)

Also, my 56-year-old dad had a crush on Scully from the start so that was entertaining as hell as well

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I have been writing stories in my head for literally as long as I can remember. Watching some episode, I honestly don’t remember which one, I suddenly had an idea for a story about Mulder and Scully. I had never written a story with pre-existing characters before and it was totally foreign to me. How do you write a character with a current storyline. It was weird, it was difficult, it was some of the most fun I’d had writing up to that point.

Suddenly, I didn’t have to explain or describe the characters, think of jobs and mundane things … they already had those … and it was great.

Honest-to-God, my first fic was written, in pencil, on a yellow legal pad by flashlight while lying with my head at the foot of my bed so I could see my parents coming down the hall if they happened to wake up at midnight to go to the bathroom. Later fics were written by the light of an 10” TV/VCR combo with me still lying with my head at the foot of the bed. I still have those old legal pads somewhere and I remember having to type them in secret, having to wait until the house was empty for 20 minutes to an hour at a time. Uploading them was always unnerving because of the slow dial-up and the fact that I didn’t have my own email address, but had to use my dad’s. I’d have to make sure to check it whenever I could, intercept the feedback I’d get off gossamer.

I was such a damn rebel.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Well, I now know how to interact with people given tumblr and AO3 but it hasn’t changed much. I contribute a little more now that I understand posting on social media but mostly, I still just write like a fiend and post, read voraciously and give kudos and likes often, comment some and reblog.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I dabbled and have a favorite ‘Fringe’ fic … I tried to read a Harry Potter fic once … I type ‘West Wing’ occasionally in ao3 and tumblr ...

And nothing, absolutely nothing, has ever caught me like the X-Files did in regards to the fandom experience.

I have shows I watch and re-watch and re-watch but no two characters have ever had me writing and thinking and planning like Mulder and Scully. No other combo has ever made me write upwards of 300,000 or more total and still have plenty of stories to tell.

I’m okay with this.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Aside from Mulder and Scully and the gentlemen three of Frohike, Langley, and Byers … I love all Scully’s nieces and nephews in my ‘Life’ series … I also love Corduroy (picture books), Harold (purple crayon fame), Neville Longbottom, the characters from my own novels, Katniss (book not movie), Anne Shirley, Elnora (from the Limberlost), Will Stanton/Merriman/Barney/Jane from ‘Dark is Rising’ and 10,459 others …

I’m a children’s librarian so most of my favorite books are those written for the younger and YA crowd. I like my job :)

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I watch this show all the damn time. I will think about Mulder and Scully when I have nothing else to think about, normally writing and editing whatever story I may have in the hopper at the time about them.

My husband laughs when I have the show on. He knows all the episodes with me and it’s one of my comfort shows that I don’t have to pay attention to when it’s on. During it, I have edited books, decorated cookies, been sick, been recovering, simply wasted a perfectly good day because I could.

My 17-year-old daughter keeps it on while she does homework and works out.

It’s a staple at our house and no one is allowed to make fun of it, even though we all know that parts are completely ‘make fun-able’

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I read fic all the time … I have worked my way through AO3 starting from the beginning and if it was more easily readable on a phone, I’d work my way, once again, through gossamer.

Restated from above: I dabbled and have a favorite ‘Fringe’ fic … I tried to read a Harry Potter fic once … I type ‘West Wing’ occasionally in ao3 and tumblr ...

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I have all kinds of favorites on tumblr but right now, I honestly don’t remember most of the names … I pretty much read everything that comes through my dashboard and every few days, i read through the newest posts on AO3 … I love you all!!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Of X-Files fics, I love my newer stuff … I read “Life” and its sequels every few months … ‘Your Place or Mine’ is another one I will read … actually, I’ll just say it .... I read all my own fic over and over again …

With fic, you get to write the characters as you want to see them and write situations that you want to see … I write for myself most of all and I love to read what I wrote :)

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I write them all the damn time. I have tons of snippets and half-finished that I occasionally glean things from but while sometimes, old stuff morphs into new, sometimes, it just needs to gather that dust and live a quiet little forgotten life in some backhand folder on my dropbox account ...

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

First question is answered above.

As for other creative work, I have published two YA novels, have the third in that series in editing … I have five other novels in the hopper in various stages of ‘good lord this needs an edit or twelve’ …

I am writing things constantly in my head or on my laptop … most is crap … stome sticks … some turns into fic and some turns into books …

But the point is, I am writing, in some form, at all time :)

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Some two sentence conversation will spark an idea … the line of a song will inspire an idea … a word will start a sentence which will turn into a paragraph which will tumble straight into a story … and sometimes, stuff just pops in my head for no damn reason at all ...

What's the story behind your pen name?

On gossamer, I am L. Sprys because that was my name at the time :)

On tumblr and AO3, I’m tatooedlaura because my name is Laura and I have, now, six tattoos (yes, I spelled it wrong in my handle but that’s life) … when I decided on the name, I think I only had two

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

They do now … it took me years to crack and tell them … my husband has never read them, nor have any of the people I have told (as far as I know)

Now, I don’t really care who knows … I’ll tell them I write smutty X-Files fanfiction and family-friendly X-Files fanfiction …

I am too old at this point to be embarrassed by what I like to do. If they laugh at me, I tell them they only get to laugh when they’ve published a book and I pull up my books on Amazon … I’ve only had to do that once and it shut them right the hell up …

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Gossamer: L. Sprys

Tumblr and AO3: tatooedlaura

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I love you! I see you! I appreciate you! I hope you enjoy! Don’t judge me for my grammar issues! I will never be able to spell the word ‘excersize’!

(Posted by Lilydale on April 27, 2021)

[misslilli]

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

Chapter 14 - Last Chance For Spotting A Rainbow

If you know you know ;)

[ FM ]

The second Friday in school marks the end of the grace period for the first-grade parents where they can accompany their kids all the way to the classroom. From now on, we wait for them in front of the school with the other parents.

It also ends the grace period where I can “casually” bump into Miss Scully in front of her classroom and I’m a little disappointed, to say the least.

This morning though, I get lucky because when we enter the school, we run into her on the way from the teacher’s lounge to the classroom, a stack of books in her arms and a cup of coffee perched perilously on top of them.

Felix is ecstatic. “Good morning, Miss Scully!,” he yells from across the front hall and tugs me towards her.

She stops and waits for us, her coffee cup wobbling. “Good morning, Felix! Mr. Mulder!”

“Good morning! Do you need help with that?” I gesture towards her books but the shakes her head no.

“No, no, I’m fine, thanks. So Felix, you got any big plans for this weekend?” They’re walking in front of me and I’m proud of myself that I steal a glance at her ass only once. Okay and one at her legs. ‘Those heels, oh boy. Another pair to add to my inappropriate fantasies, in most of which she always wears heels. And nothing else.’

“Yeah, we’re going to the farmer’s market tomorrow! Have you ever been there Miss Scully?” Felix swigs his schoolbag along, his gaze never leaving her.

“Actually, me and my friends go there every Saturday, so maybe we’ll run into you guys there!” I somehow get the feeling that if Felix gets any say in this, we’ll be spending the whole day there until we run into her.

When we reach the classrooms, she finally lets me help her out. “Could you get my keys please? They’re in my back pocket. Just pull on the lanyard.” ‘Oh Lord. They’re in the freaking back pocket of her jeans. Of course they are. I just can’t seem to catch a break.’

Biting back a dirty joke – which I’m 100% positive she wouldn’t appreciate – I do as told and tug on the lanyard, unlocking her classroom door and opening the door for her. I briefly wonder if I should just put the keys back where they were, but the thought alone almost gives me a heart attack, so instead, I loop the lanyard with her keys around her neck and she smiles thankfully.

“Thanks. Have a good weekend, Mulder boys!”

After school, I don’t see her again because they’re, as Felix informs me, in the gym already. But I’m treated to a story about her in recess in the car.

“So I was sitting on the teacher’s bench again today and Miss Scully was talking to Miss Anderson and you know how they’re kind of weird and only ever use the first letters of their names? Miss Anderson always calls her “D” and I’ve been wondering forever what it stands for.” Yes I do know, I had to get him the book of first names from our library’s top shelf. Also, a kid’s definition of forever will never cease to amaze me. It’s been a few days, tops. I wait for him to continue.

“… and then, Miss Anderson said it, dad! She said: ‘Dana, I’m not sure this is gonna work!’ Now I finally know! …Dana.”

I nod, but on the inside, I sincerely hope that he hasn’t made the obvious connection, that her name is almost eerily similar to his mother’s first name. Just one letter.

---------

[ DS ]

That night, we order Chinese takeout, none of us particularly interested in cooking and we gather around the kitchen table. Sarah passes out the chopsticks while Holly opens a bottle of Shiraz, our classes clinking together for a toast. “Two weeks down! So girls, how was your week? Any juicy stories?,” Sarah asks, looking around at us expectantly.

“Well… I could tell you about that really awful date I had this week with Mark the banker, on which he made a move 10 minutes into the conversation buuuut I get the feeling someone else might have more interesting stories.” Holly points her chopsticks at me and grins, waggling her eyebrows. My own chopsticks pause halfway to my mouth.

“Me? Why?” I ask innocently, stuffing a piece of spring roll into my mouth.

“Very funny! You wanna tell me why I saw a very handsome dad leave your classroom all smiley faced on Tuesday?” ‘Busted.’

“What?! Mr. Mulder? How did I miss this?” Sarah looks at the both of us incredulously.

“Because your classroom isn’t across from D’s and you didn’t happen to look out through the window to see Dopey McSmileypants leave! So D, spill it, and don’t leave anything out!” I shrug nonchalantly.

“I asked a mom to help with read-alouds but her kid was sick, so since Mr. Mulder happened to stand there, I asked him if he could do it. Of course, the kids were all over him with questions, who are you, what are you doing here, you know how curious they are. He was a big hit with them, though, they absolutely loved him.” ‘They’re not the only ones though’

“Bet they weren’t the only ones who loved him, huh?” Damn Sarah for reading my mind! I laugh uncomfortably, shifting in my seat, but I nod. It was really nice to have him in my classroom. To cover for the fact that I’m not telling them the whole story, I help myself to some Kung-Pao Chicken. Sarah catches on anyway, of course she does.

“Wow, that’s mighty nice of him, to take an hour out of his workday to help you out! But I get the feeling that there’s more to the story, what aren’t you telling us, D?”

“Well… after he left, the kids had even more questions, they practically fell over each other, why are your cheeks so red Miss Scully, is he my boyfriend, or is he my husband? And… I caught myself thinking ‘Ya, I wish!’ …” I trail off, a little embarrassed at my admission.

“Man this is some serious Romeo and Juliet shit that’s going on here, D. So we’ve established that you like him, we suspect that he likes you too, judging by the glazed over look on his face when you walk by and he thinks no-one is watching. What’s the hold-up then?”

“Please don’t tell me we’re still hung up on the people talk – good reputation bs!” If I had hoped that the conversation would not take this turn, Holly quickly extinguishes it.

“I don’t know, guys… it’s not complete bs though, you know how I hate when people gossip about me behind my back, and dating the new guy in town puts me in a spotlight that I’m not particularly comfortable being in. I guess what’s worse however is that I’m scared. Like, terrified, of putting my heart out there again after that 2 year on-again-off-again shitshow with Steve last year.”

“That narcissistic asshole…,” Holly mutters under her breath and the others nod, remembering when I had finally hit emotional rock-bottom last year, after I realized that he’d gaslighted me over and over again, resulting in me having a mental breakdown curled up on the cold bathroom floor.

“My anxiety has been badever since, it’s getting better with therapy, but still… I just know I’ll screw it up. I’m damaged goods.” Alex, who hasn’t said anything yet, listening intently, finally speaks up.

“That’s not true, D. You’re getting help and you know we’re always there for you.” – “Yeah, we’ll kick anybody’s ass who dares to hurt you!” – “Don’t interrupt me, S. If he’d ask you out on a date, do you think you’ll say yes?” I consider this for a moment.

“I’m not sure. I don’t really know anything about him except that he seems to be a great dad and that he believes in aliens…” Holly bursts out laughing at the last part.

“What? Aliens?” I tell them the story that took place with the PTA parents in front of the school and the others join Holly’s laughter and I’m grateful that the conversation has taken a lighter turn.

“That’s too funny... You know, he could really learn a thing or two from his son, he asked us to his and his dad’s birthday party today at recess! It was so sweet, guys, I can’t even… We’re all invited, by the way – I think it’s going to be quite the event!” Felix had come up to Sarah and me today, holding out an official invitation and one that he had made himself, just for us.

“Yay, a party, I love me a good party! So, are we going to go?” Holly looks at us questioningly. Sarah only scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Are you kidding? Of course we’re going to go!”

[frogsmulder]

Maybe There’s Hope: chpt 3 All The Colours Cannot Brighten

Starting from the final events of 09x20 The Truth, Mulder and Scully tackle their new reality as fugitives. When they  finally settle into things, Scully finds out she is pregnant again. A canon divergent AU where I thought, what if Scully got pregnant whilst on the run instead of at the end of season 11?

2.1k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic; read on ao3

Scully shuffled awkwardly, walking into the department store, having foregone underwear. Currently, it was at the top of her mental list as she tried to discreetly pull her slacks down to stop the seam irritating her. Mulder's hand was at home on her back, to make matters worse, the usually comforting gesture making it more difficult to shift her pants.

Mulder chuckled quietly, seeing her fidget. She elbowed him to remind him he was in the exact same situation and it wouldn't be hard to exacerbate it if she wanted to. He squeezed her hip in apology, but she could still feel him laughing.

Leaning up, Scully whispered in his ear, "This needs to be quick. There are security cameras everywhere; we don't want to increase our chances of being recognised." Her pulse quickened at the prospect. "So, a set of clothes, toiletries, and we get out."

He nodded. "We should split up to save time."

"Agreed."

They parted without a single word more, Scully heading up the stairs to the women's and children's section and Mulder staying in the men's. She watched him, as she climbed the stairs, grow smaller and out of sight, feeling that gnawing in her stomach swell in his absence. Sucking in a breath, she focused her mind and steeled herself for the rest of the operation.

On the second floor, Scully was greeted with a bombardment of bright colours. Keeping her head low, she ignored gaiety and headed straight to the lingerie section, picking up the first packet of black briefs she found in her size. Practicality over style reminded her of her childhood, her father's strict orders, how she both embraced, and rebelled. She was conscious of that storm brewing in her again. With her plain clothes, she could hide from the world and its prying eyes. Yet a niggling thought told her that no-one would notice if she picked out some lace, no-one would see beneath her exterior armour: she could have something for herself again. She brushed her fingers over the delicate material, daring to imagine the power she could have. A small piece of control regained. Perhaps she could banish her contrition from the bedroom. Take control.

Ultimately, she left the lace behind, opting to match her plain briefs with a couple of plain t-shirt bras; the peril of public exposure was starting to take its toll. Every tick of the clock marked a drip of anxiety pooling in her lungs and the water levels steadily rising. Time was marching on.

Just socks, t-shirts, jeans, a coat, and maybe a jumper. She wondered if it looked suspicious buying a whole wardrobe in one, but was too drained already to consider changing tactics.

She grabbed a pack of socks whilst hunting for some t-shirts and jeans.

Two t-shirts: checked.

One pair of jeans: checked.

Coat.

Scully wandered surreptitiously through the floor, doubtful it would have a waterproof, when she stumbled upon tiny hats and boots.

Her insides crumbled.

It had been so long since she'd set foot in this section, buying small clothes to wrap her small child snuggly in. He would be a year old now, she reminded herself, learning to walk, starting to babble. Walking slowly, as if in a dreamlike state, she found herself subconsciously heading for the 12-18 months; no control over the path her feet chose. She was surrounded by a sea of cotton soft baby clothing: yellow cardigans, baby blue t-shirts, miniature dungarees... She imagined his ginger hair in a red sunhat. He'd be a year old now, Scully reminded herself as she picked up a white whale soft toy. It was something that she could have bought for his birthday and watch him chew the tail off when he was teething; tuck him into bed with and read bedtime stories.

----------

Mulder went upstairs to find Scully, having got all he needed. Not finding her anywhere obvious, he started to panic.

"Sc–" he called, but his mouth closed around her name, stopping himself, aware of the crowd of other shoppers who would easily hear him. Forced into silence, he picked up the pace, scanning all the rows of clothes for his familiar sign of red hair.

 They are coming for you, son...

The sound of his pounding feet was mimicked by the rush of blood in his ears.

 If you want my advice... leave your pretty, little partner...

He felt dizzy and disoriented, not knowing where to look or which way to turn.

 get out of there while you still can...

He heard the giggle of a child cut through his mind with clarity but he dismissed it. After all, this was a department store, not a house haunted by unexplained phenomena; he had left those behind in his past. Yet he heard it again, closer, and he could have sworn it was from inside his head.

He stopped and turned around slowly.

Mulder saw that familiar red hair, peeking out from behind a rail, only it was more of a strawberry blonde and just above knee height. He crouched down to see her properly, but she moved away, only her blue eyes fixing sharply on his through the clothing.

"Em?" he whispered.

She made no response but turned away around the corner.

When Mulder rounded the corner himself, she was already at the other end, turning another, her bob of hair only there for a flash before she disappeared. He followed her winding trail, curious where she was leading him, until she stopped, standing next to someone, trying to tug at her shirt.

"Sc– Dana," he smiled, using her given name under some perceptive veil that it was safer. Emily nodded shyly. "You found her."

Scully turned around, still clutching the white whale. "What? Mulder? What are you doing here?"

"E–" He looked to Scully's side where Emily had just been but now was nowhere to be seen. "... I came to find you," he said, which was true, he just didn't want to unravel the traumatised inner workings of his brain in the middle of the baby section.

Then he realised where they were; where Scully had been; what Scully was holding in her hand.

"Dana," he whispered, a lump of worry caught in his throat, distorting his voice.

Scully looked down at the stuffed toy in her hands like she had her hand caught in the cookie jar. "We didn't buy him anything for his first birthday..." she tried to explain.

He wordlessly took the whale from her grasp and put it in the basket with the rest of his clothes like it already belonged.

She shook her head, searching his eyes for some understanding. "No, we can't... The money... We can't afford–"

"Yes we can," he interrupted her. Everybody grieved in their own way; maybe it could soothe him too. "Toiletries and then we're out of here," he reminded her.

"I haven't got a coat yet. Though, I think we're better off getting blankets for the car."

"You find the toiletries, I'll get the blankets. Meet back... by the stairs?"

Scully sighed.

Mulder stepped closer, wishing he could vanquish her hurt. "You sure you're okay, S–?"

"Yes, I'm fine. It's nothing." She brushed off his fussing, feeling like a small, incapable child herself under all the attention.

Mulder held her cheek in his palm and dried a stray tear.

"I'll be fine," she amended.

Trusting her, he gave Scully the basket and watched as she left him, walking quickly like she was running away. Her stiff gait so un-Scully-like and alien it was a physical embodiment of her grief. Himself feeling like cement, stayed, weighed down, swamped by a tide from slowly opening floodgates. Mulder looked at the row of white whales lined up on the shelf, each flopping with individual personality in the way that stuffing could make it appear so.

"Do you think he would like it?"

The bob of strawberry blonde hair nodded out of the corner of his eye before vanishing, leaving him to navigate the labyrinth alone.

----------

Scully was vaguely aware of what she's putting into the basket: deodorant, soap, razors, tampons– she hadn't even thought about those until she saw them. Her hand briefly hesitated over a box of condoms but she clenched it back into a fist. It would just be a reminder, an admittance, an avoidance.

At the checkout, she remained stoic and silent, resisting Mulder's touch at the small of her back. Ignoring the numbers as they flew by on the till, she handed over the money, too much to be paid in cash without raising eyebrows. If the cashier said something, she didn't notice. It wasn't until they were back on the dust-roads, alone, dressed comfortably in their new, plain clothes that Scully lowered her guard. By then, the day was long behind them, Selene cresting twilight in her silver, moon chariot. Night darkened their paths heading south, the chill creeping to tuck them in.

Curled up in the seat, Scully wrapped herself in the scratchy woolen blanket, it in no way kept the cold at bay. The white whale they had bought was tucked under her chin, squished closely to her chest as she held it tightly. She gazed out of the window, turned away from him, watching the last of the colours blur. At first, Mulder thought she was shivering from the cool air, so he rubbed her arm, but when he did so, she gasped and sniffed, retaking air like she would drown.

Mulder clenched his jaw and his fist on the steering wheel, angry with himself for not noticing sooner. They used to trek over the country all the time; long car rides filled with easy talking and comfortable quiet. Times were different, but their silence was a symptom of something more fatal. He wondered how it was so simple to forget that they had changed. He pulled to the side of the road and turned the key on the ignition.

"What... are you doing?" Scully whispered, choking on the sound of her broken voice.

He tried to reach for her hand. "Scully, please..." His plead faded into the stillness.

She remained looking out the window, focusing on the darkness. "I'm fine."

It was a knee-jerk reaction, taken from a box of samples she'd collected over the years. Scully cringed when she heard the old habit spill from her lips. It was an obvious lie– she knew it– risking exposure, especially to Mulder, who knew her so well. Feeling she had to was worse. Did she want Mulder to tell her she was wrong or was she only trying to kid herself?

She expected his words to follow swiftly, felt them on her tongue as he was going to say them. Yet they never came; his hand settled still on her elbow, the silence growing louder.

He continued to give her his undivided attention until she crumbled under the weight of his worry.

"I just..." She paused, licking her lips, trying to find the words to explain when her head was an empty void. She turned around to face him, yet she bowed her head, failing to hold his gaze. Huffing, Scully collected her feelings and imagined holding them in her chest. They trickled through the cracks in her hands, slipping as she struggled to understand them. What she had left in her palms was the guilt that tainted everything she touched. She tried again. "... Want to be happy... I'm not sure I can do that again. Not when there's so much missing."

Mulder gulped, running out of words to comfort her. I'm here, he wanted to say, You have me. But deep down he knew it was pointless saying it; it wasn't enough for her, even if it was for him. He couldn't deny that they were different people– very different people– despite all that they shared.

"It's going to come back for us," she stated simply and braved a glimpse at him. "We shouldn't have gone to the store. We shouldn't have stayed in the motel, Mulder."

He melted in her gaze, hating to see her burn herself in penance for all the things she couldn't control. Only that morning had he put a smile upon her face; things seeming hopeful. The way she had giggled wrapped in his arms now a distant dream.

You know she's right, Mulder. How do you save her now? the grizzled man chuckled, but Mulder ignored the voice.

"You said it yourself, Scully, we needed those things: 'practically speaking'." He felt cruel for using her own words against her, but they were the only ones he had.

She didn't turn away like he was expecting her to. Instead, she trained her eyes on his in the darkness. It wasn't a cold, hard stare but it wasn't filled with warmth either. She reached for his hand, locking their fingers together: a last act of hope. Mulder held onto the feeling, closing his eyes to the darkness.

"Maybe I was wrong."

[aloysiavirgata]

The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Title:  The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG (language)

Timeline: Season 1

Summary:  Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor.

Author’s Notes:  Mulder reads Cicero and finds the method of loci tool useful in honing an eidetic memory. Also, the timeline of this show is absurd. Per canon, the Pilot is in March of 1992. But here it’s March of 1993 because...I just can’t, honestly. Thank you to @perplexistan for reminding me that I wrote this in 2013, and talking me through the timeline.

*** It's been a long December and there's reason to believe Maybe this year will be better than the last I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself To hold on to these moments as they pass - Counting Crows *** It’s gritty outside, gritty and gray with a rime of salt on everything. There are pockets of rotten snow for him to kick, slushy and satisfying against his heavy shoes. He pulls his coat tighter, feeling like a hard-boiled detective in a pulp paperback, thinking this would be a good time for a cigarette if he still smoked. His divorce papers were filed this time last year, just like his parents’ had been a couple decades back. The ink had scarcely been dry on the marriage certificate when they realized they didn’t know each other and changed their minds. It was the same time Diana left him and his - their - files for whatever the fuck had summoned her across the sea. Paperwork, as ever in his life, was all that remained of these experiences. If this were really a detective story, he thinks, stepping over a soggy Washington Post, a tall cool blonde would have walked in through the frozen mist and into his arms. Someone lithe, with red lipstick and half-lidded violet eyes. She would look like Veronica Lake and speak in a low, compelling voice, urging him to do brave and outlandish things to thwart the Nazis. He’d wear a fedora, buy a mink stole for the blonde. They’d drink martinis and make love in dark hotels smelling of leather and intrigue. But he’s not living in a dime-store novel, he’s living in Alexandria on Christmas Eve 1993 (“The New Age of Angels,” claimed Time magazine, somewhat cryptically) and is eager to turn the last page in his calendar. Mulder knows it’s symbolic only, that his Eurocentrism is showing, but he still watches the ball drop on TV. Last year he’d kissed a woman in a bar and gone home with her too, but doesn’t think he’d remember her face if he saw it. He hasn’t got the energy to entice a stranger this year, and Scully’s hardly his type. He shouldn’t be sleeping with coworkers anyway, it’s never worth the trouble and the FBI is full of people who are paid to do nothing but sniff out secrets. Besides, he is now 32 years old which is really about time to start getting your shit together even if your baby sister was abducted by aliens at Thanksgiving. Mulder generally holds the holidays in low regard. He pauses to watch a small flock of cats at an upended trash can, feasting upon pungent things like battlefield ravens. One of the cats glances at him sidelong, narrowing round yellow eyes as though Mulder has designs on the gray thing it’s gnawing at. He holds his hands up to show the cats he wishes them no harm, keeps walking. Scully had offered to drive him home but he thanked her and caught the blue line, the clank and rattle of the train making him feel like some variety of normal businessman. Maybe people thought he was a banker or a Congressional staffer, going home to a twinkling Douglas fir and a mantle hung with stockings. Nine months and a broken condom can, in many circumstances, result in a whole new person. But it’s been nine months with Scully and she’s still her own woman, though Christ knows Mulder’s tried to remake her in his own image. She’s trudged alongside him through graveyards, military bases, bad diners, and one memorable night in Pennsylvania where she had captured a frantic bat in the hotel lobby. (“Do you want to wait for it to take human form before I release it?” she’d asked drily.) Through all of it she remained disbelieving and supercilious, leaving him vexed. She’d chirped “Merry Christmas, Mulder” at him, assuming that he celebrated Christmas and was capable of merriment. He was afraid Scully’d bring in a little Charlie Brown tree for the office, ornaments smooth and shining as her earnest face. She is skeptical in all the wrong ways and probably has the Michael Bolton Christmas album on her stereo at this very moment. She probably has eggnog in the fridge and will drink it without rum. She probably likes fruitcake and ham with pineapple rings on it. Mulder, going home to the shadows of his apartment where he might listen to Pink Floyd and nurse his resentment with three fingers of whiskey, feels justified in his scorn. A couple loaded with gifts pushes past him and he nearly loses his balance on a patch of black ice, clutches at a lamp post. He gazes up at the endless sky as snow begins to fall again. (Scully’s probably delighted by the prospect of a white Christmas, probably whistling a few bars of the song as she puts on a green sweater.) But he’s being unfair, isn’t he? For all her tattling back to the higher ups, she’s never tried to present herself as an angel. Her primary fault is in not being Diana, not being a tall dark moon goddess. Being pretty rather than beautiful, being frank rather than alluring. He’s seen her smoking a couple of times, discovered that she says “Jesus!” a lot so that she doesn’t say “fuck” or “shit.” This amuses him; he thought the blasphemy would be worse. He knows Scully watches what she eats but turns to carbohydrates and wine in times of stress. He found out she was sleeping with that asshole Jack Willis, which really threw him for a loop because Scully has a schoolteacherish quality that led him to presume premarital abstinence. He thinks of her in that first motel room, her smooth back beneath his hands, her panic turning on some masculine caveman switch. It’s been a long year, perhaps she could be his type after all despite her sensible underwear. She’s attractive enough if you like that sort of Hibernian look. He can tell she’s a bit awed by him and he could manipulate that to his advantage. Mulder walks the last slushy block thinking impious thoughts about Catholic school uniforms and playing doctor. The honeycomb tile of his building is muddied, layered with fragments of leaves and footprints. A radio blares something about Barbra Streisand doing her first live concert in twenty years. Mulder shakes his head and imagines his mother on the Vineyard, frothing with excitement. “Merry Christmas Agent Mulder,” says Leo, the maintenance guy. Leo’s got some kind of intellectual disability that Mulder hasn’t bothered to diagnose, but he’s always quick to replace a kicked-in lock or a shot-out window, and Mulder therefore regards him as a master craftsman. He gives Leo money every year at Christmas. At present he’s attacking the hallway sludge with an ancient mop. “Merry Christmas, Leo.” He gets his mail, sorting through it as he ambles to the elevator. Bill; bill; Playboy; Christmas cards from his doctor, dentist, and insurance agent; coupons; a thick manila envelope from the divorce attorney. Mulder rolls it all into a bundle and shoves it under his arm. He’s fumbling with his keys when the elevator deposits him on the fourth floor. There are wreaths on most of the doors in his building, a handful of mezuzas. Number 42, as usual, conforms to no given standard. He stops when he sees Scully leaning against his door. “Um,” he says. “Hey.” She waves her fingertips, looking uncomfortable. She’s holding a cardboard FedEx envelope. “I forgot to give you this before you left.” “Okay,” he says, uncertain about the idea of Scully on his turf. “Hang on a sec.” He makes sure the packet from the lawyer is hidden, though she’s probably heard the whole story. He knows what the talk is. They all act like he’s John fucking Douglas, like he can guess what number they’re thinking of based on how they part their hair. He’s a sideshow act, the guy who can think like John Roche and Monty Props. A freak. Scully turns to slouch against the wall while he jiggles the latest lock open, wishing there were a convenient place to stash a can of WD-40. “So, uh, come on in, I guess.” She turns, walks under his arm as he hold the door open, and stands in the entryway. The door clicks shut behind him, a final sound. Mulder puts his mail on the kitchen counter, tossing his coat over it. “You want anything to drink?” he calls to her, unsure if he can make good on the offer. What the hell does Scully drink? Tea? Zima? He’s got a few beers in the fridge, his wife’s wine is long finished. “No, I’m good.” Her coat’s draped over her arm when he comes back out, and he hangs it up for her. He notices that she’s wearing jeans with a navy cable-knit sweater, no tartan in sight. Her boots are dark and practical. Mulder shrugs off his jacket, loosens his tie out of its regulation noose. “Here, sit down. There’s, uh, the couch is right over there.” His couch is the atramentous green of algae, appearing black in the close room. “So what’s up?” She holds out the folder to him. “I realized I had this when I got home and since it’s a three day weekend, I wanted to make sure you had it. I thought it might be important.” Scully sits down close to the edge of the couch, much of her weight on her knees. She presses her hands together between them after Mulder takes the envelope, bouncing a little bit. He looks at the return address and groans. Arlinsky, that idiot from the Smithsonian. Mulder’s got enough credibility issues without this nutcase on his tail. He tosses the envelope on his cluttered desk for later perusal. Scully, as the messenger, looks apologetic. “Bad news?” He sits next to her, why not? “Nah, just…you know. The usual.” “Ah.” He watches her do a quick scan of his apartment. He has nothing to be ashamed of, she can look around. Mulder removes his tie completely now, untucks his shirt and leans into the corner of his couch. “So I’m surprised you’re here, Scully. I got the impression Christmas was a…thing. For your family.” He waves his hand vaguely, as though families are something he read about in a Margaret Mead article but never fully understood. Something closes in Scully’s face, which intrigues him. Discomfort usually comes with a good story, but he’ll tease it out of her later. She scratches her elbow, stalling. “I’m going to go by my parents’ house tomorrow.” “Not tonight? No big Scully celebration with stockings hung by the fire and cookies for Santa?” He has picked these ideas up from Oxford and Christmas music. Santa would probably prefer a cold longneck and some nachos. “My sister’s coming in tomorrow, she’s staying with my parents so they’re getting everything ready tonight. My younger brother and his family too, they’re getting in late.” Scully looks faintly guilty for this wealth of relatives. Which one of them are you avoiding, Dana? “Fun,” he says in a tone that he hopes is not sarcastic. Scully shrugs, picks at the cuff of her sweater. “Yeah, it’ll be good. I’ll get to see my niece and nephew. What about you? What are you doing?” “Oh, just…you know. Laying low.” He’s meeting up with the Gunmen for Chinese food and bootleg video games from some Japanese guy they know, but he’s not ready to tell Scully about them. In part because she might want to meet them and would end up charging Frohike with a sex crime. “Sounds good,” she says in a non-judgmental tone. “I could use some down time myself.” “Job wearing on you?” Going to wimp out and request a transfer? She puffs a breath of air out, pushes the tip of her tongue to her top lip. “No. Well, I mean, it’s hard. We travel so much, I didn’t do that before and it’s taking some adjustment.” Mulder drapes an arm over the back of the couch, wishing he could take his pants off and order a pizza. But he wants to know more about what drives her; Diana left him wary of unknown quantities, and this is his first opportunity to peer into Scully’s head. “Yeah, I guess they mostly shipped the cadavers to you before, huh? When you were doing doctor things?” He sees a slight narrowing of her eyes at this, the implication that she’s not a doctor now. The fact that she took it as an insult means it’s a vulnerability. “Mostly.” He decides to push it, being as he has home field advantage. “How come you decided to stop practicing medicine?” Scully sits up straight, her palms on the tops of her thighs. “I didn’t realize I had.” Prickly. “Oh, sorry, no offense. I just….you left your residency to join the FBI, right?” Faker, he knows her career trajectory down to the day. “My work as a Special Agent has always revolved around my background in forensic pathology. I just felt…called to the FBI as the place to best put those skills to use.” Called, religious imagery. Interesting. Her reply had a rehearsed sound, it’s something she’s repeated numerous times. Who gives her grief about being an FBI agent? A younger brother wouldn’t, would probably look up to that. Mom or Dad, most likely, though it could be one of the older siblings. He’d put his money on Dad or big brother based on the cold formality of her words. Both men are in the military, she’d speak to that. And big brother wasn’t mentioned as being in town, so Dad it is. He throws her a bone for revealing so much. “I’ve heard nothing but commendations.” “Thanks.” The appreciation seems genuine. “So what about you, Mulder? Why….this?” Scully holds her arms out like an orchestra conductor. The gesture encompasses his desk, the groaning bookshelves and fading newspaper clippings. Area 51, Reticulans, ectoplasm, and jackalopes. “Study hard what interests you the most in the most undisciplined, irreverent and original manner possible,” he quotes. “Feynman.” Scully knows her physicists. “It’s the perfect con, really. I figured out a way to get the federal government to pay for my hobbies.” He hopes that will satisfy her, but knows better. “Why is it your hobby?” Ah, Scully. You little investigator, you. “I’m a lousy knitter.” She smiles. “Because of your sister?” He steeples his fingertips, taps them against his chin. It’s tempting to blow her off, but he considers the implications of her presence. There was no reason to bring that letter by; she could have called and he could have told her to round-file it. She’s trying to build something between them, she’s looking past his annoyance with her assignment and he’s not going to slap her hand away on Christmas Eve. “Hold that thought,” he says. Mulder goes to the kitchen for the beers and the churchkey magnet stuck to the freezer. He checks for food, but a cursory examination reveals that Scully is going to have to make do with some brews. She’s peering into the fish tank when he returns, scrutinizing the inhabitants. “I think one of your mollies is pregnant,” she says. “That spotted one.” “Yeah, they’re prolific little cannibals. Here, Scully. Have a drink.” He holds the bottle out to her when she turns, watches her hesitate for an instant before accepting. “Thanks,” she says. “Though I probably shouldn’t.” She pops the lid off when he’s done with the opener. Takes a long drink. “So,” he says, returning to his seat on the couch. “Why do I spend my time looking for ET and yetis, right?” Scully rolls the bottle between her palms. “It’s hard for me to understand why someone with your abilities chooses to use those gifts this way.” Once she rides out this dogleg, Mulder thinks, she’ll go far in the Bureau with her careful diplomacy. “When my sister was…taken, it was the first time that none of the authority figures in my life had an answer. Not my parents, my teachers, the police…no one could tell me what had happened. Years went by and there was still no solution. People stopped thinking about it, you know? They just acted like she was gone and that’s all there was to it.” “But not you.” Her voice is gentle. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that this was a question with an answer, even if no one wanted to delve deeper into what that answer was. I became, well, obsessed with the idea that there were all of these mysteries out there with answers that people were uncomfortable finding. So when I found the X-Files…” He glances sidelong at his partner, her nutmeg freckles and her cinnamon hair. “Isn’t that what you were doing already, though? Solving impossible cases?” He shrugs. “They weren’t impossible. They followed a pattern if you knew what to look for. But what I do now, no one wants the answer, Scully. That’s the real challenge.” “You caught Monty Props. Props, Jesus, that case is legendary! I want to understand, I do. I see what you’re saying about the challenge, it does make a kind of sense. But when I think about the people you stopped…” She shakes her head. She doesn’t get it. But she’s trying instead of dismissing him. That’s something. “That’s just it. Your reaction, it’s…look. Serial killers, they’re sexy. The public loves them. Everyone wants to be Bill Patterson or, or… Jack Crawford, right? People still read about Jack the Ripper, they practically turn these psychopaths into folk heroes. There will never be a shortage of people wanting to do what I did.” Half the beer is gone in his next swallow. Scully looks thoughtful, her thumbnail at the damp corner of the label on her bottle. “So this is like, what? Like a martyr thing? If you walk away from the limelight for this then it makes up for never knowing what happened to your sister?” She turns her head to give him a level gaze, her eyes so blue and clear they seem artificial at times. He’s been called worse than a martyr, but somehow it stings. “Martyr? That’s condescending.” “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. I just, I guess it’s hard for me to understand what you hope to gain. What all this means to you in the end.” Mulder’s had enough of her analysis. “I’m not like you, I don’t crave approval.” It’s her turn to look stung. “I didn’t mean to pry.” He sighs. “Your questions aren’t unfair. It’s been a hard year.” “I heard.” There’s sympathy in her tone and he tries not to resent it. “Listen, Scully, I know you didn’t ask for this assignment and you’re doing your best with a bad hand. It’s just hard to share a career I’m passionate about with someone who pretty clearly thinks it’s a waste of time.” Scully sets her beer on the coffee table, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands cupped around her chin. Mulder props his feet up next to her bottle, patient in the silence. There are deep shadows in the room, illuminated by the ambient streetlight through the curtains, the cool blue aquarium lamp. Puddles of light leak from the kitchen, but they barely stain the rug. Scully looks like a Hitchcock girl, white and pure, untouched by the surrounding gloom. She reminds him of Ingrid Bergman or Greta Garbo, her good bones and heavy-lidded eyes. “You know,” Scully says, muffled, “Pathology’s hardly the hottest specialty in med school. It’s not really seen as a place to make a career.” “The malpractice can’t be bad though, right?” She rolls her eyes. “You spend years of your life learning to care for the living and use it to examine the dead. People have…opinions about that.” This had not occurred to him, and he says as much. Scully sits up and settles back into the couch. “And to then take that to the FBI, well…” Full circle to the truth. “Lots of grief for that?” She shrugs. “From some more than others. My dad, he – look, Mulder. I’m not saying we’re in the same place or have the same ideas or that we’re both noble misunderstood renegades. I am not trying to oversimplify anything. I’m just telling you that I know what it’s like to care deeply about something that other people don’t necessarily understand.” She looks defensive after this, takes a fierce swig of her beer. Mulder eyes her up with a new appreciation. “I guess I just figured all doctors sit on pedestals.” “If so, some of the pedestals are much higher than others. I know you don’t like me, Mulder. Or at least you don’t like our partnership. We may never be friends, I realize that. But it’s been three quarters of a year, you have to let your guard down if we’re going to work together. I want what you want, answers to these questions.” He smiles at her. A real smile, and thinks that it’s been a long time since he’s done it. “But you still think I’m spooky.” Scully smiles back. “Absolutely. And I still don’t believe in aliens. Or yetis. Or missing time or vampires or Nessie. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe there are answers.” He scratches his chin, five o’clock shadow rough on his fingertips. Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor. “I did say I wanted a challenge.” “You did at that.” She returns her bottle to the table, then turns to face him. The aquarium provides a ghostly backlight, her hair gleaming like rubbed copper. He holds this image of Scully in his mind until it is indelible, then tucks it away to remember her by. The Rhetorica ad Herennium advises sensory encoding to aid in recall, and so he places her in the sunlit portrait gallery of his memory palace. Scully stands, crosses the room to take her coat from the rack. “I’m sorry the letter wasn’t good news.” Mulder gets up to join her. “It’s okay.” He squints when she opens the door, the hallway so bright it hurts his eyes. “Thanks for bringing it by.” “Okay, well, I’ll see you on Monday, I guess.” She seems hesitant to go. She probably feels sorry for him. “Thanks for the drink. And the company.” “Go,” he says. “You don’t want coal in your stocking for oversleeping tomorrow.” She laughs a little, then takes his hands in her small white ones. She gives them a squeeze. “This is going to be okay, Mulder.” He thinks she might be right, squeezes back. She lets go of him, walks out and turns right. He locks up behind her, her perfume still lingering on his side of the door. Diana’s not coming home. It’s time that he moved on.

[melforbes]

seaglass blue annotations

hello! i just posted the last chapter and thought i’d put together some ~fun context~ for that fic. it got way way more attention than i ever expected and for something i feel i didn’t put that much effort into i think i did in the end put a lot of effort into it so i might as well talk about it and answer some potential questions.

my favorite book of all time is the sunlit night by rebecca dinerstein (yes, that one) and something i find really compelling about that book is how sparing the prose is, forcing the reader to fill in certain gaps, and i think having to fill in those gaps makes the book a really acquired taste with which either you love it or hate it and there’s not really an in-between

i also really adore how in that book the natural world backdrop comes to life, something i find really challenging to write. recently i even read into thin air, the book about the 1996 mount everest disaster, and even though the writing was superb, i still had to google what the hillary step was because i couldn’t picture it on my own. i don’t know how people write nature because to me it feels damn near impossible, but this sparing approach really worked, so i thought i might try it out. i tend to be longwinded (gestures vaguely at this post) and wanted to have certain parts of this be a lot smaller and more contained without negating impact. whether or not i made it work is anyone’s guess. definitely not my normal style, so to speak

based on the comments i’ve received i think this might be everyone’s favorite part. in my mind age of consent by new order was playing in the background. in pretty much every fic i have a scene like this one and all of them are based on the poem first base gold by rh*annon mcg*vin from her book branches (censored because she has a tumblr and i don’t want her seeing this haha)

i absolutely can’t do the poem justice by describing what it’s about, but the simplest, most basic interpretation of the poem is that there is no better place to kiss than right here, right now, because of the past. i really like that imagery and tend to use it a lot. she as a writer has been a big inspiration for me and if you’ve read my fic true minds i should add that the nonfiction inspiration for that was directly as a result of one of her youtube videos. i particularly love how the last paragraph (stanza? im not a poet) is one big run-on sentence that’s jovial and tongue-in-cheek and colloquial and straightforward. it feels triumphant in a quiet way to me and i love how it’s done. obviously my attempts at something similar are nowhere near as insightful, but still, the most basic image of this is that there is no better place to kiss, and that’s how i felt about the two of them finding pudding in the supermarket

this part is autobiographical; while writing this last year, i went through six months of intravenous drug treatment, a month and a half of which involved long days of doctor visits on every weekday. when you’re on stuff like that for a long time you end up with a central line for better access (potential plot hole in all of this: scully never had one) but for a month and a half i got poked almost every day and strangely enough it got harder over time. the first couple you never feel, but a week or two later you start flinching, and if the needle goes in the same vein each time, it hurts the more it gets prodded. i reached a point toward the end of the in-office visits in which i would bleed a lot every time i got poked, and i can’t watch anything like that happen to me so i was looking away each time, and when i felt that the nurse was done, i would look back over, and sometimes i would be looking down at a pool of blood that i hadn’t expected to see. it’s weird, you don’t actually feel yourself bleeding, i would’ve expected a hot bloody feeling but instead it felt like nothing. and when i say a pool i mean that it would drip down beneath my elbow, stain the sheet they’d put underneath, and i wouldn’t get all of it off until i showered. i didn’t necessarily find it scary, but it was surreal and kind of pulled me out of normalizing the experience i was having. for a very long time needing iv drugs was my greatest fear and i was surrounded by that then and fine, and then, there was blood all over my arm, and like, haha, this is actually not fine. you’d think something else would’ve been scarier, but it wasn’t. and now looking back at this paragraph i wish i’d edited it differently but hey that’s life

i’d never really understood the purpose of religion as a self-driven part of life until i took anatomy in college. i was raised catholic and though culturally i understand having a religion and being raised with one, i’ve never really reached for religion when i wanted answers, and i haven’t personally understood why that’s someone’s first option. and i know there’s been plenty of commentary on the hypocrisy of dana scully as a catholic who believes in science, yada yada yada, i think everyone has read all of that by now. but what struck me while learning anatomy is that there is a kind of neuron we don’t know the function of. there are four kinds of neurons, and one of them is still a mystery to us. and then, there’s all of these different parts of human bodies that exist in a certain perfect way, but why do they exist like that? to support life, yes, but why is it that we can make comparisons? why were irises not the same color? and we name valves of the heart after religious figures. we are so hell-bent on meaning that something literal will never be enough. and all of that made me think that dana scully has god to fill in what science won’t answer, at least not yet. and there’s definitely a bigger conversation about science as denial of indigenous cultures that i am nowhere near qualified to start. after taking those classes, i think i would be more shocked if she wasn’t religious. you can ignore pretty much all of the paragraph above but it was important to me that at some point in this fic she willingly conceded that she didn’t know what would happen and that she didn’t have answers. with illness, there is no logic, there’s no thinking your way out of it, and i think that would plague her for a long time. to me, she only would accept her death when she could say she had no idea what would happen, she has no answers, there’s nothing filling in her gaps anymore, and she’s comfortable with that. and i put all of that in a paragraph about my thoughts on god because it made sense to me. there are times that just feel like you’re in a movie and there’s no one else you can say caused them. it’s not enough to build belief on but it’s enough to bring a certain kind of wonder. also one time my parents insisted on watching stripes because it was so funny and when watching it none of us found it funny at all and my parents grimaced and were like what were we on that made that good back in the day so that’s in here now haha

and now, the biggest question: does she die at the end? when i came up with the idea for this fic, i knew the beginning and ending but not the middle, and i posted this as a smaller project (ie: chapters below 3,000 words) while illness made my bigger projects harder to work on and essentially flew by the seat of my pants the whole time. i wrote the last line a long long time ago and have always seen the ending as written as the concrete ending. when i started writing this, i never intended for there to be a definitive answer to whether or not she dies. i like premature endings (the ending of girls burn brighter comes to mind) and i think that this works better without saying whether or not she lives. and i also have a hard time with giving a definitive answer because this fic very much is about death and having her die would, of course, be traumatic, but showing her living instead i think ruins any takeaways people could have. i’ve never had cancer but as a chronically ill person i think i can speak to how you never actually win with illness; the best you can do is tie, and sometimes, no matter how much effort you put in, you “lose” anyway, you lose spectacularly, and all of your effort was for nothing. i wholeheartedly believe that humans can’t emotionally or logically process natural disasters or illness, hence why much of the talk about illness in this is from mulder’s perspective as he experiences her terminal illness secondhand; that way, he doesn’t need to (but still likely will) find logic or reason or meaning for death from a terminal illness, so his discoveries and his coping mechanisms aren’t as urgently needed. had i written a chapter that describes how she lives, i think that the discussion of death in this would be voided altogether. and i also don’t believe the ending would be much different whether she lives or dies; there’s still the need for death acceptance and talking about dying, whether or not she lives, and none of the story in this fic would have happened had the characters known she would live. the whole point is not knowing.

for a little while i toyed with writing an unofficial sequel of sorts in which i spelled out what i think happens after the ending, but after realizing that that would end up being longer than the original fic and would also have some massive plot holes, i decided against it. i do have my own version and i don’t want to share that version because i never really intended for my version to be some kind of genuine sequel in which every question gets answered and everything is wrapped up and happy ever after and whatnot. it was just where my brain wandered in the same way it wanders when i watch an open-ended movie. all of that to say, if you think she lives, then she lives. if you think she dies, then she dies. it’s your decision. i’d much rather you choose than me. i never marked this as “major character” death on ao3 because, well, she doesn’t die in this fic. whether or not she dies after the fic ends, that’s for you to decide. 

thank you for taking the time to read my writing. i never expected this to blow up (it blew up for me at least, for a while it was my most popular fic ever, with i think thousands more hits than anything else i’d written) and the response has been mind-boggling and wonderful. i don’t respond to comments often because it makes me feel like a pompous jerk (”thank you for enjoying this! i, too, enjoy this thing i have written! oh ho ho!” is how it sounds to me in my head, whereas when other writers respond to comments to me it just looks like thanks man have a good day, feel free to call me a weenie) but i’ve appreciated all of them very much. THANK YOU! i hope your new year is a Whole Lot Less Shit than 2020. i don’t plan on writing more msr because i don’t really have any ideas for them. thank you for making my last time special <3

[admiralty-xfd]

My contribution to the @xfilesfanficexchange​ is for @gaycrouton​. This has truly been a labor of love for me because I adore Nicole and I adore Dreamland. I hope I did it justice! 

Prologue

Once upon a time, there was a guy with the improbable name of Fox Mulder.

There was also a woman - his FBI partner, whom he was clearly in love with - named Dana Scully.

They started out happily enough, as these things go. He had a job he found invigorating, and she had… well, she had the same thing. From the outside, it seemed like they both pretty much led normal lives. But year after year, it became increasingly clear that wasn’t exactly the case. They could be doing other things: hobbies, vacations. Each other, even. But they never did.

What a waste, if you ask me.

Fox Mulder pissed away his chance at that life. And I’m not saying this to be judgmental or cruel; I’m saying it because I know. I know, because I used to be the guy.

My name is Morris Fletcher, and even I couldn’t get Fox Mulder out of his slump. Pretty pathetic, actually. Maybe you’re wondering how I remember any of this? Maybe you’re wondering why I’m even here?

Well, it’s a long story.

CHAPTER ONE

HIGHWAY 375

GROOM LAKE, NEVADA

SUNDAY MARCH 12, 2000

5:56 PM

The rental sedan cruised westward along the highway, its engine’s roar the only sound cutting through the silence of the desert evening. Dust billowed behind it as it sped towards its destination, which was nowhere in sight at the moment.

Inside, Fox Mulder squinted, adjusting his visor in an attempt to keep the slowly setting sun from burning his retinas. It was getting close to six ’o clock, and according to his source, he only had until six-thirty to get to the facility. Scully snoozed next to him in the passenger seat, and he took advantage of the straightaway to steal glances at her sleeping face, every once in a while the thud of the rumble strips jarring his attention back to the road.

His attention, which he’d expected to be on flying saucers and top-secret test flights, had instead been focusing more and more on that face. His partner’s face, specifically her lips: the ones he’d finally kissed at the New Year just a few weeks ago. Things had been pleasant between them since; downright flirty even, sometimes to the point where he felt like he was in high school again. And much like high school - in his experience, anyway - neither of them had made another move. If this were a courtship ritual, it was slower than that of a pair of snails.

The world hadn’t ended, however, and she’d conceded that. Something new had begun, and he hoped a significant change would come soon. He figured the ball was in her court now, and as much as he hated playing by the rules, when the love of his life was at stake, he was prepared to wait this out as long as he absolutely had to.

Scully stirred and he jerked his gaze away, looking straight out the windshield instead, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. She yawned and out of the corner of his eye he could see her adjusting her clothing, eyeing him surreptitiously as she gently swiped at the sides of her mouth.

“Are we almost there?” she asked, pulling the mirror on her visor down to check her face, presumably for sleep indentations. He wished she didn’t behave this way around him; if only she knew how perfect he thought she was in every single way.

“Should only be a few more minutes,” he answered. “You know, you slept on the plane, too. You feeling alright?”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she sighed. “I’m sorry, I should have offered to drive.”

“No, it’s okay,” he said quickly. He didn’t want her to think he wasn’t grateful for her presence, especially since she’d come along begrudgingly anyway. “You get that beauty sleep, Scully.”

She gave him a tight grin, and he hoped that quip had come out right. Maybe he should have said she didn’t need beauty sleep? Maybe he should have said she was beautiful no matter how much sleep she got?

Maybe he should just shut the fuck up.

“So remind me, Mulder… why are we doing this again?” she asked, and he was glad for the reprieve of a change in subject. She didn’t sound annoyed, just curious.

“The first aerial photos of Area 51 were taken from a Russian satellite a few days ago,” he said, practically gleeful. “I was contacted by this source shortly afterwards. He claims to have some information we would find, and I quote, ‘highly interesting.’”

“And this is… the same source as last year?” she asked.

Mulder shrugged. “I’m not sure, actually,” he admitted.

“How do you know this isn’t a huge mistake?” she asked. “We’re on thin ice as it is. The X-Files are, I should say.”

She was right. Skinner had not-so-subtly warned them that Kersh was watching their every move, looking for any excuse to shut them down. It felt like the end was nigh no matter what they did, and rather than admit this to Scully he’d preferred to follow her lead and stay out of trouble. But this was Dreamland. Area 51. The opportunity to have access after all these years was too good to pass up, and perhaps worth the risk.

“It’s different this time, Scully,” he explained. “No sneaking around. With the names and credentials he gave us, we should be able to get through the gates this time, as long as we arrive by six-thirty.”

“Assuming we aren’t stopped first by a bunch of men in black with guns?” she asked. Their last trip to Groom Lake had been a bust before it even began.

“He said he’d make sure that wouldn’t happen,” he insisted. “All we can do is try, I guess. Worst case scenario, we don’t get through.”

“No, Mulder,” she corrected him, “we could get arrested. We could be detained. We could lose our jobs or at the very least, get suspended. I can think of a lot of worst case scenarios, including the one where we both end up getting shot for trespassing.”

He grinned. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Scully? Not to mention that enthusiastic optimism I’m so used to.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, this had better be worth it. I’m already exhausted and the thought of doing a red-eye tonight to get back in time for work tomorrow…”

Mulder sighed. He felt bad for dragging her along, but he’d had little choice in the timeframe his source had specified. A Sunday evening rendezvous on the other side of the country when they were supposed to be back at the office the next morning was bound to make anyone grumpy.

“I owe you one, Scully,” he said.

“You don’t owe me anything, Mulder,” she replied. “Just promise me when this is over, no more talk of UFOs until I get a bath and a decent night’s sleep.”

“Deal,” he grinned. “I know how much you like ‘normal.’”

He’d been wondering for a while now if Scully was only still with him out of obligation. Perhaps she was tired of this life. Perhaps she wanted something different.

Don’t you ever just want to stop? Get out of the damn car, settle down and live something approaching a normal life?

“This is normal, Mulder, for us, anyway,” she smiled. She briefly caught his eye then turned to look out the window, adept as ever at letting a charged moment slip through their grasp. He was glad she’d said as much, but he wondered if she truly meant it.

Suddenly she noticed something up ahead, pointing. Mulder gripped the wheel with both hands and put on his game face, hoping beyond hope there wouldn’t be a replay of the last time. He noticed Scully glancing around them nervously as if she expected the same. But when he pulled up to the gate, presenting the fake names and credentials his source had provided, they were waved through without any problems whatsoever. They were flanked on either side by a security detail, but as Agent Fox Mulder drove onto the property of Area 51 with all but a welcome mat, he couldn’t help but throw a shit-eating grin at his partner.

“See? Easy as pie, Scully.”

“Only took us seven years,” she grumbled.

Seven years plus a lifetime, he thought to himself.

As they drove, he followed signs that read USAF and Nevada Test and Training Range . Most of the buildings were unmarked and, although the sun was setting, he could see what appeared to be crafts of some kind inside them, mostly obscured in their hangars by shadow, their sharp edges illuminated dramatically by an orange hue. He looked with wonder, and could see Scully craning her neck to see as well.

“What do you think they are?” she asked, and Mulder quirked an eyebrow.

“Never mind,” she smirked knowingly.

They approached Hangar 19, the one at which his source had instructed him to wait, just as the sun dipped down below the buildings. Nameless sentinels with guns stopped them, and instructed them to park next to a gate about twenty yards from the entrance. They were then told to get out and walk to the hangar.

Scully stepped out of the passenger side cautiously, closing the door, catching Mulder’s eye across the roof of the car as he did the same. He straightened his jacket a bit, preparing to finally come face to face with his elusive source. The guards watched the duo closely as they entered the facility, and Mulder looked around for someone to meet them, but there was no one inside.

They stood there, dwarfed by enormous machinery on all sides, and while he wanted to believe they were welcome this time, he couldn’t help but take in the sight greedily, hungrily, as if it could be snatched away at any moment. There were no aircraft in this building, but he saw several unidentifiable machines.

They wandered around the dimly lit room, taking it all in. Every machine in the room was silent and dark save for one a few feet away, which had several small blinking red lights on the front, like a colony of bats ready to receive him.

“Hey Scully, check this out,” he called, waving her over to the machine. It was slightly taller than he was, shaped a bit like a large teapot. As he got closer he noticed a thrumming blue light swishing at the top. It appeared to be in standby mode.

“What do you think it does?” she asked.

“No idea,” he replied. “But it looks a lot like Stewie Griffin’s time machine, doesn’t it?”

Showing no sign of picking up on his reference, she wandered around the device, studying it. “Mulder, there are radiation warnings printed on this thing,” she said with slight alarm. “We aren’t wearing protective gear.”

Slam!

The door they’d entered through was suddenly slammed shut. The device then illuminated completely, aquamarine lights blinking along the sides, chasing each other up the sides of the machine like some kind of dubious carnival attraction. There was a loud humming sound as if it were charging some kind of energy. Mulder instinctively felt around for Scully, finding her wrist, pulling her close to him.

The lights picked up speed as the humming grew louder, and while he wasn’t completely blind to the possibility that they could be in serious trouble, he found himself almost hypnotized by the unusual apparatus. Holding her tightly by the wrist he took a step closer, and she didn’t stop him. He glanced over at her; she seemed just as mesmerized.

“Mulder…?” she breathed, eyes wide.

The only thing he could see in the darkness was the blue light illuminating the angles of her face as she stared up at the machine, and the last thing he remembered was the arc of her nose, the gentle curve of her jawline, before the room exploded with a bright white light and they were both propelled backwards.

***

He groaned uneasily as he came to, not quite registering what had happened. The lights had gone off the machine, plunging the room into total blackness. Mulder couldn’t see a thing. He was extremely disoriented and felt a lump in his throat as he fumbled around in the dark.

The first thing he noticed was that his hand was empty: it no longer held onto his partner’s wrist. His instinct was to call for her but his head pounded and he was so dizzy he needed to find his footing, to gain purchase. Mercifully, the light at the top of the machine clicked on, and his immediate surrounding area was bathed in an eerie blue light once again.

He wasn’t sure exactly what possessed him, but he looked down at his empty hand, noticing something alarming.

It did not look like his hand.

At first he thought it was perhaps a trick of the light. It was hard to see much of anything. But when he looked again he knew, with visceral immediacy like a punch in the gut: these were most definitely not his own hands. They were nicely manicured, the skin soft-looking and delicate. Feminine. The phrase knew it like the back of my hand bounced around his mind and suddenly he realized why: these were familiar hands, all right, but not because he knew his own so intimately.

It was because he knew Scully’s.

What the fuck was happening?

This precise thought had occurred to him hundreds of times during his tenure on the X-Files but this time it was more panic than confusion. He touched his face and instead of a five ’o clock shadow he felt a smoothness he wasn’t expecting. His hair was longer, softer. And while Mulder was quicker to trust his gut than most, the reality of his situation hit him in waves, comprehension drowning him in slow-motion:

I’m not me.

I’m someone else.

I’m Scully.

Not in mind, for his thoughts still belonged to him, but in body: which he slowly allowed himself to sense, to feel. He couldn’t see any details: any evidence of the contours of a feminine body were hidden beneath his clothes, which he could now ascertain were her clothes. A faint scent of something floral, maybe lavender, wafted around his head. Tiny knees and slim legs peeked out beneath his skirt.

His next thought hit him instantly, as if the slow-motion had given way to freeze-frame.

Where is Scully?

The hangar was suddenly filled with the sounds of gunfire, their welcome wagon turning not-so-welcoming. He ducked down, concentrating on one immediate concern: find her. Find her now.

“Scullaaay!!!” he yelled, but the cry came out in her voice, and he clapped his hand over his mouth so as to not draw any fire towards her. Him. Himself as her. Whatever. Then, as if summoned by his very thoughts, a hand grabbed his own. A male hand, large and very much in charge. At first he worried one of the men with guns had seized him but what he heard next was the most jarring thing of all.

“Mulder, it’s me!”

The urgency was Scully’s, but the voice was not. It was a male voice. It was a familiar voice.

It was his own voice.

Despite the gravelly timbre and deep pitch, he sensed that innate feeling of trust he felt when she was nearby: the Scully aura. Trusting his intuition, he gripped her hand and followed her, his own little legs struggling to keep up, tripping on ridiculous high heels that already hurt his feet.

“Scully…? What’s happening…?” he mustered, and as he expected this time, the words left his mouth in her voice.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” she replied in his low pitch. “But we have to get out of here.”

Her command was unnecessary as sounds of gunfire still rang through the hangar. He could hear, but could not see, the men firing at them. It didn’t matter; all he knew was that they needed to get out of there, and fast. He could see the exit fifty feet away. Forty, thirty, twenty… he was briefly reminded of a large white dome, the hum of a thousand bees and the smell of corn crops.

The desert chill slapped him in the face as they broke free of the facility. They weren’t at the entrance anymore; he wasn’t sure exactly where they were, but everything was in better focus than usual. He could clearly make out the words on the signs as they rushed back to where he thought their car was - NO TRESPASSING, USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED - and thought perhaps maybe there was a reason Scully had always been a better shot.

Finally they were racing across dirt, and what had been a nearly-impossible task of running in Scully’s heels was now an actually-impossible task. He stopped, panting a bit, more out of habit than actual necessity - how was Scully in such good shape? - and bent down to remove them.

“Are you kidding me?�� she huffed, out of breath, and her typical sarcastic tone felt even more caustic coming out in his own gruff baritone.

“I’m not used to these,” he snapped defensively, clutching the pair of heels, and they continued running until they made it to  their car.

By the time they reached it, he noticed the gunfire had ceased, but he was by no means convinced they were in the clear. Scully stopped to look back at the hangar, hand on the door handle, paisley tie fluttering in the breeze. For the first time he got a good look at her- or rather, himself.

As she spun to look at their surroundings, his thoughts were inconveniently critical: why does my hair look like that from the back? Are all my ties that ugly? and I really need to find some more constrictive underwear. It was the strangest sensation to be looking at, essentially, a clone of oneself in the flesh.

Scully, muscle memory evidently prevailing, clambered into her usual spot in the passenger seat, her long legs awkwardly crushed against the glove box. Mulder climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, tossing the pair of shoes into the back.

He stretched his foot out but couldn’t reach the accelerator, inwardly cursing all of the times he’d teased Scully for her “little legs.” In a panic, he shifted the seat uncomfortably close to the steering wheel, and gripped it tightly. He could barely see over the wheel.

They were parked directly in front of a chain link fence, and he wasn’t sure if escape was even possible, but with very few options left at this point, he threw the car into reverse and jammed his shoeless foot against the pedal, hard. He could feel the vibrations up his leg as the car jerked backwards for a few seconds, then he shifted into drive and tore ahead, breaking through the gate easily and hurtling off into the dark desert night.

Mulder noticed puffs of sand exploding, surrounding them like tiny geysers, evidence that their pursuers were back and did not intend to let them escape. Too terrified to speak, he pressed his foot all the way to the floor. In spite of the danger, as he heard telltale pings against the bumper, he was grateful he’d checked the box for rental insurance back at Lariat.  

After several minutes, the sounds of gunfire faded. Either the discounted loyalty upgrade sedan he’d chosen had outrun their pursuers, or they’d simply decided they weren’t worth the trouble.

Both he and Scully stared straight ahead, saying nothing. Neither seemed to know how to begin. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed she was sitting stock still, eyes wide. Finally, ever the rationalist, she spoke.

“Something really weird happened out there, Mulder.”

“Yeah.”

He felt like an idiot; in seven years of unexplained phenomena, this might be the absolute weirdest, and it was ridiculous that neither of them had anything to offer each other besides well, that was weird . Her sentiment hung in the air, however, and along with it his presumption that she was not nearly as calm as she appeared to be.

“It’s okay, Scully,” he lied. “It’s gonna be okay.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

Predictably, she turned to face him, absolutely enraged. He couldn’t even process what was happening, much less his own emotional response to any of it, but he could definitely process hers.

“Mulder! ” she said, now very panicked. She waved her hands, which were his hands, in his face. “ I'm you, and you're me! We are very much not okay!”

He didn’t have to look at her to tell how upset she was, and he knew her eyes were fiery even in a shade that was not typically their own. She sat back into her seat and closed her eyes, putting her hands against her head. “This is not happening, I’m dreaming. Obviously this is a dream.”

Mulder sighed; denial was typically her first response but how could she deny a situation like this? This had happened, regardless of the mechanics, the science of it, whatever that was. She would have to accept it before they could do anything about it.

“Unless I’m sharing your dream, Scully, which I don’t think even we have the bad luck to relive, this is very much happening.”

She didn’t seem to be listening to him, rather muttering to herself. “This is both physically and biologically impossible.”

“And yet, here we are!” he interjected, raising his voice for the first time. Scully put her head between her legs, mumbling ohmygodohmygodohmygod into what he realized was his own crotch.

“That machine,” he said, doing his best to come up with something, some kind of explanation that could satisfy her. At least to the point where she could actually engage him in a coherent conversation. “The one with the radiation signs, remember? We were standing in front of it when this happened.”

She looked up, pinning him with a flabbergasted stare the likes of which he hadn’t seen since their early days together. “Mulder, are you suggesting that there’s a body-swapping machine hanging out in the middle of a random hangar in Area 51? And we just happened to walk by as it just happened to activate?”

“If you’ve got a better theory, Scully, I’m all ears,” he replied.

“What could the purpose of such a machine possibly be?”

“I don’t know,” he fumbled. “Some kind of torture tactic? Maybe a way to make people appear crazy so they can’t reveal any of the government’s secrets?” He looked back at the road. “Sure seems to be working on you,” he muttered under his breath.

Thankfully, either she didn’t hear him or deemed the task of chastising him for his editorial commentary low on her priority list.

“We need to go back there, it’s the only thing I can think to do,” she said, her reasonable tone finally somewhat identifiable in his own timbre. “Maybe they can reverse it.”

“Scully, in case you didn’t notice, an entire squadron just chased us off the base,” he pointed out. “We can’t go back there, not right now, anyway.”

Scully glared at him through his own eyes. He thought he’d probably never looked so stern. Sitting back into her seat once again, she crossed her arms, and her expression evolved into one that he finally recognized in his own features as undoubtedly Scullylike.

“What was that thing you said earlier, Mulder? About worst case scenarios?”

He groaned, and she sighed heavily; it was the same sigh of frustration he’d heard from his own lips on plenty of occasions. The exact same. It was unsettling.

“I’m sorry,” he said, although he certainly hadn’t planned or anticipated anything like this. For the first time, his mind flashed through a multitude of possibilities and problems that might come along with this new arrangement, regardless of how exactly it had occurred.

“So… what do we do?” she asked dumbly, more to the universe than to him. She sounded as impotent and sluggish as he felt.

As if her deflation had the opposite effect on him, he was suddenly so freaked out he felt his hands, Scully's hands , physically shaking. He couldn’t get a proper grip on the steering wheel, they were sweating so much. He saw a little dive bar off the side of the road, pulled over to park in the tiny parking lot, and shut the car off.

“First things first: we both need a drink,” he declared.

The entire story is posted on A03, please click here to continue reading!

[mulderist]

Wicked Game

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // read on AO3 // @today-in-fic​

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

CHAPTER 3

Arlington National Cemetery One week later 9:17 am

Leaves rustled in the trees overhead as the honor guard reloaded and repositioned their rifles. The sharp bang, like a hit on a snare drum, echoed through the eerie calm of the cemetery. I could feel it happening again. Everytime I thought I was past this nonsense it kept coming back. I wanted to close my eyes but it would have brought me back to the mud and rain of Wake Island. When you’ve been knee deep in death you never forget it. I could still smell the humid air, the burnt powder, the smoke.

I closed my eyes for a moment and balled my fist tighter as images clear as photographs flashed before me. Three years ago, I donned the dress blues and watched a soldier from my company laid to rest. It felt like I was having a heart attack as I listened to the twenty-one guns and the cries of his grieving widow. Fingers pressed hard creating a thick new line in my palm and my flashback dissolved. 

Each shot up to this point was torture. My salute wavered with the final pop and I felt the elephant on my chest move aside, allowing me to breathe a little. A bead of sweat broke free from under my hatband and took a slow slide down my temple. The back of my neck prickled. I swallowed hard and moved to parade rest as the honor guard queued up and left the gravesite. My fingers slowly loosened their curl and I felt the circulation return to the tips. Once the ringing in my ears stopped I was able to appreciate the sound of silence. 

It was a small group of mourners, mainly fellow Marines from Spender’s company and a few officers from the precinct. He had no wife, no kids, not sure if his mother was still alive. Seems that the only family representative was his father. Jeffrey had the distinction of a military funeral at Arlington due to his rank and heroics at Guadalcanal. At the drop of a hat he would tell the story about surviving hand-to-hand combat and rescuing a senior officer during a nighttime raid. I’m sure each time he retold it, that fish got a little bigger. At any rate, he’s now buried amongst other honorable men. His father was able to cut through any red tape like a hot knife through butter to make it happen. And almost as if on cue I spied the old man in his expensive dark striped suit accepting condolences. I recognized him through the smoke cloud that hung around like a bad party guest. I suppose he could feel my eyes on him because he headed my direction. He gestured to another older gentleman, who I assumed was his driver, and continued his approach. It was the first time I was able to truly observe him. He had all the obvious characteristics of old D.C. politics; dower demeanor, rigid walk, air of superiority.

“Sir, I’m sorry for your loss,” I said flatly as he approached. The scent of Morleys invaded my nose.

“Thank you, mister -?” He asked while offering a perfunctory handshake. 

“Mulder,” I replied as I shook his hand then tugged at my uniform jacket. 

“Ah yes,” he practically hissed, “You were Jeffrey’s partner in the vice unit. Keeping the city safe from crime and debauchery.” The cigarette smoking man took one more drag then let the stick hang on his lower lip. “My son had great potential. To be killed in the line of duty is a tragedy.”

 I didn’t know what type of condolence to offer. I wasn’t great friends with his son in the first place, it was a professional relationship and not much more.

“The precinct lost a good detective,” I finally managed to say. Jesus, that felt bitter on my tongue. I licked my lips, hoping this conversation would soon be over; my pleasantries were skating on thin ice. The Smoking Man stubbed out his cigarette and rattled off something about his resources that could aid in our murder investigation. Apparently he and the commissioner were old chums and justice would be swift. Then he took the cue and left. I stole a deep breath and watched him head towards his driver then enter a large black Cadillac that was parked at the base of the knoll.  

My feet hit the pathway just as I heard my name being called from over my shoulder. I paused and turned to see Captain Skinner walking my direction. 

“Just had a conversation with Spender’s old man.” I said.

“Is that so?” He questioned as he removed his glasses.

“Turns out he has the district police in his pocket so my services might not be needed with this investigation,” I said sarcastically.

“Did he know your connection to the case?”

“He knows I was Spender’s partner, but not that I was at the scene.” 

Skinner squared his jaw then continued to walk past me away from the thinning crowd. I followed.

“I’m awaiting the final report from the coroner. They found something of interest on the autopsy.”

“A different cause of death? Figured the gunshots were obvious,” I said.

“There was additional bloodwork. I’m not certain what the M.E. was looking for, which is why I want the final report.” He stopped and faced me. “Mulder, I don’t typically recommend this course of police action however this is a unique situation.” 

“Sir?”

“I want you to use whatever channels you have available. Legal or -- otherwise. Use the boys in forensics to your advantage. See if you can get that report and keep this ‘eyes only.”

I raised an eyebrow at the request. It’s not everyday your boss asks you to operate in the gray. Then it clicked.

“You want to keep this hush-hush.”

“I want to keep the reputation of this precinct and my vice unit intact,” he replied cryptically. I could only nod and watch as he slowly left for his car. I took an opposite path. There was a humming in my head that I wanted to knock loose with a stroll.

Flanked by rows of white crosses on green hills I continued along the pathway and suddenly saw a familiar flash of red. She was standing at a simple headstone, adjusting a small arrangement of flowers. Out of respect I waited until she stepped away onto the path before I approached.

“Excuse me,” I called from behind with a casual wave of my hand. When she looked over her shoulder I knew it was her.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, miss,” I began but clammed up when I saw those pools of blue. In that instant, that split second, it’s like I forgot the damn English language. My feet kept moving and I tried to say something.

“It’s no bother,” she said, thankfully.

“Are you by chance a nurse at Washington General?” I finally sputtered as we stopped walking. She nodded then thought for a moment, her arms hugged her petite frame.

“You look familiar,” she said with a delicately pointed finger, “Have we met before?” 

“We have,” I replied. She cautiously moved closer to size me up. She surveyed my uniform and I felt like I was back in the barracks.

“You were the -- detective, right? -- who worked on a last name basis?”

“That’s my calling card. The name’s Mulder,” I said, “Remind me yours?”

“Dana Scully,” she said with a hint of a polite smile.

Scully. There it was. The stray thread was pulled and unraveled the memory of her name, each and every letter. She continued, 

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Almost back to my pitching prime.” I replied as I gave it a roll. I had to watch myself with this one. Memory like a steel trap. Her head tilted curiously to the side. 

“You clean up nice.” There was a quick flush to her cheeks as she took a small step back, wishing that remark stayed to herself. I smiled and now it was my turn to shift gears.

“I saw you laying down some flowers.” I said, curiosity getting my proverbial cat. Her lips pressed together. 

“My father,” she said, “He is - was - a captain in the Navy. It was six years ago; Midway. I like to keep his flowers fresh if I can.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied with the only thing I could muster. Her statement was simple but knocked the wind out of my sails. Scully dipped her head and nodded. She then asked,

“Do you have someone here?”

“I’ve got a couple guys from my company, though I don’t visit too often. But today was my partner.”

“Oh,” she said softly, “It’s a funny state of the world when you can have a conversation about who you lost as easy as asking ‘how’s the weather.’”

For a moment I had nothing to say. A thousand scenarios ran through my head. I wanted to know more, I wanted to know everything about her. There was a natural beauty of course but something about her mind reeled me in. I cleared my throat. This chat was on the verge of getting cozy but seemed out of place in the current setting.

“May I walk you to your car?” 

“Thank you but I’ll be fine. My sister is waiting for me. Besides, we only just met.” A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.” 

Playing coy, I liked that.

“Well then, good day Miss Scully.” 

“Good day Mr. Mulder.” She shook my hand and lingered for a moment. “If you’re ever in Georgetown look me up. Hopefully we can meet again.” 

“I sincerely hope so,” I said. She turned heel and left me on the path. The curve of her pencil skirt, a flutter of the hem, the lines of her smart blouse made the goodbye feel less permanent. I listened to a breeze sweep through the tree line then I backtracked to where I was parked. 

I needed to get out of this uniform.

-------

Hegal Place Alexandria, VA

My apartment felt stale. I forced open a window to let in some fresh air. In the wardrobe hung one clean, pressed dress shirt along with my police dress blues. Of course the only shirt remaining was the one I wore the night Spender was killed. The good thing about an old jaded dry cleaner is you get quality work and little questions. I sipped my coffee and remembered I might have a vacation shirt stashed away in a drawer. As I donned the new shirt I heard the phone ring. I was waiting for a call from the boys in forensics who were a little too eager to give me a hand. 

“Mulder? It’s Frohike.”

“What have you found?”

“As you know, Langley and I were able to fish out a casing from the bathroom stall door, the back wall and a sneaky little devil in the bar. Turns out these paired nicely with the one lodged in Spender’s abdomen.”

“Who’d the weapon belong to?”

“Carlo Lodi.” Frohike asked. I scanned through the mugshot portfolio in my head. There he was. A hulking brute nicknamed The Titan who was quick with a fist and a trigger.

“Yeah. He’s one of Vincenti’s favorite enforcers.”

“We’ve seen his handiwork before,” Frohike continued, “He leaves a real pretty signature, although he’s usually a little more precise. Execution style seems to be his forté.”

“That’s what I thought when I was at the scene. I still don’t know if he intended to take me out as well.”

“Just like you to get in the way, Mulder.” There was a chuckle in the other end of the phone.

“Hey Frohike, has the final report come in from the M.E.?” 

“Ah, funny you should mention that. I have a preliminary copy and it shows that there was heroin in his system.”

“Shit,” I stated after a pause.

“What is it?”

“It means Krycek was right.”

[starbuck09256]

Changing Tide

@xfilesfanficexchange @today-in-fic @rationalcashew

2020 Fluff Exchange

ugh. This is so late. I’m so sorry. The wonderful Cate wanted a season 7 date night. I hope this is close to what you imagined. This takes place after Brand X.

A soft light of the monitors captures her eye as she walks into Mulders hospital room. The learva in those tobacco beetles almost took him from her forever. Her partner, best friend and now lover. God the way he was coughing, she felt each cough as if she herself was gasping for breath. She takes a seat near his bed, his soft brown hair turns slightly as he shifts towards her. 

“Hi” he breathes and she is so very very thankful to hear his voice with as raspy as it might be. 

“Hey,” she can barely control the tremor in her voice. 

When mere hours ago she felt sure this would be their tragic end. He reaches for her, desperate to hold her hand and caress her fingers in his. She can’t deny him, hasn’t been able to deny him anything in so very long. She thinks back to a few short days ago when Skinner called her home to have her and Mulder come to North Carolina, unknowing that Mulders arm was slung around her bare stomach, his lips traveling down the curve of her back. She thinks about the way he laughed at their matching blue outfits.  Her thoughts shift to the present as his lips find each of her knuckles.

 “Come here, honey.” his whisper sounds like him. 

After 2 days of barely talking finally he sounds for a scrap of a second like himself. She still can’t deny him as he scoots over and gestures for her to come to him. The bed sags ever so slightly with her weight. She can barely adjust before he pulls her firmly against him. His nose nuzzling her hair. 

“How can I already be missing this so much. It’s only been a few days.” 

She can’t help but smile against the cool sheets. His hand has already snaked under her shirt resting on her taunte stomach. She remembers the way he trailed kisses there when they tried for a baby. She wishes she could give him that, wishes she could give them both the family they desire so desperately. 

“When we get back, I want to go on a date. Fancy restaurant, the works, Scully. Maybe we could even go away for the weekend.” 

She can’t help but chuckle. 

“We go away on the weekends all the time,” she can’t help mutter as he finds the spot under her ear that makes her whimper. 

“Not work Scully, you and I have tried vacations apart and all we do is miss each other and you always seem to find a crazy cool x-file.” 

She turns to face him. Stroke his stubble cheek “That sounds amazing.” 

Her eyes are bright and so are his. His raspy lips brush hers, god even like this it’s still tingles, still makes her stomach drop in excitement. This man who has gone through heaven and hell for her, who challenges her mind, and loves her soul. She thinks back to the years she tried to deny herself his love. How impossible it was, how the proof and evidence of everything they were to each other was written so very long ago. 

A week later after they have spent most nights just making love over and over, he almost begs to take her on a real date. He’s made reservations at a beautiful restaurant along the potomac. One of those places that is covered in white linens, with an enchanting view of the water, he knows how much it calls her. She’s been there once, when her cancer went into remission he took her here. She joked that she must have died when he surprised her at her door. They both knew that she was here because of him, that the two of them will always save the other. He gives her a heads up this time, tells her about that dress he knows is in the back of her closet. A gift from Melissa when Scully came back, Missy always knew where they would end up together. Her sister's voice still in her mind. Jesus dana, that man is in love with you, and you need to wear this dress for him when you finally figure it out for yourself. How right Missy was. Mulders love and devotion is as overwhelming as she feared and yet, it's better than she could have ever imagined. 

 He goes home to shower. When he knocks on her door with a dozen roses wearing his best suit, part of her thinks she might cry. His hands slide down her sides as he admires her dress. It hits all the right places and he can’t help the cheshire cat grin that spreads across his face. On the drive in the light rain he holds her hand. HIs fingers play with hers as they drive the familiar streets. They have lived through nightmares together, had tragedy take away so much for both of them. 

The restaurant is just as stunning as she remembered, almost too nice for a first date. They laugh, he pulls back her chair for her, even though he’s done it hundreds of times this feels different and the same all at once. They share an appetizer, and she thinks about the time he wiped bbq sauce off her chin. Hundreds of meals together, stealing fries, he loves pickles and she hates olives, she thinks back to the buckets of chicken, the greasy pizza. The times he brought her chicken soup when she went through chemo. The times she ordered chinese and argued with him over acceptable expenditures.  She scans the menu but he just scans her face, watching as she bites her lip and smiles when she finds the fresh salmon on the menu. He can’t help but chuckle at her predictability, and yet just when he thinks he has her figured out she orders the lobster. She always keeps him guessing in the best ways. Her order might change but her heart and her loyalty are tried and true. The way she stretches against his skin in the morning, the way she laughs when he grabs her just so. He is still memorizing her whimpers and gasps when they make love, he isn’t sure he wants to memorize them anymore. He loves her mind, her body but mostly her soul. As they share a chocolate souffle he watches her lips pull across the spoon. Those lips that have argued and shot him down, have been frozen against him in antarctica. That have kissed his forehead, sipped impossibly hot coffee, and made him feel things he didn’t think were possible. 

This date is both new and not. It might be the most romantic but in a way it isn’t. Their romantic moments aren’t ordinary. They aren’t just confessions of love, they are moments of dependability. When she went to Alaska and Africa for him, he went to Antarctica for her. There really isn’t anything they wouldn’t do for one another. He wants to move in together, but it’s only been a few months. He knows that she can be a little skittish and likes her space so he has been buying his time in asking. He doesn’t tell her about the houses he looked for when they went through the inverto. He doesn’t show her the pictures of the farm house in Falls Church. How it would have been perfect for a tire swing and a garden in the back. He doesn’t talk about the fact that he bought a ring. His Scully is perfect and everything they have is perfect, he doesn’t know for how much longer it will be like this. How much time they have already borrowed from the devil, even if he secretly thinks she might be immortal. He sees why his other relationships failed. Why every single time he thought he found the one it was just a placeholder for her. He still gets a flutter when he touches her back. Still smiles when he hears her voice or heels down the hall. He realizes how silly it was to ask her out on a real date, especially under the guise of it being a first. Not even the hundredth first date. No the two of them have been courting through the ages, in past and future lives using  intellect and mystery to seduce one another. Through a series of extraordinary events they have found the loyalty and love they sought and not in the stars that twinkle above them as they walk beside the river after dinner. But in a small laugh, a warm smile, in a tearfilled hug. They fell in love during stakeouts and bad french fries. Hours in the car listening to pop songs watching the world pass at 60 miles an hour. They saw each other's soul in empathy that they showed others, in the way they didn’t miss a detail, didn’t discount the others theory. They found love the right way, on the path of respect while they searched for the truth as partners. He couldn’t imagine a better love story, although he could imagine a happier one yes. But a better one? No. As they stand at the edge of the dock, watching boats lights twinkle across the water. This is so nice, holding hands simply watching the world go by and not thinking about the shadows in the darkness. Next weekend he will take her out to Falls Church, have her look over the adoption papers his lawyer printed up. Show her that ring, that seemed possibly too simple and yet utterly stunning. He figures now is their time, and he is over spending it chasing monsters. He’d rather get out of the car, chase butterflies and fireflies with his kids, regardless of if they are biologically his. 

He’s been drifting off thinking about it that he misses her softly turning to him drawing him out of the deep trance his mind has taken him. 

“Mulder? Did you hear me?” 

He looks at her, the light reflecting on her auburn locks. 

“What did you say?” he asks and this time he does what they do best, focuses right on her. 

Right on everything she has to say, because she is the one person who doesn’t waste her words. She smiles that she isn’t mad, especially if she knew what he was imagining. 

“I saw a file labeled Falls Church? Did you want to check that out tomorrow?” he can’t help but grin. 

Intrigue is her weakness, curiosity and information, something she will seek. 

“It’s not super pressing, but I wouldn’t mind sleeping in a bit before driving out there. There is a house I think we should check out.” 

Her face turns up in anticipation. 

“Haunted?” she asks. 

Her eyes twinkle but concerned is etched into the fine wrinkles on the side of her mouth. He can’t wait to kiss them away tomorrow. 

“I think it definitely warrants investigation.” He plays it coy, because that's how he got her. 

She doesn’t want the answers given to her, she wants to find them with him. He can’t imagine a better way to go through life. She grins leans up on her toes, that despite her heels force him to still lean down. He realized early in this new dynamic of theirs that she loves being kissed. A lot. He is happy to oblige her. She strokes his face letting her hand press into his chest slightly. 

“You know Mulder, we've been spending a good amount of time at my place… I know we’ve only been doing this for a short time, but umm...maybe you should I don’t know move some stuff in, not like move in move in...unless… ?” her voice hesitates.  

“Scully if the in vitro had worked, would we be living together now?” he asks. 

Because in truth she might have said that he could be involved in any way he wanted. But she knew as he did, that he was all in, just like her. All in for them and whatever the future held for them. Like all things when they finally are on the same page it’s the same paragraph, sentence, word.

 “You know, I umm was kind of thinking maybe we could... I don’t know, get a place somewhere new? Fresh start?”

 He looks at his shoes and he wants to tell her. She grins, that grin that he has longed for, this is right. Them. 

“Yea, I umm think we could both use change.” 

He smiles, his eyes drift past the water out to the stars, out towards their future together. 

“As long as we are together.” She states her eyes following his into the sky. 

“Always.”

[mldrgrl]

Last First Kiss

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG-13 Summary: This is for all the Ed Jerse Anons sitting in my inbox who all want a variation on the theme of Scully not being satisfied that Ed would be the last man she was with.

The appointments were on the calendar for the third Thursday on the month for six months, not a secret, but they were simply marked “Scully - doctor,” like they were run of the mill check-ups and not aggressive chemotherapy.  Every third Friday was marked “Scully - out of office.”

Mulder did his best not to be too solicitous, wished her well when she packed up her things before lunch, made lame jokes about how much he’d get done without her ripping apart his theories for a day.  He didn’t know how she spent her weekends after those appointments, she could be intensely private about certain aspects of herself, her health being one of them, but it was obvious from the paleness of her cheeks, the shadows under her eyes, and the constant tremor her body seemed to have come Monday, that she suffered.

He wished she wouldn’t push herself so hard, but then again, she was a fighter.  He had to admit he was a bit in awe of her determination not to let such a grim diagnosis stop her from doing anything.  It had certainly stopped him.  Though she didn’t know it, his free time was mostly devoted to finding answers.  He didn’t care who he had to go through to find the men who gave her this disease.  If they knew how to give it to her, they knew how to take it back.

As the months went by though, the nosebleeds only got worse and at a certain point, she’d even stopped demanding that he not look at her when she did her best to clean herself up or given him dirty, ungrateful glares when he brought out the packet of tissues he’d started carrying around in his breast pocket and slipped them into her hand.  She’d stopped locking the connecting doors of their motel rooms or trying to disguise the sound of her retching in the middle of the night by running the sink at full blast.  The last two times, she’d even let him kneel beside her and dab her cheeks and the back of her neck with a cool washcloth as she limply clung to the side of the toilet.  

If he wasn’t scared before, he was now.  He could persevere as long as she was, but the moment she looked up at him with a tired, resigned gaze that told him he was finally allowed to see her like this because it didn’t matter anymore, he knew she had given up.  And now, he was desperate for those answers.

Appointment number five loomed like a thundercloud.  Mulder was tense all week and Scully was quiet.  Time moved like molasses Thursday morning.  He tried to focus on the expense report for their last case, but his mind kept wandering to ways he might offer his services to help her through the weekend.  Even with the minutes dragging by, suddenly she was shutting her computer down and he hadn’t come up with anything better than, “if you need anything, you know you can call me.”

Scully left with a murmured “see you Monday,” and he chickened out on saying anything more than a soft goodbye.  He bit his lip and as soon as he heard the elevator ding and the doors close, he choked on a quiet sob he’d been reigning in.  As quickly as he let his emotions overtake him, he pulled himself back together and pounded a fist against the top of his desk.  Scully was out there bravely fighting a losing battle alone and he wasn’t helping her by crying at his desk.  It was time for his check-in with the Gunmen, who were following up on leads in his stead.

But, the boys had nothing for him.  Nothing new, anyway.  Mulder cursed.  He was pretty sure his best bet was the black-lunged sonofabitch that seemed to pull all the strings from every direction and he’d been trying to lure the old man out of hiding for weeks to no avail.  There had to be something he could do.

He stayed at the office well into the evening, poring over his files for some connection he might have missed.  There was so much there and yet nothing at all.  He was just digging deeper rabbit holes with every file.  He finally went home when he felt like his vision was becoming too blurry to ready anything further, but he was back at it again before the sun even came up.  Strewn across his desk and the floor was Scully’s abduction file, the files on Max Fenig, Duane Barry, the women in Allentown, the personnel file he’d poached on Alex Krycek, and others bearing the slightest hint of alien activity.

Halfway through the day, it dawned on him that maybe he should change his tactic.  He wasn’t a religious man, but Scully was a religious woman, and there were examples of miraculous recoveries all over the world.  He gathered up the mess he’d made and made another printing out reams of research on holy sites and unexplained recoveries from illnesses.  Amongst them all, he found one that appealed.  In fact, it excited him so much that he found himself grabbing he jacket and driving to Scully’s apartment with a hopeful flutter in his chest.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking though, knocking on her door that Friday evening.  He hadn’t even gotten a good look at her before he was asking her if she’d ever heard about the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Lourdes.  She answered his knock in a pair of snow-white flannel pajamas that were rolled up at the sleeves and ankles.  Her face was almost as white as her sleepwear, aside from the hollow grey smudges under her eyes.  Her eyes themselves were so thoroughly bloodshot it looked like it might be painful just to keep them open.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, taking her in.  “I didn’t mean to...to…”

She blinked slowly at him, like a sleepwalker still in a dream.  “Our Lady of Lourdes,” she repeated in a quiet slur.  “In France.”

“Yeah.  Yes, France.”

“What about it?”

“Um…”  

“Sorry, I need to sit down.”

“Don’t apologize,” he answered, following her to the couch.  

He glanced around.  There was a blanket waterfalling off the couch, crumbled tissues scattered across the coffee table, and a basin strategically placed on the floor beside the couch, just below the spot where the impression of her head still lingered on a pillow.  Scully pushed the blanket out of the way and folded herself up like a sheet of origami into the empty corner of the couch.

“I should go,” he said.

“Are you going to tell me the story of Saint Bernadette?” she mumbled.

“You know it?”

“Of course I know it, Mulder.”

“Oh.”

“You can tell it to me anyway.  I like your stories.”

“You do?”

“Sit down.”

Tentatively, Mulder took a seat on the opposite end of the couch.  He surreptitiously slid the basin away from his feet and picked up a closed photo album that was wedged beneath the back cushion.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Photo album.”

“Well, yeah.  Are they of you?”

She nodded.

“May I?”

She nodded again.  He opened the book and on the first page was a black and white mugshot of a swaddled newborn with a pinched face.  Next to it was the classic, naked baby on a bearskin rug photo that every parent seemed to think was necessary.  He had one of his own somewhere.  He chuckled to himself.

The next pages were a hodgepodge of Scully family photos.  There was a pensive looking toddler Scully on the lap of her smiling sister, both with loose red curls and matching baby blue dresses.  There was all four Scully children, the boys in sailor suits, the girls in navy blue pinafore dresses standing in front of a docked ship.  There was Scully blowing out eight candles on a birthday cake.  There was a professional photo of Scully from the waist up in a white lace dress and a white veil, looking upwards with gloved hands clasped in prayer.  

He turned to a page of school photos, all eerily similar, the progression of time marked only by the changes in Scully’s face and the length of hair, but the constant being the dark blazer and plaid skirt of a Catholic schoolgirl.  She only smiled in one, which he guessed to be about third grade, the rest a study in concentrated seriousness.

And then there was a photo that made him stop and bring the album closer to his face.  “Scully,” he said, squinting.  “Was your mom a triplet?”

“No,” she said, with a quiet laugh.  “She was the middle of three girls.  All a year apart.”

“I mean, they look...identical.”  And they really did.  He saw three Margaret’s in a line with their arms around each other, same dark curls, same shape of the jaw and brow, same red lipstick, even.

“The one on the right is Aunt Kate, the one on the left is Mary Pat.”

“Kate.  Katherine?  Is that where your middle name cames from?”

“Nope.  Mary Kate, Mary Margaret, Mary Pat.  Only Aunt Mary Pat uses the Mary.”

“Wait, so your mom and her sisters are all named Mary?”

“Technically, sort of.”

“What was your grandmother’s name?  Mary Magdalene?”

“Angela.”

“Oh.”

“Mary Angela.”

Mulder chuckled.

There were a few more pages of family photos and then they changed into pictures of places and people who he assumed were friends from high school or college.  There was a photo of Scully with long wavy hair holding a sleeping baby as a priest touched its little bald head.

“Your godson?” he asked.

“Mmhm.”

He flipped a few more pages.  There was photos of a cabin in the snow, of Scully in cold weather gear holding a string of fish, of a silver Volkswagen Rabbit, and a slew of photos of a beach and a lighthouse.

“Where’s this?” he asked.

“Point Loma.  It was one of my favorite places as a kid.”

“And who is this?”  He turned the photo on the next page towards Scully, of her pressed cheek to cheek with a fair-haired man with freckles across his nose and forehead.

“His name is Ethan.”  She sat up a little reached out to touch the photo with her fingertips for a few moments and then she curled back into the corner and made a small noise in the back of her throat.

“What?”

“Ethan was the last relationship I was in.”

“Oh.”

“It didn’t last long.  Three months, I think.  I don’t know, it just occurred to me that...I guess I always thought I’d have more time to…”

“To what?”

“I don’t know.”  She shook her head.  “Nothing.  Ethan will have been the last man to love me, even for a short time.”

A protest formed on Mulder’s tongue, but he held it back and looked at the picture of Scully and her ex-boyfriend again.  Maybe if things had worked out with this Ethan character, they never would’ve even met.  Or with that other guy, that Jack Willis guy from that case a few years ago.  Maybe if it had worked out between them, she wouldn’t be here now, though he can’t imagine Scully and Jack as having ever been very good together.  He really didn’t want to think about it, either.

“And Ed Jerse,” she said.

Mulder snapped to attention at the mention of that name and looked over at her.  “What about Ed Jerse?”

“Ed will be my last first kiss.”  She snorted softly and closed her eyes, brows knitting together slightly.  He took a glance at her mouth, at the dry, cracked lips that bastard had been lucky enough to touch.  It made him sad and angry.

“You do have time, Scully,” he said, emphatically.

“No, I don’t, Mulder.”

“Yes, you-”

“I don’t.”  She opened her eyes and leveled her gaze at him.  “Mulder, I’m dying.  You know it as well as I do, you just don’t want to face the truth.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.  I’m not getting better, I’m getting worse.  The tumor hasn’t changed and the chemo has just made me sick.  There isn’t anything left to do.  I know this is hard for you, but it’s just a matter of time.  And I won’t be making a pilgrimage to France to pray to the Virgin Mary and drink from healing waters, if that was your bright idea.”

“Why not?  Why not try everything we can?”

“I would rather spend the time that I have left doing the things I love.  I love my job and that’s what I want to do for as long as I’m able.”

“I can’t accept that this is the end, Scully.”

“You’re going to have to.”  Her eyes welled with tears, but didn’t spill over.

Mulder looked away and closed the photo album.  Scully slumped against the couch and shivered.  She hugged her arms across her chest and curled up even tighter.  If she got any smaller, she’d disappear.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder whispered, slipping off the couch to his knees.  He shuffled over to Scully’s side of the couch and put a hand on her arm, leaning close.  “It’s not over until it’s over.  Ethan isn’t the last man to love you, I am.  Maybe you don’t think it’s the same, but I do.”

“Mulder…”  She unraveled enough to put a hand on his cheek.  “You don’t have to.”

“I love you.”

“I know.  I...I know.”

He leaned into the palm of her hand for a moment and then reached up to cup her face with both hands.  “You’re not dying,” he whispered, just before bringing his lips to hers.  “There’s time,” he said, pulling back before moving in again.  “Don’t give up.”

The three kisses he pressed to her mouth were soft and chaste, but they’re the most heartfelt and tender kisses he’s ever shared with anyone.  He felt her tears running down between the webbing of his fingers and he brushed them away with his thumbs.  She held his wrists as he placed whispersoft kisses against her closed eyes and wet cheeks.

“I’m going to do everything I can for you,” he said.  “Everything.”

“I know.”

“Fight.”

She nodded.  He stroked the back of her head once and kissed her temple before rising.  As much as he wanted to stay, he had work to do and he needed to get to it as quickly as possible.  Maybe he could get her to hold on a little longer, but in his heart he knew he was running out of time.

The End

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Michelle Kiefer

Michelle has 55 stories at Gossamer. If you haven’t read them, what are you waiting for?! She has great takes on Mulder and Scully. I’ve recced some of my favorites of her fics here before, including Christmas in California, Making Other Plans, and Six Inch Valley. Big thanks to Michelle for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I’m not sure anyone is still reading my stories.  I haven’t migrated my X-Files ones to AO3. I don’t think Gossamer provides any viewing statistics. I’d be very happy to hear that people still like my work.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

My X-Files fandom experience was amazing.  I remember that sense of excitement and immediacy.  It was thrilling to write stories (and read those of other authors, of course) in an active fandom for a show that was on the air.  It was truly my first experience in an online world--a parallel world to my real life existence.  I learned how to keep a foot in each world.  As I recall, it was very hard to keep my focus in my “meat” world, when the online one was so fast moving and thrilling.  But I did get some balance in my life as time went on.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Message boards and mailing lists were my experience.  They were primitive compared to the pretty screens now.  I forged some amazing friendships, some of them with people I discovered lived relatively near me.  All I wanted to do was discuss episodes and fic.  The flame wars were a little intimidating, but also amusing if you didn’t get swept up.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

I was very passionate about the fandom--as I said, there were times when my online life seemed to overpower my real life experiences.  I learned to manage that, and think I’m all the better for that.  And I found some amazing friendships that are active and thriving today.  I learned a lot about writing with XF fanfic.  The level of quality was stunning.  A decent percentage of fic were as good or better than traditional published fiction.  But there were so many writers!  I wanted to make an impact on the fanfiction world, but that meant taking my writing very seriously and learning to develop a story, pace that story, make it compelling and believable.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I had a couple of coworkers that talked about the show all the time.  I was curious, so I watched an episode.  I believe it was the cannibal town one.  I thought David Duchovny was odd looking and wasn’t terribly impressed.  But I tried another episode - Wetwired, which blew me away with the morgue scene when Mulder thinks he’s going to identify Scully’s body.  Ah...I thought, now, I see what everyone is talking about!  And from then I was hooked.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

As I watched, I wanted more.  I was fairly new to the internet (frankly, the internet was new to almost everyone)  I found episode reviews, and some of them were fantastic.  Some mentioned fanfiction.  I was unaware of such a thing, though to be honest, since childhood, I’d been spinning stories in my head about characters on TV shows.  I found some fanfic. The first couple of stories were not great (at least one was horrible) but then I found some that were very good.  Probably a bit soap-operaish, but still readable.  And then I became voracious as I plowed through the mass of stories looking for the good stuff.  And boy was there good stuff.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I’m not estranged from it, but I don’t spend much time with it after all these years.  I’ve found fanfic in some other shows that I like and only occasionally read old XF stories.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I’ve not been as involved with any other fandoms, i.e. following commentary on the show.  I tend to dive into TV shows well after their heyday, so I’m always late to the party. I do read fanfic from other shows, and have actually written fanfic for other shows, but I need a really good idea to write.  None of the other fandoms for my other shows are as busy and active as XF, even ones currently in production.  And none of them have as much fanfic and certainly not the level of brilliance that we had in XF.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I tend to go for interesting partnerships, very much in the XF fashion.  And a flawed hero is always a plus!  The partnerships don’t necessarily have to be romantic---in fact I find I prefer those that are not.  Really, Mulder and Scully were the only ones I felt deeply as a pairing, probably due to the chemistry between the actors. But the partnerships have to be well-balanced and realistic.  I loved the characters on Sleepy Hollow.  The two main characters were very much in the mold of Mulder/Scully.

My newest passion is British detective shows and I’ve completely fallen for the “Morse-verse” shows, Inspector Morse, Inspector Lewis and Endeavour.  Less of an XF feel, but compelling characters with interesting backstories.  Other favorite partnerships in the British detective genre are on Inspector Lynley and Broadchurch.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

A bit less now, though I’m still involved with a wonderful group of ladies who love the X-Files.  When we get together for a yearly weekend, we binge episodes and eat impressive amounts of junk food.  XF isn’t on network TV these days, but if it was, I’d probably watch it.

A couple of years ago, I listened to Kumail Nanjiani’s XF podcast on my long commute.  I loved the commentary and interviews so much that I did watch some old episodes.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I don’t read much XF fic.  I’m currently reading in some other fandoms, but it’s harder to find good stories--the ones I follow aren’t very active these days and the quality just isn’t what XF was.  We were so lucky.  We had maybe 20 incredible top authors at any one time, then maybe another tier of 50 to 100  good to maybe great writers.  And with new episodes, there was so much inspiration. We were so spoiled.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Everything from Syntax6, MaybeAmanda, Kel.  A special story for me was “Strangers and the Strange Dead” by Kipler because I remember reading that very early in the morning in my unheated basement in the winter because that was the only time I could use our single computer without others in the family complaining.  I remember actually gasping at the big reveal in the story.  I can even remember the story’s opening line!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I was just learning how to write fiction when I was involved in XF, so I’m not sure my best work is there, though the bulk of my stories are there.  I liked some of the work I did with others.  I wrote Bone of Contention and Out of the Everywhere with Kel and I think that those stories got the best aspects of both of our styles.  For stories I wrote myself, I think they’re not bad, but they are rather short and it’s always easier to maintain a theme and style for a short story.  I liked Black Cherry Velvet.  I’m writing some Inspector Lewis stories that I think are pretty good--they benefit from the years of experience that I was gaining through XF.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

Never say never, but I probably won’t write more XF.  I used to burn with it, but I think that got burned out a bit.  Still, I have such wonderful memories of the whole period.  It might be worth looking at again.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

As I mentioned, I am currently playing in the Inspector Lewis world.  It’s sad--it’s a very small and not terribly active fandom.  Sad that my best work is in an inactive fandom where I’m lucky if 20 or 30 people are reading them.  It doesn’t help that I don’t write the most popular pairing.  

But I’m really enjoying it.  I occasionally write for Man From Uncle, which really shows my age, as that was a childhood obsession.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

With XF, it was always a take on an episode--did I get a tiny idea that I wanted to develop, or was I not thrilled with the way something went on the show.  Now,  it’s usually a “what if” kind of thing where I get inspired by a possible event and explore how that would play out, i.e.  “What if this character had a one night stand resulting in an unplanned pregnancy?”  What would happen?  How would he handle the consequences of this?  How would it change his life?

What's the story behind your pen name?

It’s literally my own name.  I SOOOO wish I’d used a pen name.  But I was naive and fandom was so new to me that it never occurred to me that a pen name would be better.  I always told myself that my real name sounded like something made up, like a TV newscaster name, and I hoped people assumed it was a pen name.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

My husband and my kids were the only ones who knew about it for many years. Then I went to a fandom/fic gathering for three days and had to explain to a few other family members and my work mates why I was going to Chicago on my own. It’s still mostly a need to know thing and they don’t really need to know.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

I’m on AO3 as msk.  And everything I wrote for XF is on Gossamer.

(Posted by Lilydale on February 2, 2021)