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greekowl87 · 3 years

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Fic: Embracing Parenthood 5/?

Get caught up: (1) | (2) | (3) (4) or AO3

A/N: I’ve been writing while trying to figure out my depression but it’s not as much as I would like. I finally got this done and have two other things I am working on. Looking at episodes 4-D and Lord of the Flies, I decided to consolidate this chapter and do a focus on “Lord of the Flies”. I’m still not 100% on the direction this will be taking. I borrowed lines from the episode so, just an fyi. I used the transcript from Inside the X. Bit of light smut at the end.

Tagging @baronessblixen @suitablyaggrieved @today-in-fic @improlificinsarcasm

After a few more months, they seemed to finally be hitting their stride. This new...whatever it was...took some getting used to for Mulder and Scully. Aside from the one time they caught William’s mobile spinning under its own accord, they had not caught anything else. Scully was fine with this and shut down any attempt Mulder made to bring it up. She kept telling herself that their son was just fine and normal like any other baby. After a couple of weeks, Mulder gave up. It became an unspoken agreement between them. Aside from this, things at the academy and x-files remained quiet.

Agent Reyes settled in an apartment in Foggy Bottom. A few x-files have been solved. Despite Agent Reyes’s claim of an interdimensional serial killer nearly ending his life, Doggett was still alive. Mulder and Scully settled into their teaching roles at the academy, William was growing in size, and they both were beginning to believe that they were getting that happy ending that they both deserved.

On a regular Wednesday afternoon, as Mulder graded quizzes in his office, he heard a light knocking at the door. “Come in,” he called looking up from his desks.

Scully smiled at him. “How’s the grading, Agent Mulder?”

“I want to know your secret,” he confessed. He held out his hand, offering a chair across from him. She surprised him instead by taking his hand, squeezing it, and kissed him deeply. “Well, hello to you too.”

“I like this, Scully.”

“I’m glad. I have to go to New Jersey though. Agents Doggett and Reyes need my medical opinion about a matter.”

“Do you need me to tag along?”

She didn’t answer his question. She sat in the chair across from him. “Teaching suits you, Mulder. Are you happy?”

“I can do without the grading,” he confided. “So, back to the case? Is this what...for an afternoon?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe. I’m sure it’s fairly straightforward. A teenager was found with half of the head collapsed in, and many flies came swarming out.”

“Flies? Is this a case of Lord of the Flies? Or Jeff Goldum’s The Fly?”

“Thankfully not. I just suspect something weird. However, I need to travel to New Jersey to lend a helping hand.”

“You never answered my question. Do you need me to tag along?”

“No. I’ve already called my mother to let her know. I’m taking a car from the pool and I’ll be stopping by the apartment before making my way to New Jersey.”

Mulder shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The suddenness of this news made him feel very uncomfortable. He did not have much time to sort through these new feelings as Scully continued. “It’s a three-hour drive from Washington. I’ll be spending the night up there. I should be back in a day or two.”

Mulder cleared his throat. “Just like that?”

She titled her head. “Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

“No,” he lied. He fiddled with the pen in front of him, rolling it back and forth on his desk. “I’ll pick up William from your mother.”

“It’s only for 48 hours,” she said.

“It’s not a big deal, Scully. Do you not have faith in me taking care of William?”

“I didn’t say that but you are pouting.”

“I’m not pouting. Look, I probably need a guy’s night anyway.”

“The Gunmen?” She asked.

“I was just thinking about me, Will, and Plan 9 From Outer Space. You know a guy’s night.”

“Maybe pick a less depressing film?”

“We’ll be fine, mom. Promise.” Scully arched her eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Promise, Scully. Nothing will go wrong.”

Her cellphone started to ring and she sighed, looking at the caller ID. “It’s Agent Doggett,” she sighed. She got up from her chair and hastily kissed his cheek as she left. “I’ll call you when I get there. Love you.”

“Love you too.” He replied, watching her retreating form.

As the emotions welled in his chest. Mulder pushed the rest of the ungraded quizzes to the side and began to search for movies. As a psychologist, he knew pushing his emotions aside and burying them was unhealthy. He and Scully spent seven years doing that. Unfortunately, he was no longer a bachelor and had a baby to worry about as well.

* * * * * *

Traffic was a beast in driving the length of I-95 to Quantico to drive the hour to Annapolis to Marget Scully’s house. Two accidents just added to Mulder’s sour mood. As he sat in traffic, he tried to distract himself by switching it to NPR and ultimately switched it off. As traffic inched towards Maryland, he finally identified and named just a few of the emotions that were swirling in his chest. Jealousy. Feelings of inadequacy. Sadness.

He sighed, finally sighting the exit to Mrs. Scully’s and signaled the right turn signal. As he pulled off, he was bitterly reminded of the initial shock and awe he felt coming back from the dead. He struggled to find this place in a Twilight Zone-like universe where he no longer had the x-files and had Scully seven months pregnant. They struggled to find their footing. Mulder remembered feeling left out and bitter that Scully had a new partner in Doggett. He didn’t necessarily dislike this man. He was a good agent, just like Scully had said, but he was the one investigating x-files with Scully. Mulder wasn’t. He didn’t mind Agent Reyes either. He liked her and thought her addition to the x-files office in place of Scully would help balance the skeptical Doggett. But that didn’t stop him from feeling jealous and left out.

As he slowed, pulling into a residential neighborhood, he saw Mrs. Scully’s white sedan in the driveway and the lights throughout the house. He jogged up the front steps and raised his hand to knock. Mrs. Scully opened the door before his knuckles could rap against the wood. “Fox, I’m glad to see you weren’t caught up in traffic too badly!”

“I still hit a couple of accidents, Mrs. Scully.” He forced a smile. “Were you expecting someone?”

“What? Oh, no! I saw your headlights in the driveway. Come in! I was just about to pull out dinner.”

“I couldn’t…” he stammered out of instinct.

“Nonsense. Besides, William will be very happy to see you.”

Oh yeah, he thought, I’m a father. “You need to get past the formalities, Fox. Don’t you think Maggie will do? You are the father to my grandson after all.” Mrs. Scully was already pulling on his hand, tugging him inside before he could put up a fight. “Besides, as much as I love my daughter, Dana does not know how to cook.”

“Actually, she’s quite good,” Mulder defended.

Mrs. Scully chuckled to herself. “What I meant is she doesn’t know how to cook for a family. I raised four children by myself for the most part when the Captain was at sea. Now that William is here, I’m not going to dismiss the possibility. Take off your shoes, Fox.”

Mulder slid off his polished Oxford shoes and loosened his tie. “The possibility of what?”

Maggie stopped and smiled. “Of what could be. Come on. I bet William will be excited to see you.”

Mulder followed Mrs. Scully into the kitchen and saw his son light up. William began to babble happily and stretch his arms for his father. He smiled and bent down to kiss his forehead. “I think he is going to have Scully’s eyes.”

“They might still turn brown. I don’t know, Fox. I think William is beginning to look like you. Have a seat. Do you want a beer with dinner?”

“Water would be fine.”

Mulder sat closest to William as Mrs. Scully served them. “William was fine today,” she said. “Dana called and let me know. If it is more convenient, I can come to Georgetown and watch William tomorrow if you want.”

Mulder nodded and replied, “I would appreciate that. I wish I could simply take the time off.”

Mrs. Scully played with her shepherd’s pie. And how are you feeling, Fox with Dana in New Jersey and you here?”

He was caught off guard with the question. “What do you mean?”

“Seven years you two were practically glued together. She would always answer your calls. Now you’re here and she's out in the field.” She paused. “I know you two had some difficulties when you came back.”

He chuckled hollowly. “Not every day you come back from the dead.”

“Exactly. She was alone for six months.”

“I didn’t leave her intentionally,” he defended quietly.

“I’m not saying that you did. I’m not my oldest son, Fox.”

“I’m that bad?”

“Worse than Dana,” she chuckled. “I know what it’s like to feel left behind and on the sidelines. I imagine you felt some sort of jealousy with Agent Doggett when you first met him?”

“I, uh, punched him in the jaw.”

Mrs. Scully nodded. “Dana mentioned something about that. The point is, Fox, I know what is like feeling out of the loop when your partner is out doing something. I felt the same way when Bill was out to sea and I was left to raise four kids of my own. He would joke that I was the admiral in the family.” She gave a small smile. “And you find yourself in a similar situation.”

“I guess so,” he whispered. He pushed his food around. “Even though we’re both teaching at the academy, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“You could always propose.”

William squealed eagerly and threw something across the table making Mulder jump. “Excuse me?”

Mrs. Scully shrugged. “I just figured after 8 years, a child, and sharing an apartment...it’s time you make it permanent, Fox.”

“I…”

She held up her hand. “You don’t have to say anything. Just think about it. In the meantime, are you sure I can’t get you anything else right now?”

“Yeah,” he stammered. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

As it neared 8 o’clock, Mulder gathered his son and Mrs. Scully piled leftovers into a brown grocery bag to walk him out. “I’ll be up by 10 tomorrow. What time will you be home?”

“About six,” he replied, shifting William in his arms. “Scully said she might be home by tomorrow.”

“Well, I’ll set one extra place at the table.”

Mulder, still feeling insecure, interrupted. “You don’t have to, Mrs. Scully. I can take care of William. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Nonsense,” she dismissed. “I love seeing my grandson.” She kissed Mulder’s cheek goodbye. “And I don’t do these things because I pity you or think you unworthy of Dana, Fox. I do it out of love for you and William. Now, I’ll see you tomorrow!”

As the door closed behind him and Mulder tucked William into his car seat, his thoughts became distracted yet again. Scully did need him, right? He hadn’t brushed aside. And what did Mrs. Scully insinuate with their dinner conversation?

* * * * * *

A few states away in Manahawkin, New Jersey, Scully retired from examining the half-collapsed head of “Captain Dare” and the persistent flirting of Dr. Rocky Bronzino earlier than she anticipated. She politely declined the dinner invitation from Agents Doggett and Reyes as well. She found her attention drifting towards various journal articles about the Spanish fly and their mating rituals. After a few hours, Scully abandoned her research.

She tried to take a bath and felt distracted. Her mind couldn’t wrap itself around the facts of the case. As she dressed for bed, she sleepily looked at the motel clock and saw it was nine o’clock. How could she have let time get away from her? Without a second thought, she found her cell and called the apartment’s landline. When there was no answer, she quickly called Mulder’s cell phone. He answered the third thing.

“Mulder,” he greeted automatically.

She could hear him hiding a yawn in his voice. “Mulder, it’s me,” she spoke softly. “Did I catch you at a bad moment?”

“No,” he sighed. “I just put William to bed. A late bath, a lot of crying, and a partially read bedtime story and he is down for the count. He misses you terribly.”

“I bet,” she said. Scully shifted the files around. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” He yawned again.

“How are you?”

“Tired,” he admitted simply. “And very much missing you. Your bed is too big without you. But never mind me. Tell me about the case?”

“I am dealing with a human head half-collapsed in with flies exploding it before I arrived. Agents Doggett and Reyes are chasing down a teenager suspect.”

“Oh,” he hummed. “Bugs. Is this like those teenagers from Pittsfield, Virginia, Scully?”

“Not at all,” she said. “I’m not entirely sure if this is an x-file yet. I mean it has bugs. It’s all about the bugs, Mulder.”

“Washington state. One of our first cases.”

“Well, no one has been found cocooned in the web.”

“Yet.”

“Yet,” she repeated. Scully sighed and looked at the empty side of the motel bed. “I should be done by tomorrow evening. Hey, we have the weekend at least. One perk of teaching at the academy: normal 9-5 jobs.”

“Unless you get called away on another case.” Scully could hear a hint of bitterness in his voice. “But yeah, I’ll look forward to it.”

“Mulder, are you okay?”

She could hear the phone shifting on his end. “Hm? Yeah. I was just getting the blankets pulled down. I thought about putting William in the bassinet but I guess he needs to learn about sleeping in his room.”

Scully groaned inwardly. “You’re not helping,” she told him.

“What did I do?”

There was a weariness in his voice she could not place. “Mulder, what’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing, nothing. Everything is okay. I’m handling it just fine.”

She heard his voice rise defensively and the baby crying in the background. “Look, Scully. I’m going to check on William. I’ll talk to you later okay?”

“Okay but…” Mulder hung up the phone before Scully had a chance to reply. “Great.”

Scully looked back at the clock, wondering if she should call her partner back. She felt hurt about the shortness in her voice. What had happened? Did her mother say something to Mulder? Did she do something? Did something else happen to William that he wasn’t telling her? In the end, she decided not to call him back lest she wake the baby again and cause Mulder to lose any sleep. As she settled in the motel bed, she turned onto her side and swept her arm up and down the empty side. She missed being away from him and their son.

Three hours away in Georgetown, Mulder, unable to sleep found himself on the couch in front of the television. William held contently against his chest. William sleepily watched his father as Mulder settled on TCM for a black and white horror film. A small gurgling brought Mulder’s attention back to his son. “We’ll just keep daddy sleeping on the couch a secret from mom,” he said.

William yawned and twisted his head towards Mulder’s chest. “Well, the important thing is that you’re comfortable,” Mulder continued. “You’re just like your mother; she can sleep anywhere too. I think her favorite place is to fall asleep on me.”

He shifted his attention back to the television and then back at his son. “I can’t help but feel forgotten,” he confessed to William. “I mean, your mom was all by herself when she found out she was pregnant with you and I was abducted. She got a new partner.” Mulder thought of Doggett’s straight-laced demeanor. “He is just the opposite of what I expected. And of course, I am jealous of him. He was the one watching Scully’s back because I ran off to chase down a damn UFO. Look at what that got me, Will. Six feet under.” He looked down at his son. “Does that make me a bad person?”

William met him with silence.

“Well, I value your opinion so don’t hold back,” he told the baby. More silence except for a sleepy blink. “I think that is why I was so distant tonight. I’m jealous. I’m upset. I feel left behind.” Mulder watched his son grow sleepier. He had Scully’s blue eyes. “I feel like she’s moved on without me. I have since I came back. Even with you and all your glory, bud, I still feel inadequate.” William grabbed a fistful of Mulder’s t-shirt as his eyes grew heavier. “Are you trying to reassure me?” Mulder chuckled slightly. “I wish I could tell Scully how I felt.”

One day, he promised himself. As William drifted off to sleep, Mulder found himself wide awake still, his thoughts going to Scully and the bitterness he felt over the fact she was out in the field and he felt left behind.

* * * * *

Back in New Jersey, Scully left the motel to head straight to the medical examiner’s office. Agents Doggett and Reyes had texted her that they were going to follow up with some matters at the high school before meeting her at the medical examiner. On her way there, Scully tried to call Mulder again first at his office and then his cell. This was the second time since last night that he hadn’t answered his phone. Trying to dismiss the growing insecurities into the back of her mind, she tried to focus on the case instead. As Scully strolled into the main medical lab, it was much to her dismay that Dr. Bronzino was waiting for her.

“Dr. Scully,” the overly tanned scientist greeted. “How are you this fine morning?”

“Well,” she greeted with some reserve. “Have Agents Doggett and Reyes arrived yet?”

“Not at all! But I’ve been examining the flies that exploded from that young man’s skull. It’s quite fascinating really. Being a forensic pathologist, you might find this particularly interesting. Have you ever heard of the coffins fly?”

Scully took a step back and forced a smile. “I can’t say I have.”

“Well, they’re amazing creatures. A female coffin fly has been known to bury its way through over two meters of dirt just to lay its eggs on the cadaver. That is the equivalent of a human digging two miles into the ground.” He flashed her a dazzling smile of whitened teeth. “Isn’t it amazing of the lengths one will go to procreate?”

“Fascinating,” she replied quickly, “but what does this have to do with the victim?”

“Oh,” the entomologist exclaimed, “all the flies that came for the young victim’s head were female. There is probably nothing to it but isn't it fascinating?”

Scully’s mind was already firing and meaning connections. “It is. And it could be nothing or it could mean everything. Did you set any aside for the examination?”

Dr. Bronzino waved to the other end of the room where the microscope was. “I was going to prepare some samples to examine.”

She moved towards the microscope. “Why don’t I start on that and you do whatever it is that you are doing, Dr. Bronzino”

“Excellent suggestion, Dr. Scully! Divide and conquer! I like the sound of that!”

“I’m sure,” she answered.

“Which reminds me. I’m going to run back to my lab real quickly to gather another instrument of my invention. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” she said.

Scully was secretly glad to see him retreat as she set to work. She laid out her research of flies that she had started the night before and her morning coffee. She paused, trying to collect her thoughts before she delved into the day’s work, however, she couldn’t. Her thoughts kept going back to the abrupt conversation that she had with Mulder the night before. He sounded distant and aloof. She was reminded of his jealousy when he came back from the dead. She found her phone and dialed his office at Quantico. At nine a.m., he should have been strolling right then. However, it went straight to messages. She hung up before she could leave one. Growing disgruntled, Scully called the Georgetown apartment. To her surprise, it was her mother that answered.

“Hello?” Her mother answered.

“Hi, mom,” she greeted quickly. “What are you doing at the apartment?”

“Oh, I thought I would save Fox driving to drop off William with me this morning,” she said. “One less hassle to do. I also picked you and Fox up some groceries that you desperately needed.”

“We were fine,” she said. “Where is Mulder? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” her mom replied vaguely. “I found him sleeping on the couch last night with the tv on. William must have kept him up all night.”

She felt a twinge of regret twist her heart. “Is he okay?”

“I guess so. He seemed fine and left for the office with no issue. Why? Is there something that I should be aware of?”

“No, no,” Scully said. She pushed the thoughts of insecurity deep down. Now was not the time. “He seemed distracted last night. We only chatted briefly. Is William okay?”

“He’s a fat, happy baby who can sleep through anything. Just like you were. I’m here until Fox comes home if you need anything. Do you want me to tell Fox that you called?”

“No, no. Everything’s fine.”

Her mother was silent on the other end. “Well, if you do need anything, Dana, I’m here with William. Love you.”

“Love you too, mom.”

She hung up her phone and tried to ignore the new signs that taunted her. Nothing was fine except she was not going to say anything. Scully sat at the microscope and began to work.

A couple of hours later, Dr. Rocky Bronzino rejoined her with a crude-looking invention to he promised to give a giant break in the case. She half-listened to ramble on about the various mating rituals of insects until she noticed a pattern emerging with the insects. It took Bronzino to confirm her suspicions and identify the peculiar fact about the case. As she continued to examine the flys, at a quarter till noon, Agents Reyes and Doggett walked in. Scully looked at both of them and announced, “I’m glad you’re here. I think we just got our first real break in the case.”

“What did you find?” Reyes asked.

“Well, it's what the entomologist Rocky Bronzino found. The flies that ate at the brain and skull of the victim are all female. Every last one of them.” Scully motioned to a fly under the microscope as she spoke.

Doggett looked towards Monica Reyes and asked, “Exactly how is that a break”

Scully thought for a moment and answered, “Well, what are the chances of that?”

Agent Reyes clarified, “You mean that the absence of males suggests there's a reason for the attack. Behaviourally.”

“Well, something biological is going on. Whether it's hormonal or chemical something has caused these bugs to attack,” Scully theorized.

Doggett added, “Or a need to express themselves.”

Scully asked, “To what?”

Agent Doggett continued, “This is a kid that calls himself "Sky Commander Winky." Agent Reyes and I were interviewing him as a suspect when this happened.” He showed photos of the victim’s back were the words ‘DUMB ASS’ shined a bright, red welt. “The paramedics arrived and treated him for an aggressive attack of bodily lice.”

She took the photos to examine them closer. “Hmm. Lice are not altogether uncommon in a school environment.”

Doggett snorted. “Except that these are better spellers than most of the kids.”

“Maybe they stayed late for after-school lessons,” she snorted. “So what are you saying? That this is just another dumb ass stunt?”

Reyes interjected, “Well, that was my first thought. But the victim here was just too freaked out by this incident to make me believe he'd staged this. Which leads me to think that while you may be right about this being a matter of biology, someone is directing the biology.” She paused. “Maybe you might want to consult Mulder?”

“Why?” Doggett asked. “These are bugs we are talking about.”

“And how does one direct bugs?” She added.

Reyes shrugged and replied, “I don't know how but we've been running down a long list of witnesses.” She passed Scully the rest of the photographs. “A loner who was present at every dumb ass stunt and who had a run-in with this kid Winky at school just prior to the lice attacking. His name is Dylan Lokensgard. We're going to want to talk to him.”

“He seems like a promising start,” Scully replied. “Dr. Bronzino should be back soon. He promised to bring a piece of equipment that will help break the case.”

“We’ll be back then. Call us if you have anything. Let’s head back, Monica.”

“I’ll call you when I have something,” Scully replied.

She watched the two agents retreating. She glanced at the clock on the wall and did the math in her head. She probably wasn’t going to be home that evening that she had promised.

* * * * * *

Having Mrs. Scully watch William in Georgetown instead of Maryland was a bigger relief than Mulder had realized. Although he hit traffic on the way to Quantico, the extra hour of not driving had put him in a somewhat fairer mood. However, as the morning dragged on and he did not hear anything from Scully began to sour his fair mood. By lunch, he was mad. Well not mad, but pouting and being gloomy. If Scully were here, she would have chewed him out and told him to pull his head out of his ass. But that was just it. Scully wasn’t here to do that.

As noon droned on, Mulder heard a light knocking at his door and looked up with some surprise to see A.D. Skinner standing in the doorway. “Wow, Mulder. Even having an office out of the basement and looking depressed as hell.”

“And it’s good to see you too, sir.” Mulder rose to greet the man and offered his hand. “I suspect you did not come down to comment on my office.”

“No.” Skinner paused. “I had a meeting I needed to attend. I wanted to check in on you and see how things were. You know, just to see if you threaten to burn down the establishment yet.”

“Haha,” Mulder said lamely. “No. Things are normal. Just perfectly normal.”

“And you are a terrible liar. Why don’t you come to lunch, Mulder? Get your head out of your ass and get some fresh air.”

“I’m fine where I am,” he said.

“And I know you well enough to know when you’re lying. You’re jealous aren’t you?”

“About what?”

“I know Scully’s out in the field,” Skinner stated, “and you’re not.”

“Way to rub it in.” Mulder glanced at his computer clock and relented. “Fine, fine. It isn’t like I have anything else to do today.”

“Good. You could use the distraction.”

. . . . . .

Back in New Jersey, Doggett and Reyes were still canvassing the school looking for more witnesses, Scully found herself out in the streets with the brazen etymologist, Dr. Rocky Bronzino. His continued efforts of flirting with her wearing down on her last nerves. She surveyed the empty street and how idyllic it reminded her. Dr. Bronzino focused on the tool he had brought from his lap that was designed to help them. He took a step back from the tracker to examine the surroundings.

“So many flowers ... so little time,” he murmured

Scully looked up from the trunk of the Land Rover. “Excuse me?”

The etymologist stated excitedly. “Pheromones, Dr. Scully. Heavy in the air. Nature's natural attractions. Driving the insect world to go forth and pollinate.”

As Dr. Bronzino began to advance on her, she took a few steps back. She shifted her gaze to the device he had brought with him. “I'm aware of how pheromones work. But according to this device, there isn't a single pheromone to be found out here.”

He began to tweak his machine and Scully rolled her eyes, looking back up to the sky. She smirked, remembering the time she was with Mulder when frogs rained from the sky. Dr. Bronzino was growing frustrated. “Well, that can't be right. The biosensor uses an actual fly antenna over which the pheromones pass. But I modified the EAG to measure in picograms which makes it sensitive to traces a mile in any direction.”

Scully watched an overly casual Rocky lean against the car, a confident hand on his hip, as he tried to charm her. Scully tried to remain professional and keep them on track. “But I'm still not sure why you think that pheromones might cause an otherwise harmless fly to attack a human so violently, Doctor…”

“Rocky,” he corrected. His whitened teeth shined as brightly as he flirted with her.

“Rocky,” she repeated

He smiled, thinking his charm was working. “Bugs are small-minded creatures, and therefore very predictable. They don't have moods. They react to circumstance and stimuli as they have been doing for millennia.”

“How wonderful.” She tried to keep it professional. “So what do you suppose they're reacting to out here?”

Dr. Bronzino puffed out his chest like a mating dove and took a few steps forward. “It may be the bugs are being somehow driven crazy with desire. You know, they say we humans respond to pheromones, too.”

Scully put her hands on her hips, clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah, I tend to agree with that, yeah.”

Rocky pressed on. “‘Women's dormitory syndrome.’ It's believed that pheromones are the reason that women who live together share the same menstrual cycle.”

“Fascinating,” she deadpanned.

Dr. Bronzino felt emboldened. “You know, when a male and female calliphorid fly mate they stay joined for up to one and a half hours. One and a half, doctor.” He punctuated the last few words for emphasis. “What do you think of that?”

Scully stood unfazed. This was not the first time she had to deal with this, however, this time was different. “You know, Rocky ... I'm a mother.”

He arched an eyebrow, not dissuaded. He looked at her left hand. “Mothers are women, too.” He took a moment to look at Scully surveying her. “I noticed a lack of a ring. And what does it matters? Women have biological needs, just like men do.”

“You are drawing dangerous conclusions without lack of evidence, doctor.”

“Well, as a trained scientist, I observe you are a woman. There is no ring on your finger to denote a marriage or a serious relationship in what we consider legally.”

“I can assure you that I am very serious. I am in a committed, nine-year relationship with the baby’s father.”

“Well, he is not here. You are.”

“Doesn’t matter, Rocky. Let’s keep focused here, please.”

“Well, relationships aren’t known to be monogamous,” he countered.

“Seahorses, macaroni penguins, gray wolves, barn owls, and bald eagles,” she said.

“What do those animals have to do with relationships?”

“If you were a real scientist,” she pressed, “you would be aware of some of the animal species that are known to mate for life. There are some cracks in your argument. ”

“Well, there are numerous insects that perform a variety of mating rituals. Give it time, Dr. Scully and I’ll win you over.” She was about to reply but was interrupted by the beeping of the pheromone bio-sensor. Dr. Bronzino turned excitedly to the machine. “Big hit!”

“What is it?”

“A high concentration of c-13 calliphorone...incoming.” He looked up at the sky. Scully did the same and heard the beeping increase and then suddenly dissipate. “What? What happened?” He quickly went to check his machine.

“Nothing, apparently,” Scully commented drily. “We should get back to the lab. Agents Doggett and Reyes might have something for us there.”

“Are we going to continue our discussion of animal mating and ritual habits?” He asked, his voice heavily laced with innuendo.

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s done.”

“Dr. Scully, are you blushing? As the great Charles Darwin once said, ‘Blushing is the most peculiar and most human of all expressions.’”

“Don’t make me shoot you,” she sighed.

“I consider it a challenge.”

. . . . . .

“How do you like teaching at the academy,” Skinner asked. He watched Mulder use his plastic fork to push the mac and cheese around on his plate. “Mulder?”

“Um, interesting. A lot better than having to deal with the profiling cases in VCU even though I’m sure I will come calling. That’s part of the deal with teaching? We help out and consult as needed.”

“Are you that bitter that Scully is on an x-file and you’re not,” he asked.

“Am I that obvious?” Mulder asked.

“I’ve had hemorrhoids that weren’t as annoying with you,” he replied. “Or is it the fact that you don’t have the x-files anymore?”

The bluntness of Skinner’s observations caught Mulder off guard. He looked up from his food and took a few moments to reflect. “In theory, I shouldn’t. I have Scully and our son, things are about as normal as we can make them. But I can’t help but feel connected to them in some way. Seeing Scully out in the field, me not there…” He shrugged. “It brings up a lot of baggage.”

“Especially with Doggett?”

Mulder was quiet. “I blame myself. I should have stayed with her instead of chasing UFOs.”

“Doggett’s a good agent, Mulder. It was hard watching her, Mulder, during those months she was gone. Having to keep her pregnancy a secret. It was tough.” Skinner took a napkin and wiped his mouth. “You know, Sharon used to get mad at me when we first got married. I was still a field agent but the jealousy she would get. She felt inadequate with everything that was going on between us. Said she felt left behind.”

Well, Mulder thought, certainly hitting everything on the topic. Skinner continued to stare at Mulder. “And?” he asked. “What did Sharon do?”

“Well, we had a real nasty fight that was the start of our quarrels at the very beginning of our quarrels. I was in the field, missed an important date, you know how it goes.” He smiled to himself, remembering her. He thumbed at the wedding band thoughtfully. “But we made time. Communication wise. It didn’t always go well but we tried.”

“So, in addition to being an assistant director, you are secretly a marriage counselor. Wow, sir.”

“Knock it off, Mulder. All I am saying is that something is bothering you about this...arrangement, then make sure you take the time to talk to Scully.”

Mulder nodded. He decided to change the subject. “So, how is our old buddy Kersh?”

Skinner chuckled. “Tap dancing his way on the top floor so that you’re no longer there to bother him.”

“Well, at least some things never change,” he answered. “My advice, Mulder, from one man who tried to balance a career and relationship? Make sure you always leave time to talk and communicate. If not, the whole thing can go to shit.”

“Thanks, sir,” he nodded. His mind drifted to Scully. “I appreciate the advice. You should come down to Quantico more often. Skinner’s Lunch Hour wisdom.”

“Knock it off, Mulder,” he dismissed.

. . . . . . .

After getting John’s call from the school, Scully took her car to investigate and meet them there. According to Monica, Dylan had somehow controlled the bugs during their confrontation. She was surprised by the number of cops, firefighters, and EMTs. She was even surprised to see people in hazmat suits. But to her surprise, Monica had found them a clue. A used tissue. They rode back to the medical examiner. As they rode the elevator to the second floor. Scully was the first to emerge carrying the tissue in a metal container with Doggett and Reyes flanking her. “Where did you get this again?” She asked.

“Dylan Lokensgard provided it to us when we interviewed him,” Doggett answered.

“I have to warn you, there's typically not a lot to be found in a teenage boy's sweaty kleenex.”

“Well, a teenage boy can produce other things,” Reyes replied.

“Don’t remind me of the future,” Scully laughed thinking of William.

“But we were looking for pheromones. Aren't there pheromones produced in adolescent sweat?” Reyes continued.

“Yes, it's what causes B.O., But all too obviously it's not all that attractive--to anything,” Scully countered. “While I was out with Dr. Bronzino this morning, we thought we had a possible hit this morning but it turned out to be nothing.”

“A possible hit?” Doggett asked.

“Well, Dr. Bronzino was more than trying to hit on pheromones.”

“Well, at least Mulder isn’t here to punch him in the face,” Doggett chuckled.

“Yeah,” she said distantly. Scully’s brief thought of Mulder drifted away as she entered into the medical examiner’s office where Dr. Bronzino was bent over a microscope. She still needed to call him. The lack of communication between them was growing. “Let’s see what we uncover.”

As they entered, the biosensor’s beeps became progressively faster, startling the etymologist grew excited. “Finally! I knew it wasn’t broken!” He glanced up seeing Scully, Doggett, and Reyes. “Dr. Scully, I’m so glad you’re back! I've got a reading here that's going right off the scale. Holy Toledo! We've got pheromones coming out of the ying-yang here. C-13 calliphorene and how.”

As they got closer, the beeping became a steady tone, and then suddenly stopped. Doggett raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

“I think my electroantennogram just... tilted,” Bronzino spoke in disbelief.

“What's c-13 calliphorone?” Reyes asked.

“Insect pheromone,” Scully supplied.

Dr. Bronzino’s attention shifted to the sample the FBI agents had brought. “Where did you find this mother lode?”

Agent Reyes answered, “A boy named Dylan Lokensgard. That specimen came from him.”

Rocky Bronzino sputtered, “A boy ... is secreting bug pheromones? That's impossible. Preposterous.”

Doggett glanced at Scully who met his gaze, trying to hide her smirk. He glanced back at the doctor. “You're the expert, Dr. Bronzino. How else do you explain it, then?”

When he didn’t respond, Scully asked, “Rocky?”

“A boy is a boy, a bug is a bug. You can't have it both ways,” he explained trying to wrap his mind around it, “science doesn’t allow it. Period.”

“I have a few theories,” Scully began, “Okay, so this boy's going through puberty, right? I mean, maybe his body chemistry is somehow just going crazy and it's his raging teenage hormones that are attracting all these insects.”

Reyes nodded in thought. “What if it's more than chemistry and hormones? More than biology? Dylan's not just attracting these bugs he's using them to act out.”

“Yes, but against what?” Scully asked.

“We saw him talking to a girl,” Reyes answered.

“Well, that makes sense. In a way. Teenage love,” Doggett connected. “The girl is the one in the dumb ass video. Captain dare's girlfriend.”

“How on Earth are you all making these connections,” Rocky said.

“We’ve experienced with cases like these,” Scully said. “Agent Doggett, why don’t you and Agent Reyes try to chase down the girl and check on her. Dr. Bronzino and I will check on Dylan.”

“We will?” He asked, confused.

“We are,” Scully confirmed. “Call each other in about two hours and meet back here?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Doggett nodded.

. . . . . .

It was evening by the time they got to the Lokensgards’ home. As Scully and Bronzino pulled up in front of Dylan Lokensgard’s house, her mind was elsewhere. She did not remember to call Mulder. As they walked up the sidewalk to the front door, Scully slowed and saw the front door slightly open. Scully slowed and drew out her flashlight. She knocked lightly on the door. “Mrs. Lokensgard? Dylan?” She called out.

Rocky Bronzino behind her was fiddling with the machine, trying to fix it, and it started emitting a series of steady beats. “Ah, got it! I'm getting a reading here. Trace levels inside the house.”

Scully shifted her gaze and replied, “Well, I guess that's probable cause.” Scully began her trek up the stairs when she was stopped by Rock Bronzino. “What now?”

Bronzino said quickly, “Dr. Scully? I just wanted to say this while I had a chance.” He smiled with bleached teeth. “This is so exciting. I've never had a partner before. And this isn’t a thing. This is a professional collaboration that happens only one time.”

Scully thought of Mulder and felt her heart twist. “I have. Don’t forget what I told you, Dr. Bronzino.”

“Semantics, Dr. Scully. I'd like to think of it as a hymenopteran relationship. Two scientists using their special knowledge reaching higher than either of them could ever reach alone. And if I may say so, Doctor, you complete me.”

“I’ve already completed. I already have a partner. I’ve told you this. Now, I got upstairs, you takedown.” She shook her head and thought of Mulder. She needed to call him once this was done.

“All right,” he exclaimed, “Partner!”

She rolled her eyes and jogged up the stairs. As she slowly examined the upstairs, her thoughts drifted back to Mulder and how she hadn’t communicated with him. Or her mother. As she neared Dylan’s room, Scully spied Natalie’s class picture on the bed. As her phone rang, she jumped, digging it out. “Scully?”

“Where are you?” It was John Doggett. He sounded rushed.

She looked around the room. “I’m with Dr. Branzino at the Lokengard’s house. But there’s nobody here.

“Yeah, well, I'm afraid the kid's on a tear. He's caused a car accident out here on Glenhaven road,” Doggett explained.

“How'd he do that?”

“You'd better see for yourself.”

“I’m on my way.”

Scully turned to make her downstairs while Rocky was just getting his equipment working properly. He looked up. “It’s everywhere, Dr. Scully. C-13 calliphorone. I'm getting a stiff new reading from up here.”

Scully nodded, “Yeah, Dylan's bedroom's up there. That’s probably what you’re reading. Unfortunately, he's not in it.”

“Where are you going?”

“The kid's on a rampage. I’m going to meet Agent Doggett.” The pheromone machine began to beep loudly and Dr. Bronzino cried in surprise. She called, “You got my number.”

Dr. Bronzino smiled and called out. “Does that mean you’ve changed your mind, Dr. Scully?”

“Not in your wildest dreams, Rocky.”

. . . . . .

Mulder came home, hoping to see, Scully but his heart fell when it was only Mrs. Scully smiling with William. He should be happy to have his son but he was missing his partner more. After a simple dinner and promises of coming to dinner Saturday night, Mrs. Scully left Mulder alone with William on a Friday night. William was quick to fall asleep and Mulde put him to bed. He surveyed the empty apartment. It felt foreign without Scully there with him.

He went back to the couch and tried to get comfortable. Flipping on the TV, he found the Sports Center. He glanced at his cell phone. He checked it one last time before turning it off. If she wasn’t busy saving the world without him, she would find a way to let him know what is going on.

. . . . .

As Scully drove to meet Agent Doggett, her phone started to ring again. She sighed and answered, “Scully.”

“Agent Scully,” Doggett’s voice filtered through the voice piece, “I need you to turn around and go back to Dylan’s house. Monica just called. She got knocked out and Natalie is gone. I think Dylan got her.”

“Is Agent Reyes okay?”

“Yes, I think so. I found her covered in some sort of web. Like a spider.”

Scully’s mind flashed to one of the first cases she and Mulder had on what was supposed to be a walk through the forest. “Call the EMTs and make sure they bring hazmat gear. I’m on my way back to Dylan’s house.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Take care of Agent Reyes first. And call back up for me as well.”

“You got it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She tried to dial Rocky’s number but it was disconnected. As Scully pulled back up at the Lokensgard home, it was still eerily quiet and something felt amiss. She drew her weapon and flashlight and took a few steps in. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Natalie Gordon, the girl that Doggett and Reyes had been after, sitting in a chair and crying. She asked, “Where are they?” Natalie shook her head, unable to speak. “Natalie!”

Natalie’s crying continued. She pointed upstairs wordlessly. Scully pointed her weapon upstairs and began to make her way to the attic. She widened her eyes in disbelief to see large human-sized sacs of web hanging from various positions. She instantly recalled the mysterious web-slinging, glowing insects from Washington state and how her, Mulder, and the park ranger were almost swallowed alive. As she examined them, a small voice emitted, “Help me. Dr. Scully, help me!”

Scully bent down to tear off the web. “Dr. Bronzino?”

“It’s the boy! And the mother!”

“Where are they?”

“I don’t know.” His voice sounded faint. “I don’t feel so good.”

In the distance, she could hear sirens. That must have been Doggett and Reyes coming with the cavalry. She tried to tear the webbing away as she heard the sirens sound to a stop. Bronzino looked faint suddenly and lolled his head backward and his eyes shut. She dragged him out and checked for a pulse. Feeling one, although faint, she began CPR. She heard footsteps running up the stairs and as the flashlight shined on her.

“Agent Scully!” Doggett greeted. “Is that Branzino?”

“He was in one of the web sacks,” she explained quickly, continuing CPR.

“He’s smiling,” Reyes observed.

“He’s what?”

Scully looked down to see Bronzino with his eyes closed but he was smiling. “That sonofabitch,” she cried.

Caught up in the moment, she slapped him against the cheek and got to her feet. The smack was resounding and caused Dr. Bronzino to sit up suddenly and place his hand against the red cheek. “What kind of care was that?”

“A dose of reality,” she snapped. “Make sure the EMTs check him out.”

“I thought we were partners,” he pouted.

“We worked together on this one case. That’s it.” She turned to Doggett and Reyes. “I found him cocooned up like these unknown victims. I had seen something like this once before when I first started on the x-files. That might be worth checking out.”

“We will,” Doggett said, trying to fight from grinning. “But um, do you find any signs of Dylan?”

“Gone. How is Natalie?” Scully answered.

“Fine. Shaken up but I think she’ll be okay,” Reyes said, trying to fight the urge to laugh.

“What?” Scully asked. She turned as the two agents stared at Bronzino who was now trying to charm a female EMT about his close brush with death. “Oh, come on!”

“I’m just saying,” Doggett said. “If Mulder were here, he would have slugged the guy.”

“Just because you were on the receiving end of the man’s fist once, John doesn’t mean he would slug another guy.”

Scully rolled her eyes and cast one lingering glance at Bronzino. “Speaking of Mulder, I need to call him.”

“Let him know about the human fly trap?” Doggett grinned.

“Both of you knock it off,” she grumbled.

“Agent Scully,” one of the police officers called, “I need to get your statement!”

“Can it wait?”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am unless you want to do it in the morning,” the officer said.

Scully sighed. “Fine, fine, I’ll do it tonight.”

Her plans of going home or evening calling Mulder disappeared as she was left with Agents Doggett, Reyes, and the cops investigating the scenes.

. . . . . .

Saturday morning. The sun was just peeking through the windows of the Georgetown apartment as Mulder sipped his coffee. He was preparing to wake William up to take him to do a morning run to the shop down the street for donuts and a newspaper. Despite the jealousy and sour feelings, he had with Scully being in the field, being home on a Saturday morning with his son was nice.

His attention was drawn to the door when he heard a key sliding into the lock, the deadbolt turning, and the door open. In came Scully, still wearing the suit from the night before. She came in, kicked off her boots, and dropped her keys on the table next to the door. She sighed and Mulder stood quietly. “You look like you’ve had a tough case,” he called softly.

Scully looked surprised. “You’re awake.”

“I’m not much of one for sleep. You should know that by now,” he replied. “You didn’t call.”

“I’m sorry,” she started. Her tired mind tried to piece the past 24 hours. “I got busy and distracted. Everything came to a head last night. I didn’t want to wait to see you so I drove through the night…”

“You drove through the night,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“As a doctor, you should know better.” He made his way to her in a few steps and wrapped his arms tightly around her. Scully was shocked by the greeting but relaxed a few seconds later. Her arms came under his and she hugged him tightly. Mulder squeezed his eyes tightly and buried his face into her hair and breathed deeply. “I missed you.”

Scully buried her face into her chest. His cotton shirt smelled of William, old sweat, and just home. “I missed you too.” She lifted her head and kissed him. Mulder smiled and kissed her deeply, not relinquishing his grasp. She chuckled tiredly. “You missed me.”

“Words fail to describe it.”

She smiled again and looked about the empty apartment. “Where is William?”

“Still sleeping. He’ll wake up in another hour or so. What about you? When was the last time you slept?”

“I napped at the station before I hit the road.”

“You’re a doctor,” he admonished.

“I know, I know.”

“So you know bed rest is the thing you need right now. I’ll call your mother later and cancel dinner plans.”

“Dinner plans?”

Mulder nodded. “We thought you were coming home last night so we were going to have dinner as a family. No worries. We can do it tomorrow.”

“Mom usually goes to church first thing.”

“I’m sure she’ll make an exception.”

Scully was already moving towards their son’s bedroom. The need to see her son was killing her. She opened the door slowly to see William still sleeping soundly. “He sleeps like you but like clockwork, he’ll be up ready for his bottle. We were going to run to the store to get donuts and the Saturday paper. I can pick you up for breakfast if you want?”

“That’d be nice.”

At the sound of his mother’s voice, William sleepily opened his eyes and gurgled happily. “He was up earlier, about three, with a diaper. Go ahead. I’ll get his bottle ready and get you some coffee. Unless you want to change.”

“No, no, this is fine.”

Scully bent down to pick up her son, cradled him, and sat in the rocking chair. Mulder smiled at the image before he went to fetch the bottle and coffee. As he came back and saw Scully, still disheveled from her case, smiling and cooing at their son, the anger and bitterness he had been nursing the past few days momentarily vanished.

. . . . . .

“Is William asleep?”

“Yeah,” Mulder replied, crawling into bed with her. “He’ll probably be up around two or three. He’s been consistent the past few nights with you gone. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take the first shift when he wakes up.”

Scully flipped the covers down for him further. “I missed this.”

“Missed what?”

“You, William, us.”

Skinner’s advice came back to him suddenly and Mulder said, “I have something to ask you. Rather something to tell you?”

“What?”

“I was quite moody and jealous when you were gone. I felt...I felt left behind,” he confessed searching for the right words. “I know I screwed up being abducted and dying and putting you through all that before William was born. With you gone…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong. I may have gotten caught up in the work,” she said. Scully reached for his hand. “But this parenthood thing, our relationship, we just need to strike a balance and find out what that is. I enjoyed Saturday with you and William. That’s something we wouldn’t have if we were still on the x-files.”

“True. But I still feel bad.” He pulled her suddenly towards her and she let out a yelp of surprise. He kissed her neck and nuzzled her pajama top open. “William can sleep through anything. And, correct me if I’m wrong, doctor, you’ve healed enough.”

She giggled and slide down so he had better access. “On the case, there was this etymologist that had helped us. Rocky Bronzino. The man kept flirting with me to no end. He ended up in a cocoon…”

“A cocoon you say,” Mulder murmured.

His fingers were already unbuttoning her pajama top, his hand sinking beneath the elastic waistband of her undergarments. She shivered to feel his fingers touch her. “Yes. I got to say I was in a relationship,” she smiled. She sought more kisses from him. “Publicly. Openly. I am in a committed relationship with my partner.”

Mulder smiled and whispered, “You sound so sexy saying that.”

“What? I am in a committed relationship with my partner?”

“Yes.” Scully found herself topless and pulled off Mulder’s shirt. “He made me perform CPR on him.”

Mulder paused. “He did what?”

“Don’t worry. I gave him a good dose of reality.” She snickered. “By slapping him.”

“There’s the Agent Scully I know,” he breathed. “And good. I don’t share.”

Scully let him continue his ministrations, relishing being home and with him again. Her thoughts about the case as she just let herself be present and let herself be free. Mulder moved and loved her, silently thanking whoever was listening he had her and William in his life. After a passionate reunion, Scully cuddled against Mulder, resting her head on his heart. “I missed you.”

He held her and gently played with her hair. “I missed you too.”

On the baby monitor, William began to make noses, crying from one of his parents. “I got it,” Mulder whispered. He kissed her quickly. “And you’re right, we’ll try to find a balance.”

Scully laid back down in bed and watch his naked behind jog to the nursery. She lay back down to watch the shadows on the ceiling and he was back five minutes later. Mulder slid effortlessly back next to her, embracing her again. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “He was just talking in his sleep. Like you do.”

“You mean you,” she yawned.

“I mean you.” He pulled her closer. “It’s good to have you home, Scully.”

“It’s good to be home.”

#xfiles #xf fic #msr #txf #txf fic #msr fic #embracing parenthood fic #mulder #scully #mulder and scully #season 9 #au

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starwalker42 · 4 years

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And The World Keeps Spinning [3/3]

It’s finally here! Part 3 of the fic I started a year ago for the @xfilesfanficexchange! You can find part 1 here and part 2 here, or read the whole thing on AO3! Tagging @today-in-fic Happy Valentine’s, everyone!

I think I’m dreaming. That or I’m dead, and I’ve somehow been granted access to heaven. Or it’s possible that I’m still trapped in an underground fungus and this is all a hallucination I’m being fed as it digests me.

Or maybe, just maybe, this is actually happening.

Maybe Scully is in my arms, still straddling my lap, and breathing heavily in my ear.

She’s resting her head on my shoulder and has one hand on my neck- the other lies limp between us, resting just next to mine. Mine, which was up until a few moments ago inside of her.

Jesus. I’ve been inside of Scully.

She stirs against me, her hand on my lap edging a little too close to the danger zone as she moves to take mine. My body jolts in response to her touch, and I will it to hold on just a little bit longer. What I said to Scully is true- I really, really, don’t want to end tonight by coming in my pants.

She clearly has other ideas, though- she’s reaching for the zipper to my jeans, seemingly intent on giving me a taste of my own medicine, right here right now. There is no way in hell I can survive a handjob right now- part of my wonders if I’ll ever be able to survive Scully’s hand on my cock- so I find myself trying to talk her out of it.

“Scully.”

Her eyes fly up to mine, so beautifully wide and eager that my chest constricts a little. How the hell did I get this lucky?

“I don’t know if I can do this right now.”

She blinks, then slowly removes her hand. The look in her eyes makes me realise I’ve made a mistake, and I quickly backtrack, stumbling over my words a little.

“I didn’t- I mean- if you touch me right now I don’t think I’ll last very long.”

Scully raises an eyebrow. “I told you I don’t mind. I mean it.”

“I know.” I squeeze her hand, then bring it to my mouth and press a kiss to her palm. “But I want… I want to do this with you. All of it. And I don’t think I can do that tonight if you keep touching me like that.”

There’s a moment of quiet, and I panic, worrying that I’ve crossed a line.

“I mean, only if you’re okay with that-”

“Mulder,” she laughs and cups my cheek. “Of course I am. I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember.”

The admission seems to stun us both. Never in all my wildest dreams did I imagine her saying that. I want to ask how far back the desire goes, but there’s time for that later, when we’re inevitably going to cuddle in bed and laugh at our past selves for being so oblivious. So instead I just bring my hand to the back of Scully’s head and bring my forehead to hers.

“Me too.” I confess inches from her lips.

She gives me a shy smile. “Then what’s stopping us?”

And the answer, right now, in this immediate moment, is nothing, as I hope I confirm by leaning forward and pressing my lips to hers. She melts against me, yielding to my tongue as it seeks hers, and I feel the world slowly fade away under the touch of her mouth. Before, with others, this has always scared me: the feeling of being cast adrift, thrown into the abyss, with no clear sense of up or down or if anyone would be there to catch me. But right now it feels like none of these things.

Right now I just feel free, like I’m floating, like Scully has taken everything that makes the universe so confusing and has pushed it away, leaving only her in its place. And the only emotion I feel right now is the complete opposite of fear.

I feel safe.

I feel loved.

She hasn’t said it, but she hasn’t had to; I’ve been inside her head, I’ve already heard all I need to. But now I can feel it, too, and that is making it all the more real. Can she feel me telling her the same back?

She pulls back just as the words reach my lips, thankfully interrupting me before I can embarrass us both.

“How did you want to do this?”

Part of me wants to say right here, on this couch that I’ve began associating with her since the first night I woke up from a nightmare and could smell her scent on the cushions, the one we’ve both broken apart and been put back together on, but that’s not the right thing for our first time. I want to try and go slow, I want to make her feel safe and comfortable, and give her all the time and attention she deserves so neither of us can ever forget a single moment of tonight.

“Bedroom?” I hoarsely suggest. “I think if I have sex in front of a shirtless Patrick Swayze I might get a little confused.”

She smirks. “I’ve never seen your bedroom before.”

“How about we head over and I’ll give you the guided tour?”

I wiggle my eyebrows and she giggles. Dana Katherine Scully giggles in my arms, still sat on my lap, and these two things combined do very little to help with my erection. In fact, if anything, I can feel my body start to tremble again, not used to this kind of teasing. Okay, bedroom it is. Right now.

“You’re going to have to move.” I murmur as she leans in to capture my mouth again, her arms tightening around my waist.

There is the tiniest of spaces between us when she pulls back to reply- I can feel her breath dancing across my lips.

“You want me in your bedroom, you carry me, G Man.”

She swoops in again for a kiss while my brain hurries to catch up with her thinking. I never had Scully down as a traditionalist- she hates when anyone makes comments about her height, or somehow implies she’s less capable because she’s a woman- but if that’s what she wants…

I wrap my arms around her and stand, feeling her legs grip my hips even as she gasps in surprise.

“This okay?”

As I raise my eyes from the floor to meet hers, I see a combination of shock and excitement.

“You always keep me guessing,” she murmurs as she tucks herself into my neck, holding on tight.

Her open mouth slides across my jugular and I take that as my answer. Yes, this is more than okay. This is perfect.

xXx

How dare Mulder ask me if this okay. He’s carrying me to bed- his bed, his bed, his bed- with his arms wrapped around my waist, his strong, capable hands holding me steady as my legs grip around him, and I can feel him hard and hot even through his jeans. I have never been this turned on in my life, and Mulder is asking me if it’s okay.

I love him.

I think I’d marry him if he asked.

I want to kiss him again but if both of us get distracted I don’t think we’ll make it to the bedroom. Somehow I manage to get even wetter at the idea of Mulder just putting me down and just driving into me against the wall, all of his body pressed against me. As much as I want that to happen- and suspect that sooner or later it will- that’s not how I want our first time to go. Mulder and I aren’t exactly a traditional couple by any stretch of the imagination, but I think we deserve this.

As I’m thinking this, Mulder taps my hip, bringing me back to the present. I realise that like this, tucked against his neck and breathing in his scent, I’ve let my eyes drift shut; when I open them I realise we’re in his bedroom already, and he’s trying to get me to let go and sink to the floor.

I pull back and brush my nose against his before kissing him again. How have I gone so long without this? All I know is that I’m going to do my best to never be without it ever again.

His hands flex against my back as he turns us around and drops himself to the bed, so I’m back on his lap with my legs still wrapped around him as my tongue frantically seeks his. Blindly, I fumble to undo more of his buttons until I can run my hands down his chest all the way to his abs, which are tense and trembling against my touch. I want to laugh a little at his response, but then his hands are under my sweater again, big and warm against my spine, and I suddenly realise that I’m in no position to judge.

I can feel my skin sparking and my blood burning as he makes his way further up my back, until his fingertips are just brushing against my bra. Oh my god, Mulder’s going to take off my bra. Mulder has been inside of me, but for some reason the thought of him touching my bare breasts seems dirtier than that. It means he’s going to see me- to lean back and gaze with those eyes and that familiar set of his jaw, and if I’m lucky then he might taste me too, with that tongue and that beautiful lip…

“Scully,” he takes his perfect mouth from mine and laughs. “It’s been a while, and, ah-”

“You need a hand?”

I’ve already moved my hands so they’re next to his, which are currently fumbling with my bra clasp. I might arch a little too much against his chest as I quickly do the job for him, but he doesn’t seem to be complaining.

In fact, as I let the straps fall down my arms and slide myself out of my bra, I can hear his breathing shake. He can’t see anything new- my sweater is still covering everything- but I’m also suddenly aware of how exposed I am in front of him, only one layer of clothing separating my naked skin from his touch.

“I feel a little overdressed,” he confesses with a chuckle.

“We can change that.” I run my hands over his shoulders and feel my cheeks flush when he leans back and lets me pull the shirt off of him.

There’s something so erotic about this- crossing this last barrier with him, meeting each other’s eyes in the dim light, and touching warm, welcoming flesh for the first time in a way I’ve only dreamed of. He kisses me again, hands in my hair, and as his lips trace a delicate trail down to my clavicle I let myself moan his name. I want him to touch me everywhere, in every way, until there are no more barriers between us.

So I reach for the waistband of his jeans. This time he doesn’t protest.

This time he lifts his hips so I can strip him, which with me sat on his lap is no easy thing to do- after a few moments of awkward shuffling we both realise the best thing is for us both to stand up. We don’t talk about it, but the instant I climb off him we both focus on ourselves, him taking off his jeans as I pull my sweater over my head.

I’m almost scared to look- not at him, or at his body, but at his eyes that will tell me everything I want to know and more besides. Does he like what he sees? What if he’s looking at me and realising that I’m nothing like the other women he’s been with, that my breasts are small, and my legs are short, and that I’ve got so many scars that even I’ve lost count? I’m beginning to regret drinking wine, because I know it makes me emotional. If Mulder rejects me now, I think I might break down in tears.

“Scully…”

When I glance up, he’s looking at me the same way I’ve seen him look at any number of supernatural phenomena, childlike wonder in hazel eyes and an awestruck smile on his lips. Before it’s been endearing, has made me fall even more in love with him and his beautiful mind, and this time it does all that and more. He’s looking at me. He’s stunned by me. If there was any doubt left in my mind, it’s suddenly and swiftly evaporated.

He loves me.

He wants me, in every way I want him. I feel tears welling up and hurriedly blink them back. I am not going to cry like this. I’m not. But then when I meet Mulder’s eyes again, they’re glimmering, too, even as he beams at me. I manage a nervous smile back.

“Don’t start, or you’ll set me off.”

If possible, his grin widens, although his eyes remain soft. “You’re so beautiful.”

I bite hard on my lip, but I think a tear escapes anyway.

“Hey.” He steps forward to brush it away, cupping my cheek and bringing my face back up to look at him. “Same rules, or this game isn’t fair.”

I laugh and place my hand over his. “Sorry.”

“Scully, you’re naked in front of me right now. You have nothing to apologise for.”

He kisses my forehead as I feel my face break out into a smile again, and then takes a step back and reclines himself on the bed, making all of my thoughts vanish. Oh my god.

“And you want to talk about not playing fair?”

That smirk again, this time with a cheeky eyebrow raise. “Is there a problem, Agent Scully?”

Well, that’s being added to the list of unexpected things that turns me on. Mulder calling me ‘Agent’. Now I think about it, the majority of the list is some variation of Mulder doing something. I think his current expression might have to join them.

My feet carry me to the foot of the bed, so I’m standing between his legs as he lies back, propped up on his elbows. If he sat up a little his mouth would be level with my breasts. But instead he stays right there, not moving, and I realise suddenly why. He’s giving me control. He wants me to be comfortable, and he knows that right now the best way to do that is to let me call the shots. I want to kiss him and hold him and tell him how much his trust and love mean to me, but I know that right now is not the time. Afterwards, perhaps.

Right now I have one plan, and it involves a couple fewer pieces of clothing.

xXx

For a moment I’m worried I’ve pushed it too far, but when she walks to the end of the bed and meets my eyes I can see the trust there, and the silent agreement. She still wants this. And she wants to have a little fun with it.

“There’s a problem.” She answers my earlier question. “You’re still overdressed, Agent Mulder.”

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. My dick twitches within my boxers at her tone, and I silently curse myself for trying to get the one-up before. I already know that Scully’s more than capable of payback. She notices my body’s response, and my brain finally regains enough sense to remind me that what she said isn’t strictly fair.

“I think we’re about even, actually.” I look pointedly at where her body is still hidden from me, the thin line of black fabric clinging her hips a stark contrast to the pearl glow of her skin.

She just smiles. “The female breasts are a sexualised part of the body, Mulder. Some would say more so than the vulva.”

I can’t exactly argue with her point, especially because something about hearing the word vulva from her lips seems to have taken all my words away. Even if I could speak, I don’t think I’d have a response- in a desperate attempt to avoid coming across as a chauvinistic stereotype, I’ve been trying not to stare, not to touch. Ever since she bared herself to me, I’ve felt my entire body shaking from the struggle of resisting, but I can feel my control eroding. She’s just… beautiful.

And now she’s climbing onto the bed, and crawling up my body, and without even thinking I’m grabbing her waist to pull her closer. We both gasp with the contact, and I take her open mouth with mine as I press her against my chest. She lets me chase her tongue with mine for a painfully short time, before pulling back away from my reach and sliding her hand down my side to play with my waistband.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”

“That sounds fair,” I concede.

She rolls off of me to pull her own underwear off as I kick my boxers down my legs. My cock is impossibly hard, and it’s already leaking; I wish I was surprised, but I know by now that if even thinking about Scully is enough to get me excited, it’s a miracle this hasn’t already ended embarrassingly. There’s a soft sigh from next to me, and I turn my head just in time to see Scully’s shy smile. I feel my heart flush with sudden warmth at her expression- I hadn’t realised until now how nervous I was about this part, but that look evaporates any worry I’d had.

“Scully…”

She nods, immediately understanding and reciprocating, still with that smile on her lips. When she takes my hand and brings it towards her, I feel the last traces of anticipation disappear, replaced by an overwhelming sense of rightness. This is supposed to be happening. This is the only thing I need. This is perfect.

And… oh. When Scully guides my hand to rest on her stomach, it’s somehow even better. Over the years, her suits, her body, even her hair, have become harsher, sharper, with all straight lines with any trace of softness carefully masked. Occasionally she’s let me see past all of it- when she’s answered motel room doors with her hair still damp from a shower, or when we’ve ordered take out together and sat crossed legged on the floor of her apartment. I know her well enough to know that the version of her the rest of the world sees is nowhere near the version she lets me see, but I’m still stunned by the feel of her bare skin.

She’s the softest thing I’ve ever touched.

Her fingers flex against mine as I hear her shaky exhale. I glance up at her, checking in, and she catches my eye.

“I’m okay. Just… don’t stop,” she breathes.

It’s only now that I notice the tremble in her body, feeling it against my palm and the energy radiating off of her. Oh god, are we going too fast?

“Are you sure? I-”

She manages a short laugh. “Mulder, if you don’t touch me right now I think I might die.”

Oh. Oh. I don’t think I’ve ever- not even during everything that’s happened tonight- actually thought about the fact that I turn Scully on. That she finds me as arousing as I do her. That all of this… is because of me. That she’s fighting to stay still because the need in her body is burning her up, the same way mine is.

I press my hand more firmly against her, and I’m rewarded with another quiet gasp. You don’t get a degree in psychology without learning about positive reinforcement, but this might be the first time I’ve realised how accurate of a theory it is- I want to touch my partner like this for the rest of my life, and all that’s triggered it is that tiny noise. And I already want to hear it again.

She’s given me permission to touch her, so I grant it to myself, too, and slide my hand up her body until I reach her breasts. At her nod, I cup one in my palm, letting my thumb rest over her areola. There it is again, that sound, and I decide to go one step further and gently squeeze her nipple between my thumb and first finger.

This time there’s definitely more of a moan- it thrums against my open lips as I press them to the delicate column of her throat, followed by a low murmur of my last name. I squeeze a little harder as I work my way up to her mouth, and moan a little myself when I feel her hands find my chest and her nails beginning to lightly scrape over my abdomen.

When our lips meet, it’s fire, like she’s been craving this as much as I have. How the hell I went so many years without kissing her is beyond me, because currently I can’t imagine lasting longer than a few minutes without this. I wonder if she’ll let me kiss her at work. I wonder if we’ll even go back to work after this- right now I can’t think of a single reason not to spend the rest of my life just like this, my best friend warm and soft and pressed against me as she touches me all over with those careful physician’s hands, minutes stretching to hours as we learn the intricacies of each other’s bodies that we’ve kept from each other for so long.

Speaking of hands, I’ve been so lost in my own mind and our kiss that it’s only now that I realise Scully’s nearly touching my cock. I’m still on my side, and the hand that was tracing my abs is now wrapped around my hip, pulling me closer. I can feel the heat from her arm; only a fraction of an inch closer and she’d be touching me. I’m painfully aware that I can barely survive that contact right now, much less any kind of movement, but her hand is shaking with a need that I understand. My hands are drawn to her body at the best of times, to the way it grounds and comforts me, and now my senses are heightened to the point where every part of my skin not touching hers is aching for contact.

But she wants permission.

I take my hand from her breast and reach down to hers on my hip. The mirroring of earlier is not lost on me, but it makes sense, I think, for it to be this way- we’re equals in everything else, why not this? My own hand touches my cock first, but even that makes me grit my teeth. If I can’t deal with this, how am I going to- oh, fuck. Not well, apparently.

We both shudder as she wraps her hand around me, her grip gentle but firm, sensing the need for restraint. I bury my face in her hair, distantly aware of the soft pants escaping my lips as she explores. Her breaths are quiet but shaky next to my ear, and the sound does little to help with my erection. If she keeps this up, I might come.

“Mulder?” She whispers.

Her voice brings me back from whatever heaven I’ve been floating in, and I manage to make a noise in reply that’s somewhere between a gasp and a grunt.

“Can I be on top?”

Even if I wanted to, I’d be incapable of replying to her with anything other than a resounding yes. I try to disguise the urgency I feel- if she knew this was a way to get my agreement, I have no doubt she’d use it against me at every opportunity- but I don’t do a very good job. The words stumble out of my mouth, not helped at all by the feel of Scully’s hand still wrapped around me.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

I clench my mouth shut to stop myself from pleading aloud, but in my head all I’m saying is please. Please, please, please.

xXx

I feel Mulder’s body wilt when I release my grip on his cock, and I watch as his hips pump the air in time with his staccato gasps of the painful pleasure of being so close, and yet denied. I know that feeling. My body burns with need for him, a need to be completely filled and surrounded by him, and our joint need is a living thing in the air around us. We both need this. Now.

My hands are shaking, but I force them to steady me as I bring myself to my knees and throw one leg across Mulder’s hips. His lips fall open with a silent moan, and his eyelashes flutter at the sensation, even as I feel his chest muscles tighten under my hands in an effort to control himself. I make a mental note of how beautiful he is like this, desperate and flushed and responding to my every touch, and how at some point in the near future I ought to properly test his willpower. Right now, though, I want to be nice to him, and give him a reward. He deserves it, after all this, we both do.

My hand slides up his chest to cup his cheek.

“Mulder.”

He opens his eyes and they widen, unabashedly taking me in. I feel a little self-conscious, sat on his lap like this with my body exposed to his searing gaze, but when his eyes find mine I forget to be nervous. His expression shows nothing but pure, unadulterated love, and that same look that he gave me earlier tonight- the one that makes me feel like the only thing in his world, like he’s just found the thing he’s been looking for all these years. The look that tells me this is my best friend. My partner. It’s Mulder.

I lean down and capture his lips with mine, sinking my teeth into his full lower lip as he moans in reply. His hands are in my hair, his fingers blindly threading and pulling as mine slide over his shoulders and down his arms. There’s an overload of sensation rushing to my brain from my nerve endings, so much I can’t focus on it for too long or I threaten to get carried away. Random bursts of pleasure rush past me: the wet heat of Mulder’s tongue, the beautiful ache in my lower body, the way the friction against his chest brings my nipples to attention, begging for relief.

I don’t want it to stop, but I need him inside me. I don’t think I can last another second without it.

So I reach between us and grip his cock again, pulling back less than an inch from his lips.

I check in, my voice catching in my throat. “Yes?”

Mulder’s hands have found their way to my waist, and he squeezes me tight as he nods. “Yes.”

I rest my forehead on his as together we guide myself down onto him, and I’m glad for the support because I feel my body shake as he pushes into me. He whimpers my name into the space between us, and I press my lips to his to try and mute a similar sound from myself. Because… oh my God. My mind briefly drifts to Ed Jerse again, the last man I had inside of me, and the difference to right now is astounding. I’m not fantasizing about Mulder anymore, he’s actually here, and this is better than any one of my fantasies.

I am wet, so wet, almost embarrassingly so, and Mulder slides all the way into me so easily it’s like he’s done it a thousand times. In this position I can control the speed, and while part of me wants to start riding him right away, I also want to take a moment for us to both adjust and feel this connection between our bodies. Of course, what I told Mulder earlier is true: we’ll do this again (many, many times if I have anything to say about it), but we only get one first time, and I want to remember every moment of it.

“Oh, Scully…” he whispers to me as we break apart from our kiss. His hands are still on my waist, and grip tight when he glances down at where we’re joined. “You feel so… so good.”

“So do you.”

My voice catches in my throat as I focus almost unconsciously on just how good he feel inside of me, hot and hard and so deep inside that I’m struggling to think about anything else. Mulder pushes himself onto his elbows, then all the way up, shuffling us both backwards gently to prevent shifting too much inside of me until his back is against the headboard. Like this, he can pull my torso closer to his until I’m buried against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as his hands stroke over my spine.

We sit there for a long moment, breathing together and letting all of this sink in. I’m having sex with my partner. If you’d told me even a few days ago that this would be how I spent my Valentine’s night, I would’ve laughed. But it’s happening. It’s finally happening.

“Scully.” My name has never sounded so right on his lips. “I don’t want this to end.”

He leaves the truth, that we both need this to end, however good it feels, unsaid. He’s been so patient tonight, we’ve both been- hell, we’ve been patient for years- and we need it. It’s not going to take much, which is good because I feel about ready to explode, and I’ve no doubt Mulder feels the same. I need to move.

I grip his shoulders and push my body up before plunging back down onto him again. This time we both moan, loud enough that I imagine we might wake the neighbours. I don’t have the time or space in my mind to feel shy. It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m getting laid. Let them hear.

I go slow a few more times, then up the pace. Mulder’s head falls back with a groan, and I latch on to his exposed skin, possessed with a need to mark him as mine. One of his hands is back in my hair, stroking with a gentleness that’s in perfect contrast to the way his other palms my ass and thighs. I want to kiss him again. I want to kiss him as we come.

As if he’s read my mind, the moment I pull back from his neck Mulder is tilting his head back up to find mine, sliding his tongue into my mouth with a force that erases all other thought from my mind. The sensation in my body continues to wash over me, though, and soon I’m trembling from his touch and a desperate need to come. Mulder’s always been able to sense what I need, and this is no different- he pulls me impossibly closer to his body, so my breasts rub against his chest as his pelvic bone provides the same perfect pressure to my clit, and then I’m flying, no longer in control of the sounds escaping me.

I can feel Mulder still pumping inside of me, and before I come down and have the chance to double guess myself, I let the words that have been on the tip of my tongue all night finally slip free.

“I love you, Mulder.”

There’s a sudden rush of warmth as he empties himself into me, gasping my name, and as I go limp in his arms I hear him whisper the same three words against my jaw, followed by a series of kisses that end with a flick of his tongue against my earlobe. We’re both panting with exertion, and I tilt my head up to press a kiss to the hollow of his clavicle, tasting the salty tang of sweat along with an undertone of his natural musk. His scent has always driven me crazy, and even though I feel completely sated, part of me still wants to throw him down on the bed and do this all over again. I have doubt he’d let me, too.

But right now I feel content to sit here in his arms, trembling with aftershocks and letting the afterglow run through me. There’s going to be plenty of time for everything else. Speaking of…

“Mulder?”

He kisses my hair. “Yeah?”

“Next time, do you think we could skip the formalities?”

My heart runs warm with love as he laughs. “If you’re trying to tell me you don’t like my cooking, just say.”

“I love your cooking.” I pull back and meet his eyes. “And the flowers. And the fact that you sat through half of Dirty Dancing with me even though I know you weren’t paying attention.” Here he looks a little guilty, and I smile. Gotcha. “But Mulder, you’re the best present I could’ve asked for. You’re the only one I need.”

His eyes shimmer in the dim light, and he leans in to kiss my forehead.

“Same here, partner.”

#the x files #txf fanfic #msr fanfic #msr #my writing #and the world keeps spinning #happy valentine's everyone!#hope it's as good as mulder and scully's

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scullydubois · 4 years

Text

Only the Light: Ch. 15

After shooting Mulder to prevent him from implicating himself in his father's murder, Scully takes Mulder & Melissa on a road trip to Albert Hosteen's Navajo reservation in New Mexico.

TW for mentions of guns/shooting, death, funerals

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

His eyes flutter open to some place like Heaven, which pisses him off cause that’s not supposed to exist, and if it does, then how in the hell did he make it here? A fiery-haired angel lays a gilded hand upon his chest, her touch made out of air. Tendrils of hair fall against her face, and Mulder wonders where one gets haircuts in Heaven.

He must be floating on a cloud, so close to the sun that it is stained an earthly golden-yellow. His sky accommodation is not as comfortable as all those Renaissance painters made it look, and for that he feels deceived. Is the soul so solid that it is weighed down, even in Heaven? And if it is, well, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a soul?

He is fatigued, and it’s bullshit, in his opinion, that he could be dead and still feel anything but blissful numbness. He’s about to voice this particular grievance when he realizes where he is, and sure English is turning into a lingua franca of sorts, but something tells him that God isn’t spending his spare time teaching the angels the difference between too and to. So he keeps his mouth shut, unnerved by not knowing whether he’ll ever be able to speak his mind again.

“Hey,” a soft voice breathes, and he’s surprised to understand it, but not altogether upset. He tries to respond, but his tongue has tethered itself to the base of his mouth.

“Mulder…” the voice says, and it registers in his mind that it’s not an angel--not technically--but Dana Katherine Scully, and my god, what atrocity has dared to send her to Heaven so damn soon?

He coughs, then grumbles from deep in his throat. He’s got to be the most undignified person in this joint, and he can only hope his welcome dinner with God isn’t anytime soon. The angel’s hand that is actually his partner’s drifts over his forelock, her fingers guiding his hair back into its part.

“Mulder, can you hear me?”

He nods, hungry for some sense of things.

“You were shot, Mulder. By me. Because you were acting very stupid.”

She killed him?!? Maybe he shouldn’t be so shocked by this, but he can’t help himself. And she’s here too, so how did that happen? Murder-suicide?

Her hand sweeps his shoulder, and he looks down to see the space where her bullet must have pierced him. Patched up right above his heart. He didn’t expect to carry wounds into the afterlife.

Her eyes meet his, blue as ever. “I’ve been taking care of you, and you’ll be just fine.”

His lips form an O, but no sound follows.

“Let me get you some water.” Scully disappears from his line of sight, and he realizes that his cloud has a roof and an open door. You can’t see those from the ground.

Scully returns with a plastic water bottle. Deer Park, to be exact--another thing he didn’t expect to find in Heaven. She holds it to his lips, tilting the liquid gently into his mouth. He revels in it, vitality slowly being returned to him.

At last, his tongue functions as it should. “Where are we, Scully?” he asks, his voice creaky. He’s beginning to think it’s not Heaven after all, but the back of his partner’s Chevy. Which feels about as equally likely, if he’s honest.

“At a gas station In Texas, about two miles off I-40,” she answers, twisting the cap back on the bottle. “We’re headed to a Navajo reservation in New Mexico.”

Met with the realization that his life is not, in fact, over, Mulder tries to piece together the last moments he can remember. He squints, the sun outside the vehicle colliding with the darkness in his brain. He remembers a fever and a bed that was not his.

“Did I sleep in your bed?” he asks, fairly confident that more important things before and after have slipped his mind.

“You did indeed,” Scully replies. And before he can get to it--”Melissa and I shared.”

“Ah.” He pushes himself up, every muscle in his arms rebelling.

Scully pats his shoulder. “You should stay reclined.”

“I’m like a whale in a fish bowl back here,” he protests. And he’s not wrong, Scully knows this. To fit him in, she leaned his head against the driver’s side windowsill and let his bare feet push against the passenger side door, then said a silent prayer that there would be no potholes.

“Why can’t I come up front?” he whines. “I’ll lean the seat back.”

“Because Missy’s sitting there.”

Mulder glances into the front, his expectations of privacy shattered. Still, an empty passenger’s seat meets his gaze. “Well, where is she then?” he pesters, more pointed than intended.

Scully chuckles. You can put a hole in the man’s chest, but you can’t take the restlessness out of him. “She’s inside getting snacks.” Scully smiles at her partner, fondness flowing out in a way she rarely lets it. He’s been out for a couple days now--and while she was closely monitoring him and knew he was okay--she’s so glad that he has come back to her. “Do you want sunflower seeds?” she asks with a sparkle in her eyes.

He nods. “Sp--”

“Spitz.” The moments that have gotten them there, that have indebted her with that knowledge, flash through her mind. “I know.”

And it feels almost prophetic, to Mulder, that she does.

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

The plains of North Texas roll past them, headlights and moonlight meeting in a demure embrace. The two-lane road bears a great resemblance to many they’ve gone down in days past. There’s no one else in sight.

Mulder has been relieved of his back seat duties, taking Melissa’s place at the passenger side so she could get some sleep. He’s slipped on the shirt Scully swiped from his apartment, a Knicks 1990 tee that she must have found in the corner of the living room where he throws his dirty clothes. He wonders if she even packed anything for herself before she hightailed it out of the city.

He couldn’t have imagined that punching Skinner would lead to his father dead, him shot by his partner, and them on the run across the country. And yet, there’s no place he’d rather be. The desert gifting them with a stunningly clear night, he’s opened the car’s sunroof and kicked back to stare up at the stars. The radio having long turned to static, quiet permeates the car.

“I’d gladly live in the middle of nowhere if I got this view every night,” Mulder remarks, drinking in the night sky.

Scully glances at him. There’s a rogue part of her brain that hoped he’d be looking back at her. Alas, the sky is his mistress.

They continue barreling down the highway, about seven hours out from their destination. The speedometer reads 87 mph...Scully is prone to speeding when she can get away with it.

“Keep it up and we’ll beat the sunrise,” Mulder jests.

“That’s the plan.”

Mulder pulls his seat back into place, popping suddenly into Scully’s peripheral vision. “Hey Scully, can I ask you a question?”

“If I said no, would that stop you?”

“Negative.”

“Go on, then.”

“Setting aside the why--though I’d be interested in that, too--how exactly did you decide that shooting me near the heart would be the safest bet?...Unless you wanted to kill me.”

“Well, I was pretty certain I’d be able to remove the bullet with what you had in your apartment, since the wound isn’t near a bone. That also makes it easier to prevent infection.”

“So you either have an insane amount of confidence in your shot, or you don’t value me very much,” he quips.

Scully smirks. “Lucky for you, I consider target practice a great stress reliever.”

“Does the Bureau psychologist know that?”

She bats his arm playfully, the car swerving as she does.

“Hey, that’s no way to treat a patient. Now I know why you’re not practicing.”

“Oh, did I forget to mention…? I’ve decided that I prefer Dr. Scully to Special Agent Scully, so this is the last you’ll be hearing from me.”

Mulder chuckles, though the very idea that there could be any truth to that gives him a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. “There are millions of doctors out there,” he says, “and some of them aren’t even the cool type. Special Agent? That’s way sexier.”

“Oh, is that the metric we’re measuring at now?”

“That’s the metric I’m always measuring at,” he deadpans.

“Mmm.” Scully looks at the rearview mirror, her sister’s steady-breathed sleep reflecting back at her. Good. She’d never hear the end of it if Missy overheard this conversation.

Mulder rubs his eyes, the events prior to his blackout having flowed back to him through the waking hours. “I’m sure I’ll regret asking this,” he begins, “but am I a fugitive?”

Scully glances out the driver’s window, as if she were going to change lanes though there is nowhere to go and no one else around. “I took your weapon to ballistics and proved it wasn’t the one used in the murder.” She says it so casually, Mulder notices, distancing them from the fact that the victim was his father. “But you’re still the only one placed at the scene, and it doesn’t look good that you called the police then ran. Still, the evidence implies that it wasn’t you. Of course, there’ll be suspicion…”

“Especially since we’ve both disappeared…”

“Hey, we’re on FBI business,” Scully declares. “We didn’t go through the official channels, but this is related to the X-Files.”

“Maybe Skinner will believe that if he hears it from you.”

“That’s what I’m banking on.”

Mulder smiles. She’s using her reputation to pull off a ruse. And damn, does that turn him on.

He breathes in the scents of the car--the McDonalds fries they bought with Melissa’s credit card (just to be safe), his own eau de cologne from three days without a shower, but, above all, Scully’s sweetness. Her, just...her. A hint of strawberry, a swipe of gardenia perfume, and her honey-suckle skin. Smoke was never a fitting scent for her, and he is glad she has given it up.

“I’m guessing it’s safe to say you never caught up to Krycek,” Mulder mutters, balling up the fast-food straw paper and tossing it in the air. “Unless you’ve got him in the trunk.”

Scully shakes her head. “No stowaways besides you. He ran off after I shot and catching him wasn’t exactly my top priority.”

“So you do value my life…”

Scully flashes a brilliant but bashful smile. “You caught me.”

What a relationship they have. They are each other’s slayer and savior; a cut of the knife stitched by a meticulous hand. Hurt then healed on the other’s command.

“Fox…”

Mulder glances at the backseat. He finds Melissa sound asleep, snoring softly, and his gaze snaps back to the other Scully in the car. What glitch in the universe has led her to address him by his dreaded name?

He has never been so sure as in this moment---his partner is an otherworldly being, something supernatural. Not an alien, nothing so sinister...but perhaps the angel he imagined, or a fairy who has guided mankind for millennia, or a genie granting his wishes in freeze-frames. She looks through him...not in a way which makes him invisible, but one that takes the physical aspect out of it entirely. She sees his soul. He knows this.

“Fox,” she continues, layering on the vulnerability, “I’m sorry about your father. I know you loved him, above it all.”

Mulder pinches the bridge of his nose. “Something like that...I don’t know, honestly, that he ever loved me.” He looks at his lap. “He spent his last breath asking for forgiveness. You have to wonder what he’s done with his life to end up there.”

“It all becomes clear at the end,” Scully responds, not so much a hypothesis as a statement of fact, drawn from experience. “His regrets caught up to him, and he loathed some things he did while cursing himself for the things he left undone...And in that moment, an apology was all he could do to right some wrongs.”

Mulder looks at her through the corner of his eye, somewhat disturbed by the oracle she has become. “He asked me to forgive him,” Mulder replies. “That’s not the same as an apology.”

“Isn’t it, though?’

Mulder crosses his arms over his chest, the lumpy gauze of his wound rubbing him through his shirt. “Well, first of all, he didn’t even specify what I was supposed to forgive him for, so I don’t see how that can yield any sort of apology. And the very fact that was saying it at the end of his life means that it wasn’t actually about soothing my feelings, but lessening his guilt. Really, it didn’t have a damn thing to do with me.”

“So you’re saying it was a selfish apology, and that doesn’t count.”

“Exactly.”

“So do apologies only work if the recipient accepts them?” Scully interjects. “Is there no value in the attempt?”

Mulder bites his lip.

“I’m not trying to play devil’s advocate,” she clarifies. “I’m genuinely curious about what you think.”

He sighs. “I think...what matters is not necessarily if the apology is accepted, but the intent of it. Like in this case, it was ill-timed, and so I don’t accept it. Maybe if he had said it to me ten years ago, it would have mattered, even if I were too stubborn to accept it at the time.”

“So if your father had apologized to you ten years ago, you would accept it now that he’s dead…?”

Mulder shrugs. “I think I’d realize that he actually meant it, and so I should cut him some slack.”

“Interesting.” Scully says nothing else, keeping her attention straight ahead.

Mulder smirks. “You don’t agree with me, do you?”

She pulls her lips into a tightly-knitted line. “No, no, that makes sense. I just think there are instances when a poorly-timed apology is accepted, and what then? Is the inevitable misunderstanding that will result the recipient’s fault for being so naive? Or do they get to place all the blame on the dishonest person?”

“How about a little bit of both, ey? Spread the blame out nice and evenly. A sprinkle there, a pinch here...”

Scully cracks a smile. Of course he’d make this conversation dirty. “You know, you scare me sometimes, Mulder.”

And just like that, they’re back to his preferred name. He lets out a sideways smile. “Yeah? Why?”

“Because I think that maybe you’re truly crazy, you’re not just faking it.”

He laughs, deep and sudden. Pulled from the trenches of his being. “Glad to hear it,” he snickers. “Glad to hear it.”

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

As the motorcycle rumbles over the desert dust, Scully wonders how she could be so stupid. Barely out of psychosis and she sends Mulder to a burial ground. She didn’t intend for it to be his final resting place.

Eric had tried to warn him before the helicopter men, as he called them when describing the scene to Scully and Melissa, burned the place. But Mulder couldn’t hear him over the whirl of the blades--that’s what Eric suspected. As he recounted to the girls, the smoking man had threatened him, had laid a grotesque hand on him and forced him to show the way back to his house. They interrogated his father Albert and bruised and bloodied him. The conclusion, all around, was that nobody knew where Mulder was. Regardless of whether he had burned in that boxcar or somehow disappeared into the desert beforehand, he was gone.

Scully has a pretty clear idea of who’s responsible, and she wishes she had a helicopter she could ram into their dumb black helicopter to wipe them off the face of the Earth... and prevent them from wiping anyone else off the face of the Earth. Thwarting their ambitions will have to be enough.

But how? Desert heat mixes with smoldering ash as she stands over what’s left of the boxcar, making the moment unbearable. It is obvious to her that if Mulder was still in the boxcar when the ignitor went off, he is now dead. No human can survive that magnitude of burning--he would, in fact, be incinerated. Not a piece of him left behind, identifiable even to Scully’s trained eye.

And if he wasn’t in the boxcar, if he heard the helicopter and gave himself over to the desert? What then? Surely he would have found his way back to where she was standing by now. Surely she’d be able to see him, hear him, touch him. There’d be proof he was something more than ashes. Maybe even, he might have made it back to the motel. But Melissa is keeping watch, and she hasn’t said a word. Missy would not play games about this.

Logic prevailing, as it often does with her, Scully lets Eric drive her back to the motel. If he’s not here, then he’s there. And if he’s not there then--well, she knows. And isn’t it just like Mulder to leave her enough evidence to point one way without giving her the proof she needs to conclude? She imagines a funeral sans a body and shutters.

When they get back to the motel and Missy opens the door and she is alone in the room, Scully is not surprised. She is shattered. It’s like learning the day you’ll die, then waking up on that day and recoiling at the calendar. What will be cannot be stopped. Not by any power of persuasion. Any.

She wants to scream, cry, file a personal complaint with God. Instead, she walks through the door, thanks Eric for his help, then asks her sister what she wants for dinner. Scully’s not hungry--she rarely is these days, and how could she be at a time like this?--but Melissa, she’s human, and she’s been waiting around all day, and all they have in the room is a quarter-full bag of gummy worms, so yeah, Scully decides, Missy probably is hungry. And that’s something she can take care of.

Missy looks at her sister like--well, like she said she just saw an alien. “Dana, you’re not well.” Then, after getting no reaction--”It’s okay to be upset.”

Scully throws her blazer over a chair. ”I didn’t say I wasn’t upset.”

Missy sits down on the bed and pats the space next to her. “Come on, let’s talk about it.”

Scully throws her hands in the air. “He’s gone, Melissa, what else can I say?” She paces through the room. “If he was in the box car, he burned to death. And if he wasn’t, then shouldn’t we have found him by now?”

“Not necessarily,” Missy counters. “Albert told me about the Anasazi, a tribe that lived here hundreds of years ago.”

“I know, I know. They disappeared, historians have no explanation for it.”

‘“That’s what they say. But, honestly, Dana--nothing disappears without a trace. Mulder included.”

Scully shoots her a look. “So what is your explanation? That he was abducted, despite there being multiple witnesses who didn’t see a thing?”

“He called you, he said he saw something in the boxcar.”

Scully nods. “Bodies...lots of them. He said they didn’t look human. And they all had smallpox vaccination scars.”

“What do you make of that?”

Scully shrugs. “I don’t know, but I don’t think it has anything to do with the Anasazi.”

“So why did the men burn the boxcar?”

“It could have been because Mulder was in there, and they wanted to kill him. Or because what’s in there was damning to them.”

Missy bites her lip. “Did the boxcar blow up?”

“No, but it’s still smoldering.”

“Could you go in tomorrow and take a look? See what you can find?”

“Missy, I doubt there’s anything left. And besides, I’ve already ignored about thirty calls from Director Skinner. I need to get back to DC...I’m lucky if I’ll still have a job.”

“Fuck the job. Think of Mulder.”

“I need to consider both if I’m actually to uncover any of the conspiracies that Mulder--and his father and so many others--died as a result of.”

Melissa frowns. Dana’s already counting her partner out...that’s hard to come back from, being christened as a corpse. She sighs. ”Alright, I’m going to preface this by saying that I truly don’t believe that Mulder’s dead, and I know you will find him.”

Scully’s eyes narrow, intrigued by her sister’s shift in tone. “Okay…”

“There’s a technique that I learned from my therapist friend,” Missy begins, already setting off alarm bells in Scully’s head, “that is meant to help process complicated feelings about a person.”

Scully purses her lips as Missy continues--”It’s used to find clarity and--if it’s someone you’ve lost, literally or metaphorically--to give closure. I think it would help you establish a clear motivation to keep up your work on the X-Files.”

Scully’s forehead creases right between the eyebrows. “I just told you, I have one.”

“Yes, but if you go back to Washington, bureaucracy’s gonna get in the way of all of that. That’s why you drove out here in the first place, isn’t it? To avoid bureaucracy and push forward with the case?”

“I suppose,” Scully mumbles.

“And that’s exactly what Mulder would have done, and that’s what he would want you to do now.”

“This is beginning to sound like one of those ‘if x jumped off a bridge, would you?’ scenarios,” Scully retorts.

“But with the opposite sentiment,” Melissa clarifies. “You and Mulder have never been closer to finding the truth. Now do you want to hear my suggestion or not?”

Hands on her hips, Scully’s silence commands Missy to continue.

“Let me remind you that Mulder is not dead, and this is just an exercise.”

Scully nods, more to keep her moving than in agreement.

“I want you to write a eulogy for him.”

Scully’s mouth drops open in protest. “And this is going to advance the investigation how?”

“By giving you emotional clarity. Essentially, you’ll realize how much he means to you, and it will push you to do whatever you can to complete the investigation.”

Scully scoffs. “You act like I don’t even like him or something.”

“You like him, but you’re afraid of imitating him. There’s a lack of...respect for his methods. And they’re the only way this case is gonna get solved.”

Scully crosses her arms. “Gee, apparently you should have gone to Quantico in my place.” It’s not that she’s afraid, per say, but that she doesn’t think Mulder’s unconventional approach will work. Two plus years in and she still believes herself more than him. She wishes she didn’t.

“You don’t have to read the eulogy out loud,” Missy coos, knowing full well that she’ll be sneaking around during the night to get her hands on it when her sister refuses to share.

“Wow, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better,” Scully groans.

Melissa squeezes her sister’s shoulders. “It’s gonna be okay. You’ll find him, and this will help you know what to say when you do.”

Scully leans into the hug. “For the record, I think this is insane, alright? I’m only doing it because it’s getting too late to search the desert.”

“Understood.” Missy stands up. “Oh, and to answer your question, Albert invited us over for a traditional tribal feast at his house.”

“What?”

“You asked what I wanted for dinner. Those are our plans.”

“Oh.” Scully looks at her lap. It seems unfair to have to face the world at a time like this. Especially when her head is plagued with thoughts about what she would--will?--say at her partner’s funeral. And still, she continues.

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

Crowding around Albert’s dining table, the party finishes the last bites left on their plates. It has been a long day--or days, more accurately--and the desolate black sky outside makes Scully feel like it’s 4am, though the clock only reads 7. She blinks toward her company, trying to remain present.

“I am thankful we could share this meal,” Albert says, nodding to Scully and her sister. “It is not often we get outsiders here, and even less often that we’re able to indulge in the foods of our ancestors.”

Missy reaches for the final piece of fry bread, biting into it daintily.

“There’s not a lot here,” Albert tells them, eyes downcast. “Nowadays, we take what we can get, and that means eating to survive...your processed foods and non-perishables have become the staples of our diets.”

Scully tries not to frown. “Well, we’re very glad that you prepared this for us. It was delicious,” she says, trying to inject enthusiasm into her downtrodden heart.

“Yes, thank you very much,” Missy affirms.

Albert casts his eyes in Scully’s direction. A shadow falls over her. From where, she is not certain.

“You are hurting, but you do not need to be. What is yours will find you. There is no such thing as disappearance.”

Scully pulls her lips into a solemn smile. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“It is the truth. The desert acts in its own way, and it is never wrong.”

Scully nods, trying to believe him. Trying to have faith. “Thank you, Albert.”

From across the table, he extends his palms toward her. “Pray with me.”

She clasps his hands and closes her eyes. Prayer is not normally something she engages in with others around, but neither is grief.

Albert begins speaking in the language written on the Defense Department files. She doesn’t understand the words, but his sincerity transcends semantics. The spirit of faith--the spirit of God--is there.

She has been thinking lately of faith. The faith she has been feeling is not that of Sunday mornings and ‘forgive me Father for I have sinned.’ It’s something else entirely, something that has compelled her to do things she would never do... until she looked down at her hands and she was doing them.

So many transgressions to count, and yet she hesitates to even call them that. Injured her partner--a suspected fugitive--to keep him from implicating himself, tapped her sister as her sidekick to take him halfway across the country, and deserted her duties at the FBI, all in favor of the truth.

Maybe truth is faith that good will prevail.

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

When Scully sits down that night with the motel notepad and a pen, she becomes a conduit for everything she couldn’t say out loud. She copies the entire Mulder file from her brain, and it still doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t capture any of his essence, the unique flavor of humanity that he bravely faced the world with which made him so...him.

It is then that Scully realizes you can know all the details of someone’s life without ever really knowing them, and that scares her because she gets the inkling that she has never truly let Mulder in--though he has opened up to her--and what if he dies feeling like he never got further than the young woman whose physics thesis he read? That’s not fair, not when she knows him so well.

She takes a breath and puts the pen down. She can’t compose Mulder to life. Resurrection doesn’t work that way. What she can do--and what she realizes is what every person does in this situation, and there must be something wrong with her because it wasn’t her first instinct--is write about how the man she knows (knew?) made her feel. About the impact his life had on her life.

Her vision blurs as she works to consolidate her unauthorized biography of Fox William Mulder into a passage that suggests the joy their partnership brought into her life. Though Missy said she wouldn’t have to share, Scully can’t shake the feeling that she will need this at some point in time, that having a eulogy on call might not be such a bad idea. It’s a terrible thought, but a truth every agent knows. After all, she and Mulder witnessed each other writing their wills, and that was considered a customary work duty. Nothing is out of reach.

And so she wrote as if she’ll have to read it one day, letting her emotions flow within the confines of her finely tuned self-awareness. The end product turns out somewhat more sentimental than she envisioned, but she caps her pen and walks away, giving herself permission to take up space.

--Fox William Mulder--

As he despised being called by his first name, I must take the liberty of referring to my partner as Mulder one last time. I was lucky to know him. Not as Spooky or the alien-obsessed man in the basement, but for who he truly was. Nothing was more important to Mulder than the truth. And the truest truth I know about him is that he loved his sister, and he wanted justice for her. It’s what he spent his life on, and ultimately, what he sacrificed it for. I am honored to have played any role in his mission, and I hope to continue it in his memory.

If there’s one piece of Mulder that I hope to carry with me for the rest of my life, it’s his tenacity. Mulder never, never let any obstacle get in his way. I can’t tell you how many times I wasn’t sure where he was, only to learn that he had flown to the ends of the Earth to investigate whatever lead he found promising that day. I doubt that I’ll ever encounter anyone who lives up to the passion and determination he contained within him. And it’s a shame because the world needs that...The world needed him.

I needed him too. He challenged me in ways I never dreamed of. Sometimes I wanted to pull my hair out, but mostly, I just kept thinking about how boring my life would be if I never met him. And now...I don’t know what’s next. There were so many possible futures ahead for us and the X-Files. This isn’t just a eulogy for Mulder, it’s a eulogy for all that could have been. He was my best friend. There’s nothing more I can say.

When she reads it back the next morning, she falls to her knees in conversation with God, pleading for a miracle to bring the man she has finally realized she loves back into her life.

#this got tender as hell #truly a labor of love <3 #thank you for reading as always #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #melissa scully #mine

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volahre · 3 years

Text

babe for the weekend - chapter 4

When an old friend from high school invites her to her wedding and she brings Mulder along as her plus one, Scully reflects on her life, her place in the world, how much she has changed and what she really wants.

I originally started this to explore the topic of growing up, aging and feeling like you are missing out within the character of Dana Scully, but it has become so much more than that - but read for yourself!

chapter four

Between the vineyards lay a small cottage with a large meadow which Dorothy and Robert had chosen to be the location for their celebration. The ceremony had gone smoothly, a teenage girl who turned out to be not only Robert’s niece but also a piano virtuoso contributed to the celebratory atmosphere with pieces by Handel and Bach.

“Champagne, juice, or mixed?”, one of the waitresses asked Scully once she had gotten up from her chair and straightened her dress. Smiling, she thanked the waitress and took one of the champagne glasses while waiting for Mulder to follow her. “To the newlyweds?” she asked once they stood facing each other. “And to love”, Mulder answered, looking straight into her eyes with an expression she could not quite read. It was new, something she had only seen appearing on his face recently.

“And how do you know Dorothy and Robert?”, an old familiar voice appeared behind Scully as she was waiting for the buffet. She turned around and saw Marcus speaking to Mulder. Great. She took a deep breath. “He’s with me”, she said and put on a smile, looking at the face of the man she once, though much younger, more inexperienced, and certainly more naïve had called the love of her life.

“Oh, Dana!” Marcus laughed. “It’s good to see you”.

She kept on the smile. “It’s good to see you too.” This really was strange, to say the least. What was she even supposed to say? Gesturing behind Marcus, she cleared her throat. “Have you…come here with anybody?”

“Oh yeah,” he replied, a particular glow appeared on his face. “Wife and two kids, they’re waiting at our table. I can introduce you later if you want”.

She nodded. “I’m sure we’ll find each other again.”

“But tell me about your company, Dana”, Marcus said before looking at Mulder. “Marcus Watson”

Mulder took Marcus’ extended hand. “Fox Mulder. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Fox”, Marcus said. “I see you guys are not married yet?”

“No!”, Scully said, way too abruptly. Trying to conceal it with a laugh, she continued, ignoring the look Mulder gave her. “No, we’re not married.”

“I see”, Marcus smiled. “Where did you guys meet, if I may ask?”

“Oh, we met- “, Mulder started, but Scully interrupted him. “We work together at the FBI”.

“The FBI?”, Marcus appeared a little startled. “Last time I checked, I heard you went off to med school.”

Scully let out a small sigh. “I did, but I ended up in forensic science. But he,” she gestured at Mulder, “has a degree in psychology. Didn’t you do that too, Marcus? How’s it going with that?”

“Well, it’s going amazing, if you ask me! Got myself a practice set up and together with a few colleagues we’re focusing on dysfunctional families. But you, FBI, huh?”, Marcus looked at Mulder, who shrugged with one hand in his pocket.

“Well, I just hope I can help people find closure. And some minds are hard to get into, frankly. And sometimes it’s not even the minds as much as something greater than what could be limited to just one person.”

Scully looked at Mulder, surprised he had not brought up the specifics of what they did. “Mulder and I, we work together on a division called the X-Files.”, she said. “Cases that have been deemed unsolvable.”

“And you solve them?”, Marcus asked.

“Well, I’d like to think so”, Scully said, looking at the floor.

“Often times it’s about perspective,” Mulder said. “Some might appear unsolvable if you look at them from a traditional standpoint, but I like to think that if you go a little outside the box and look at them with an open mind you might actually find out the truth.”

“Ah, I get you, buddy”, Marcus said. “I have to deal with some real monsters as well, if you know what I mean!”, he laughed.

Scully frowned as Mulder laughed, though appearing highly uncomfortable. “Well, I suppose that’s different…”

“Come on, Mulder.”, she said, pulling him by his arm. “Buffet’s ready.”

They were seated across from each other at the end of a table full of people she didn’t know, which didn’t bother her much as she hoped it would spare her of more awkward conversations.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he would be like this”, Scully said later as they were eating their dessert.

“Hey it’s fine, Scully”, he said, grinning. “Sometimes your adolescent crushes grow up to become real monsters”.

She chuckled at his attempt to imitate Marcus. “Shut up, Mulder.”

“No”, he said, causing her to throw a confusing grin at him.

“You’ve got pudding on your face, wait”, he grabbed his napkin, and before she could say anything, he leaned over the table and carefully cleaned up the edge of her mouth. Remembering that she had to breathe, she took in a sharp inhale and felt a blush appearing on her face again. In the spot where his fingers had almost touched her, so close to her mouth, she felt a slight tingle.

“Thank you”, she said, hoping he would not question her blushing after him touching her. He had been invading her personal space for years and she had gotten away with barely blushing at most. So why was this happening now?

“I need to get some air”, she said quietly after finishing her dessert and got up, grabbing her purse.

“You okay?”, Mulder had gotten up almost as fast, his eyes filled with concern as they found hers.

“Yeah, I just need to get away from all the people for a bit”, she said, quickly looking away.

Her heels clicked on the asphalt as she walked down the little street that had led them to the location. After about two minutes, she found a bench with a view overlooking the hills. If she stayed for a few hours, she might be able to watch the sun go down from here, judging by the way it stood now.

Taking a deep breath, she took off her shoes and relaxed her back against the wood. The whole idea seemed like a mistake. Coming here after years of barely keeping in contact and therefore not knowing how to talk to anybody, bringing Mulder and putting him in an even more awkward situation than hers, it was like she had wanted to please people but had ended up just being selfish. Selfish, Dana. Her entire life, her entire career she had tried not to be selfish, always acted in the favour of others. But now her feelings, her fear had gotten in the way. Selfish.

She worried about Mulder. What was she even going to tell him? Sorry I’m behaving so weirdly; I just saw a guy I had a crush on almost 20 years ago and it made me realize that – but what had it made her realize? She had not come to any conclusion as to why the situation had felt so incredibly awkward, not just because of Marcus, but because of the combination of Marcus and Mulder. Apart from….no, definitely not. And this was certainly the worst place to consider the matters of her own heart. This was a celebration of love, but not hers.

Love. She recalled that moment in the hospital a few months earlier, when they were working in interior terrorism and Mulder had gone on a reckless spree diving right into the Atlantic Ocean, ending up drugged and exhausted. He had told her he loved her then, and she had brushed it off as a side effect of the drugs. But later, on her way home, she had recalled the moment with a particular sting in her stomach.

“Here you are”.

She looked up and saw the man in question standing there, his eyes – what colour were they now? – glistening in the light of the warm Californian sun.

“Oh hey”, she said quietly.

“The seat next to you taken?”, he said in his usual sarcastic tone but she couldn’t help noticing that there was also an obvious softness to his voice.

She chuckled. “Sit down if you want to,” she said, taking her purse so he had the space to sit.

“You wanna talk?”, he asked once he had sat down, putting his arm across the backrest behind her.

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “It’s just all so much…so much more than I expected. All the old feelings that never really went anywhere, so much left unresolved, washed out by years of growing apart.”

He nodded, that unreadable expression on his face again. “I’m sorry if this is too personal, but do you still like him?”

“No!”, she said just as quickly as she had earlier, almost as if she was speaking out of reflex. She despised herself. “No”, she said again, with a slight smile. “I think we really have grown into two completely different people with completely different lives. Plus, he seems happily married and has kids”, she sighed, realizing that this was another aspect in which she could never be quite like those people.

“Hey, shhh, it’s alright,” Mulder said, his hand gently rubbing her shoulder in small motions. As if her brain didn’t already feel like it had melted all sense of rational thought away, the electric signals he was sending through her body with his touch was doing the rest. Slowly, she leaned into his embrace and looked up at him. “I’m so sorry, Mulder.”

“For what?”, he said quietly. His arm had followed her and was now gently stroking her upper arm.

“For making you go through this crap”, she laughed. “You don’t know anybody, which arguably puts you in an even more awkward situation than me, and now I’m running away, and it just feels like I am making this whole thing about myself.”

“Now I’m gonna have to stop you right there, Scully,” he said, “you are not making this about yourself. In fact, I don’t think that many people even noticed you leaving. And even if they did, they probably think you just got a phone call or something. And hey,” he continued after a little pause, “I really don’t mind being here with you. Trust me. I’d rather do this with you than have you go through this on your own.”

“Mulder” she said and shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I hope I can take this as a compliment?”, he said, and she could feel him smile against her hair.

“Anyways, what I wanted to say…” he continued, “Weddings don’t have to be perfect, Scully, and it’s okay if you need some air sometimes. But as I was leaving, they were setting up the dancefloor, so I thought I’d let you know.”

She sat up and smiled at him. “Thank you.”

#babe for the weekend #my fics #my prose #my writing #mulder and scully #msr #msr fanfic #the x files #the x files fanfic #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillian anderson #david duchovny

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atths--twice · 4 years

Text

Pinky Promise

Mulder and Scully in the aftermath of the “You should try it sometime” comment. But, Mulder and Scully style... so you know, the roundabout way.

Over the Rainbow played as Scully watched Sheila and Holman walk away, hands clasped and huge smiles on their faces. She could not help but smile as she watched them, obviously quite in love with one another.

She could feel Mulder at her side, his nervous energy nearly palpable. She glanced at him, and she saw his jaw clench as he stared after the couple. She looked at him more intently, trying to catch his eye. He caught her look, and he glanced at her, clearing his throat. He hit his hands together, fists on top of each other.

“Mulder,” she said, trying not to smile. “What did Holman mean?” He fidgeted a bit more, and she bit her cheek to stop her laughter.

“What did he mean about what?” he asked, not looking at her, but at the floor.

She could not stop her smile, so she turned slightly to hide it and give him a second to collect himself. He cleared his throat, and she turned back toward him.

“So, uh .. I don’t think we’ll be flying out tonight. Not only because of the weather, but I’m pretty sure that’s our pilot over there,” Mulder said, pointing toward the makeshift bar, toasting the people around him. Even from where she stood, Scully could see his cheeks were flushed from drinking.

“Huh,” she said, nodding and crossing her arms. She bit her lip as she looked around at the happy revelers, living their normal humdrum lives. She sighed, releasing her lip, feeling a pang of jealousy at the easy carefree lives they must lead.

An apparently popular song among the class began to play and everyone cheered. They all gathered on the dance floor, shoving past her and Mulder. She caught his eye, and he nodded toward the exit, stepping in that direction. One more couple hurried past her, and she followed behind him.

He waited at the gym door and looked back at the crowd once more, a small smile on his face. She caught up and watched him watching them. He caught her eye again and opened the door, letting her go through first.

She hid a smile as she rubbed her hands together before locking her fingers. The woman at the sign in table wished them a good night and Mulder answered in kind. Scully stopped in front of a case of trophies, looking at them as if they were incredibly interesting. Mulder walked up beside her and she could see him watching her in the glass.

“So, I was thinking, as Holman and Sheila left, the advice you gave him must have been pretty good. For it to work so well, I mean. What exactly did you say to him?” she asked innocently, turning to him with wide eyes.

He scoffed and shrugged his shoulders, his hands spread wide. “You know, guy stuff,” he said, tilting his head.

“Guy stuff? Hmmm,” she said, nodding her head and looking back at the trophies.

“Yeah, guy stuff,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets.

“I’m just curious what guy stuff a man who never dates and doesn’t have a significant other could offer up to a man who is basically in the same situation,” she said, turning to him with her arms crossed.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say never,” he said, in a wounded tone.

“Mulder, do you have a secret life I don’t know about? I’ve never heard you ever mention a .. date or someone you’re seeing,” she said, hopefully hiding the hurt she was feeling.

“Well .. it’s been .. I haven’t .. not for a while, but it doesn’t mean I’m not good at it,” he said in a hurt tone, stepping away from her and heading for the outside door.

She raised her eyebrows and followed after him, hurriedly walking through the door and avoiding a rather large puddle. He was a few steps ahead of her, and she had to almost run to catch up to him.

“You’re good at it, Mulder?” she asked, avoiding another puddle. “How would you quantify being good at dating?”

He stopped walking, turned around, and stared at her. “How? Scully, I can be, no, I am very charming,” he said, shaking his head. She finally caught up and stopped, watching his eyes.

“Yes, Mulder,” she said, licking her lips. “I am aware you can be charming, that’s not what I meant. I’ve seen your charm, been on the receiving end of it myself, but is date charm different than your regular run of the mill charm? I’m simply curious.”

He stared at her for what felt like a long time and then he stood up very straight, adjusted his tie, and buttoned his jacket. He smoothed his hair back and then extended his hand to her. She eyeballed it and looked at him with a frown.

“Hello,” he said, a big smile on his face. “I’m sorry if I’m a few minutes late. I had a work thing that I couldn’t get away from until now. It’s Dana, right?” His hand was still extended, waiting for her to take it.

“Oh. Are we doing this?” she asked in a stage whisper, to which he nodded. “My name is Dana, yes, but you can call me Scully,” she said, as she took his hand in hers and shook it, flashing him a dazzling smile.

“Scully? That’s interesting. I’m assuming that’s your last name? I also go by mine, which is Mulder. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said, squeezing her hand and then letting it go.

“Well, Mulder,” she said, smoothing her hair with her fingers. “I go by my last name for work, what’s your reason? Do you have a horrible first name or something?” she asked with a giggle.

He raised his eyebrows at her as his smile grew. “Well, it’s rather embarrassing,” he said, dropping his head and glancing up at her coyly.

Jesus Christ, she thought, her heart pounding, what were they doing? This was not what they did. Flirting with each other had been an unspoken agreed upon no-go area. Since that day in his hallway, they had not spoken of what happened, but let it slide like most things between them. Keep it hidden, never speak of it, until it or something else caused it to blow up, that was how they operated. Now here they were, having a faux date. And flirting, for fuck’s sake.

Yeah, this was a fantastic idea.

“Go on then, let’s hear it,” she said, smiling at him, the one she did not show him too often, teeth showing and everything.

He stared at her, his eyes on her smile, his own creeping back onto his face. “I’ll only tell you if you promise not to laugh,” he said conspiratorially, looking around and checking for other people, before looking back at her with his eyebrows raised.

She raised hers back and nodded. He leaned in and put his hand on her hip, pulling her to him. Her mouth went dry and her heartbeat ratcheted up when his mouth landed close to her ear.

“It’s Fox,” he whispered, his breath warm, causing her to shiver slightly. He pulled back and his fingers squeezed her hip before he let go. She swallowed hard, and she saw the happiness in his eyes.

Oh, that was how it was going to be. Okay, well two could play that game.

She giggled and looked down, before looking up through her lashes. “Well, the name suits you,” she said with a quick wink, before smoothing her hands down her blazer, over her breasts and down to her stomach. His eyes traveled along with her hands, and she knew she had him.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to change into something nicer for our date, Fox, I mean Mulder, but work kept me later than I had anticipated,” she said, her hands remaining at her stomach. “I normally don’t dress so stuffy for a date. I’d prefer to wear something a bit more .. revealing.” He exhaled loudly and she had to bite back a smile.

“You .. it’s .. I like what you’re wearing,” he said, clearing his throat and shifting his weight.

She put a hand on his arm and laughed. “This old outfit? Thank you, you are sweet. How about we go grab a bite to eat? It’s finally nice out. Would you like to walk to the diner close to here?”

He stepped back and gestured for her to go first and she did, again avoiding the larger puddles of water. They walked the few blocks to the diner not saying much, both undoubtedly thinking they were playing with fire. It was dangerous to be sure, but also deliciously so.

Arriving at the small diner, he held the door for her, smiling as she passed. She felt happy and lighter than she had in recent weeks. Being stuck on background checks, and practically chained to a desk, was enough to make her want to pull her hair out. Yes, they were not technically supposed to be investigating X-Files, but God, it felt good. She may gripe about it, but being in the field, discussing theories, and seeing Mulder’s over-exuberance made her happy. This was their bread and butter, and hell had she missed it.

“Welcome!” a waitress said as she spotted them. “Glad to see it finally stopped raining, but boy we sure needed it. Sit anywhere you like, not too many people out tonight. Must all be over at the high school celebrating the reunion. I don’t think I’ve seen y’all before.”

“Oh! We’re actually on a first date,” Mulder said, grinning at her and then putting his arm around Scully’s shoulders. She almost jabbed him in the ribs, but the waitress looked at them so happily, she forced a smile.

“Well, aren’t you two just the cutest? Come on back, I’ll seat you now,” she said, grabbing two menus and leading them to a table. Scully pushed his arm off and gave him a look. He smiled and shrugged, clearly having a fun time.

“Here we are, you two just give a holler when you’re ready,” the waitress said as she walked away.

“Thank you,” Scully said, sliding into her seat and picking up her menu. She was not too hungry, but maybe a milkshake and fries would be good.

“Get anything you want, money's no object,” he said to her, winking at her above his own menu, before disappearing behind it. She said nothing, but rolled her eyes when he was not watching.

Deciding on their food, they called the waitress over. Scully ordered a chocolate milkshake and fries and Mulder ordered a patty melt. He told the waitress, with yet another wink and nod toward Scully, that he felt sure she would share her milkshake, so he would just get a water. She laughed and wrote it all down before walking away.

“See? Charming,” he said, leaning back and putting his arm on the chair next to him, appearing at ease and happy. Scully shook her head and rolled her eyes.

He perked up, cleared his throat, and smiled at her. “So, tell me about yourself, Scully. What do I need to know about you?” he asked with the grin that made her stomach wobble.

“Oh, you know, typical Navy brat. Grew up in many places, have two brothers and one sister, but she has passed. My mother is still living, but my father passed years ago. I’m a medical doctor and an FBI agent,” she said, smiling wide at him.

“Wow. An FBI agent. Working on any interesting cases?” he said, with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Well, the division I work in, it’s kind of different than the others at the FBI. We investigate .. the odd cases. The ones that other people might not find worth their time,” she said with a shrug.

“Odd cases? Wow, that sounds interesting. What kinds of cases do you mean?” he asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“Oh, well, at the moment, I’m actually stuck on desk duty. My partner and I have been .. downgraded to background checks and pulled from our regular cases,” she said, shaking her head.

“Oof .. that sounds bad. Is it boring? It sounds boring, especially when your other work sounded very interesting,” he said, giving her a sympathetic look. “Do you miss the other work?” He stared at her and she knew that this was the real Mulder asking, not charming date Mulder.

“I do miss it,” she said quietly, staring back at him. He took a deep breath and nodded at her as the waitress brought over their food.

They ate, smiling and stealing glances when the other was not looking. Mulder cut one half of his sandwich in half, and put it on her plate of fries, as he grabbed a handful of them and put them on his plate. She smiled at him, picked up the sandwich, and took a bite. He winked at her and then ate his own food.

By the time she had finished her food, she was too full to finish her milkshake, so she slid it over to him. He grabbed the glass with a grin and drank the rest of it. She shook her head, watching him with a smile.

Mulder paid for the bill, making a show of taking out his wallet and putting his card down, while she grinned. They walked back to the high school to pick up their car. Music still reverberated inside, along with cheers and applause. He nudged her and she smiled before they got in the car.

It was a quiet drive back to the motel. Scully looked out the window, the town still wet from all the recent rain. Hoping the motel would have no more catastrophes, she sighed, knowing they still had to share the room. It was not the first time and it would probably not be the last, but this time felt a bit different.

Before she could think about it too much, they pulled up to the motel and parked. Unbuckling their seat belts, they walked to the door of the hotel room. Deciding to continue with the faux date one last time, she stopped at the door and turned to him, her hand on his chest.

“I had a really nice time tonight,” she said looking at him sweetly. “It was fun and the company was enjoyable.” He put his hand over hers and held her gaze. She smiled and looked down before biting her lip and looking up again.

“I don’t normally do this, especially on a first date, but, would you like to come in? Stay the night?” she said, watching his eyes. She saw them darken and dilate, at the same time she felt his heart rate speed up. She grinned at him before dropping her hand, reaching for her room key, and opening the door. “I mean since all of your shit is already in my room ..”

Turning around, she looked at him and smiled. He swallowed and cleared his throat, before exhaling out a big breath. They both seemed to know that once they crossed the threshold, the pretending was over. He stepped toward her and blocked her in the doorway, making her heart race as he loomed over her.

“I don’t normally do this either, but considering the circumstances,” he said in a low voice. “I guess I’ll need to stay the night, eh?” He pushed back slightly and brushed past her, his body connecting with hers briefly.

The fucker, she thought, closing her eyes and taking a breath. She opened her eyes and walked into the room. He was standing in the room taking off his tie and his coat. Turning toward her, he grinned, and she shook her head.

“You want the bathroom first?” she asked, back to being regular old Scully and Mulder, and he shook his head. “Okay, I’m gonna head in then.” She grabbed her pajamas and headed into the bathroom.

She looked at herself in the mirror, shaking her head, before stripping out of her clothes. She took a quick shower, brushed her teeth, and put on her pajamas. She blew her hair dry until it was just slightly damp and then left the bathroom, all of her clothes in a bundle. She put them in her bag as she watched Mulder sitting on the bed, looking at the same papers from the other day.

“Think about it, Scully, the ability to control the weather because of one’s feelings. Unable to control how he felt, it just exploded out. It’s pretty amazing, and also sad,” he said, looking up at her. “But at least it had a happy ending. I have a feeling this little part of Kansas is going to be a little more colorful after today.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and she groaned. He got off the bed with a chuckle and walked past her into the bathroom.

Her clothes put away, she walked to the bed, pulled the covers down, and lay on her side with a yawn. Tired after the last couple of days, she closed her eyes, hoping to get to sleep soon without too much thought of Mulder sleeping beside her.

The toilet flushed and then the bathroom door opened, but she kept her eyes closed. She heard him drop his things in his own bag, and then the bed dipped under his weight, his body close to hers under the covers. She opened her eyes and sighed, knowing sleep was going to be hard to find tonight.

Mulder was quiet, and she could hear every breath he took. As she was about to turn over and lay on her back, there was a thump against the wall. Then another three in quick succession, then two more.

“Are you kidding me?” she groaned quietly, as the thumps continued in the same pattern. She sighed and closed her eyes with a whine.

“Scully, listen. Do you hear it?” Mulder asked, excitement in his voice.

“Yes, Mulder, I hear it. That’s the problem. Jesus ..” she groaned again.

“No, no. Listen ..” he said, sitting up and hitting his hand against the bed in time to the thumps against the wall. She kept her eyes closed as he did it but opened them when he began to speak again. “We will .. we will .. rock you. I’m not crazy, that’s their pattern, right? There! It is!”

She sat up and looked at him and started to laugh. He was right, it was that pattern. “It’s .. an interesting .. motion. But,” she said with a giggle. Mulder started clapping to the beat and then began to sing, loudly.

Buddy, you're a boy, make a big noise Playin in the street Gonna be a big man someday You got mud on your face, you big disgrace Kickin’ your can all over the place Singin' We will we will rock you We will we will rock you

The thumping continued. Laughing, Scully joined him, clapping out the beat of the song, and singing loudly.

Buddy, you're a young man, hard man Shouting in the street Gonna take on the world someday You got blood on your face You big disgrace Wavin’ your banner all over the place We will we will rock you Sing it We will we will rock you

Mulder threw the covers back and stood up. Scully continued to clap out the beat as they sang louder, and he danced around the room. She laughed as she watched him, and he grinned at her.

Buddy, you're an old man, poor man Pleading with your eyes, gonna make you some peace someday You got mud on your face Big disgrace Somebody better put you back into your place We will we will rock you Sing it We will we will rock you Everybody We will we will rock you We will we will rock you Alright

Mulder mimed playing the guitar at the end of the song, and Scully doubled over with giggles. A loud pounding was heard on the same wall and they both stared at each other, eyes as big as their grins.

“SHUT UP!” yelled a voice.

“WE’RE JUST ADDING TO THE MOOD!” Mulder yelled back, Scully’s giggles now deep belly laughs.

“FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!” the voice yelled back.

“NO, FUCK YOU!” Scully yelled back, amid her laughter, and Mulder’s eyebrows shot up. She shrugged and he grinned.

“ARE YOU DONE?!” he yelled.

“ARE YOU?” Mulder yelled, crossing his arms, his smile happier than she could ever remember seeing before.

“FUCK YOU!” he yelled once more.

“NO, FUCK YOU!” they both yelled simultaneously, staring at the wall, waiting for a comeback. When none came, he leaned across the bed for a high five. She slapped his hand, and they both laughed again.

He laid back down and she followed, both on their backs as they continued to laugh quietly. She was finally able to stop, and she wiped her eyes. No more sounds were heard from the other side of the wall and she heard Mulder let out a sigh.

“Actually, I hope we didn’t cause too much trouble. For the woman especially,” he said quietly.

Scully felt arousal course through her, hearing that his thoughts were focused on the woman’s pleasure. She always thought he would be a considerate lover and those thoughts were just confirmed.

Stop it, Dana, she thought. These thoughts are dangerous with him so close to you, after this evening, and this case. Wait until you’re home and then think about what that means. How it would feel to be on the receiving end of that focus. Stop it.

She stayed quiet, hearing his breathing began to even out. God, he could fall asleep so fast sometimes, it made her crazy. There she was, acutely aware of how close he was, how wonderful he smelled, how charming he could be, and apparently how attentive he was to his partner.

Partner, or lover? she thought with an internal scream. Which would you prefer, Dana?

She closed her eyes and was about to turn over and away from him, or maybe go sleep in the car, when the backs of his fingers brushed against hers and his pinky locked with her pinky. He said nothing, but held tight to her.

She noticed his breathing seemed to have stopped and when she squeezed back, it began again. She turned her head so he did not see her smile. At the same time, as though they had rehearsed it, she turned to her right and so did he, their joined pinkies settling on her left hip. She sighed and closed her eyes, his fingers resting on hers and his breathing slowing close behind her.

She lay there, happy in that moment. No threat or sadness had forced them to seek each other’s touch. He reached out because he wanted to touch her. He was not pushing for more, not saying anything, and yet they both knew that this was a big step.

Usually, if they had to share a room, they got a cot or there was a sofa. If they did have to share a bed, they did not touch, at least not consciously. She had woken with her body close to his, or his arm around hers, but she would shift as soon as she realized it.

This was different. She heard and then felt him fall asleep, his body twitching. Taking some deep breaths, she squeezed his pinky lightly. With a smile, as she began to fall asleep, she tapped out a beat against her pillow with her other hand.

We will we will rock you

Yeah, she grinned, one day he would.

After all, he did just make her a pinky promise.

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Rain King #Faux Date #School Reunion #Humor #Fluff #Sharing a Room #Sharing a Bed #Sleeping Together #Overhearing Sex #Promises

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leiascully · 4 years

Text

5 Conversations Between Maggie and Mulder

By @agirlcalledNarelle - I think Maggie and Mulder had a complicated relationship. Here’s my take on a few shared moments between them….

4,7k words. Here on AO3.

1. 1995

The Glasgow room, otherwise known as events room B, is empty and cavernous when he arrives. Sound bounces off the walls from the other early guests and is presented back to them in an awkward offering. Helium balloons dance timidly from their weights along the outskirt of the room. Mulder slinks in like a cat and nurses a beer as he watches the room fill. He did not go to the graveyard.

Thankfully the event grows into the space, and the hum of conversation encourages more of the same. There is laughter. Recent friends wear brightly coloured outfits, paisley shirts and ethereal skirts. The family wear black, but wicked humour sparkles through their sad smiles. Scully and Maggie arrive, accompanied by a smattering of aunts, uncles, cousins. It’s strange to see Scully with a support network which excludes him. He doesn’t feel like he can approach her; he will wait for her. They make eye contact briefly, and she moves towards him before being intercepted by someone. Maggie smiles as she speaks, but he sees her glance frequently around the room for her remaining daughter as if proving to herself that she is still here, that she hasn’t lost Dana too.

There is never enough food at events like this. Out of some misguided sense of chivalry which no one witnesses, he is late to the buffet and picks at the remaining trays. Having made small talk with some cousins from Wisconsin, he sits furtively at a table for two, hoping his vibes deter anyone from making any further effort.

‘Fox.’ He looks up, mid-room temperature shrimp half-way to his mouth, to see Maggie standing at his elbow with Scully behind her. Mulder can see foundation gathering in the creases around her eyes. Her cheeks have has sunk, no longer blooming from happy memories. Mulder stands and wipes his mouth on a napkin.

‘Mrs Scully,’ he kisses Maggie on the cheek. ‘I’m so very sorry about Melissa.’

‘Thank you.’ Her eyes are shiny pebbles from the bottom of a stream, clear and hard. Mulder gulps, his mouth dry, and wipes his hands on his napkin, frustrated he has nothing of value to offer when she suddenly speaks, low and forcefully. ‘Tell me, Fox. Was it worth it? Was what you found worth it?’

‘Come on, Mom, let’s go say hi to the Denman’s. I see them over there.’ Scully puts her hand on her mother’s arm and pushes her gently away. He watches them, relieved to avoid further interrogation, and considers making a quiet exit when Scully turns and mouths ‘don’t go.’ Damn. Suddenly no longer hungry, he pushes his plate to the opposite place setting and waits. He watches.

Scully and Maggie work the room, sometimes together, sometimes apart. They are the only members of the immediate Scully family representing Melissa to her mourners. The extended family, comprising of short women and tall men, make sure that Scully’s wine glass never fully empties. Maggie favours brandy. She remembers the names of Melissa’s childhood friends and greets her adult friends with generous hugs. Laughter abounds as family reacquaints and friends rediscover commonalities. Each table hosts a framed photo of Melissa, and on this table, there is a photo of the Scully children in front of a big fish that Bill Junior has caught. Melissa is tall, beautiful with early-teen self-consciousness, smiling without teeth. Dana is at least 6 inches smaller, her face chubby and framed with bangs, and excitedly pointing at the fish with her two index fingers, her mouth open in a perfect ‘o’.

The sun takes polite grief with it as it sets, and the mood of the room shifts towards a more frantic, unrestrained celebration. Ties are loosened, music starts to play, and voices grow louder as the guests realise their hours for remembering Melissa together will soon draw to a close. Scully sits opposite him, pushing aside the remaining plate of food. Her eyes are glassy, her cheeks pink. A tissue peeks out of her cardigan sleeve, and her mascara is slightly smudged under her left eye. She smiles languidly and rests her chin in her hand. They hear Maggie laugh across the room with the cousins from Wisconsin. They are both taller than her, and one wraps her into a bear hug. She has the effusiveness of a dinner party host, eager to inform everyone where the food is and to help themselves to drinks. In the gap between conversation, Mulder sees Maggie staring into the middle distance, steeling herself to share the next anecdote.

‘I don’t know how she does it,’ Mulder remarks.

‘This is the fun part,’ Scully says, her s’s slightly stretched. ‘Remembering Missy with all her favourite people. And some of her not-so-favourite people.’ They watch Maggie take another brandy from the waitress. ‘She’ll crash later once we’re in the cab. I’m staying with her tonight.’

‘Can I take you both home?’ Mulder asks, suddenly wanting to do at least this for Scully and her mother.

‘Thank you, but that’s not necessary, Mulder.’

‘Please, I’d like to.

Scully appraises him, draining her wine. ‘She’s not herself today, you know. Don’t give it another thought.’

No apology, Mulder notes.

‘I know. She was right to ask. She has the right to ask, I mean. She should ask.’

‘She does. She should.’ Scully gazes lovingly at her mom, eyes misting with tears before someone else catches her eye, causing her to giggle into her hand like a schoolgirl. ‘Oh no. Missy would be devastated to know that Sam Charleston is here. She had the biggest crush on him when she started her first job, and he kept her well and truly in the friend zone.’

‘Go say hi. Go mingle.’

She leans on her knuckles to steady herself as she stands. ‘If that offer is still open…. That would be nice. We would love a lift back.’

‘Of course.’

‘Oh, and Mulder,’ she says as she starts to totter away. ‘We’re Irish. This is going to be a late one.’

‘I’ll be here.’

2. 1997

Mulder wakes to the shadow of someone standing over him. Blinking, his back burns as he sits up in his plastic chair.

‘Go home, Fox,’ Maggie says. ‘You should get some rest. In a proper bed.’

Her eyes are bright, too wide, like a child who has eaten all their Halloween candy in one sitting, twitchy and hyper. The hall is quiet, the bustle of the day replaced with a cloak of calm inevitability as some patients gather their strength for another day, and some succumb to the everlasting sleep which floats through these rooms like a genie, offering to grant the most desperate wishes.

‘Uh, I can’t seem to leave.’ He rubs his neck. ‘Is Scully ok?’

‘She’s just fallen asleep.’ Maggie sits beside him. She rubs her hands over her face and reaches for his hand. It’s an intimate move, but a hospital at 3am is an intimate, almost holy place and those who witness it are bound by their understanding of this. He covers her hand with his, a silent gesture of solidarity.

Maggie, Bill and Mulder haven’t slept properly in days; Scully sleeps too much for all of them. She can’t smell, can’t taste, doesn’t eat. Her headaches are sudden and vicious, the only respite being ever-stronger painkillers and sleep. Suddenly her teeth start to grind. She loses track of conversation, eyes, fingers and face all clenched, and Mulder presses her painkiller button in frustration that this is all he can do. All the road signs are pointing towards morphine. No one mentions it explicitly, knowing it will likely be the last landmark for Scully.

‘Where’s Bill?’

‘He’s gone back. To pick up some clothes, pick up my copy of Little Women for Dana.’ Maggie rests her head against the wall and closes her eyes. ‘When she’s awake I’m worried that she’s not getting enough rest, and when she’s asleep I just want to wake her. It’s like she’s 2 weeks old all over again.’

Mulder stays quiet.

‘She’s stopped arguing with me, have you noticed? She doesn’t have the energy. I just want to see her eyes flash at me again, I want that ‘here we go again’ feeling one more time. I’m trying to remember the last time we did that. I’m trying to remember.’

‘Mrs Scully, you can’t give up hope, not yet.’ Mulder teeters of the edge of acceptance but hasn’t fallen into that hole just yet: its depth is too deep, too dark, and he’s not sure he would recognise the man who comes out the other side. He needs his anger to stay on track for Scully, to keep going, and more importantly in this moment now, to stay awake.

‘Fox, I haven’t given up hope, far from it,’ Maggie’s voice is tired and resigned. ‘But you can’t deny what we’re seeing. We can’t expect things from Dana that she can’t give us. Then it’s not fair on her.’

Mulder feels this new perspective like a splash of cold water on his face. He hadn’t considered the impact of his unending fight on Scully. Did she feel like she had to perform for him? Did she gather her strength every time he entered the room to protect him from what was happening, to allow him his little charade? Does the energy needed for his visits mean more frequent headaches, more pain? His shoulders slump further as more guilt settles across them.

Maggie’s head suddenly brushes his shoulder, and she looks up in surprise, blinking. A microsleep.

‘Mrs Scully, you should take your own advice.’ He squeezes her hand where it still rests in his. ‘Get some proper rest.’

Maggie shakes her head. ‘There’s the meeting with Dana’s doctor first thing. And then the Priest is stopping by.’

The meeting is to learn the consultant recommendation after examining the chip that Mulder had offered him like frankincense. They had scanned it, taken photos, made notes, but the chip itself remained in Mulder’s pocket at his insistence.

‘I hope you know I respect the work of the priest.’ Mulder clears his throat, not sure of his next words. ‘I’m not exactly what you’d call a good disciple, but I’m willing to try anything at this point. And I know what it means to Dana.’

‘I won’t lie, I don’t like the idea of this chip, Fox. But you’ve earned the right to an opinion here. And anyway, Dana will do what she thinks is best: she won’t have anyone else make this choice for her.’

‘I know. I just wanted you to know that … I just want to make sure we’ve tried everything.’

Maggie stands and puts a hand to his cheek, her hand soft against his stubble. It’s a move he’s done to Scully before, but he had underestimated how much comfort it brings. He wants to nuzzle into her hand, to close his eyes and rest in the warmth.

‘I know you love her, Fox. You love her as she deserves to be loved. I do wish you might show it with roses instead of computer chips,’ she smiles ruefully. ‘But there aren’t words to convey how grateful I’ve been to see your love for my daughter over these past few weeks.’

He watches her go back into Scully’s dark room. They both wait, in different rooms, for the sun to rise on the day when Scully’s holy trinity of faith, family and work will entwine around her like the roots of a tree in a final attempt to nourish her back to health.

3. 1998

It is still dark when they pull up outside the house, but someone has clocked their arrival and the front door flings open. Maggie waves, wrapping her cardigan around her, and gestures inwards.

‘You have to come in now, you realise,’ Scully says as she unbuckles her belt.

‘Oh, no, Scully, I don’t want to do that. You be with your family. It’s 6:30am.’

‘Come on, you’ll offend her. You don’t want to offend my mother on Christmas morning, do you Mulder?’ Scully teases. ‘Or do you? Is that what you want?’

He sighs and walks with her towards the house. Modest fairy lights twinkle on the porch, and the Christmas tree glows from the front window. Mulder can see tasteful, coordinated ornaments and the outline of people in the front room. Already the Scully Christmas is in stark contrast to Christmas at his mother’s house: a quiet affair with two lonely presents under a tree that never seems to stand straight, decorated with all Fox and Samantha’s homemade decorations from over the years. A roast chicken that would invariably burn as Teena became engrossed in a Christmas movie and Mulder slept on the couch. They would end the day with a quiet game of Scrabble. He feels a protective pang in his chest: it’s not much of a Christmas, but it’s their Christmas. Teena is never outwardly demonstrative, but he knows he is loved. She has saved all his crafts, every homemade Mother’s Day and Christmas card. I’ll call her later, he promises to himself as he walks to the porch, swallowing the bitter taste of treachery as he crosses another mother’s threshold on Christmas morning.

‘Come in, come in! Merry Christmas!’ Maggie exclaims as they stamp the snow from their shoes. They are her first gifts of the day as she unwraps their coats and scarves. ‘Fox, what an unexpected surprise.’

‘Uh, Scully’s car didn’t start, so I gave her a lift,’ he said lamely, hoping the explanation doesn’t lead to more questions.

‘Well, you can at least stay for breakfast.’ She stands on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He is uncomfortable, unused to meeting Maggie outside of a crisis. He doesn’t have anything to offer her, not even a Christmas card, and he almost regrets offering Scully a lift this morning. He had been high on infatuation, waking after their late-night ghost hunt to find Scully snuffling under the covers next to him like a grumpy guinea pig, her scruffy red hair poking out from under the covers.

‘Thank you, Mrs Scully, that would be great. I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything.’

‘Please, Fox, it’s a last-minute invite. It’s enough that you’re here.’ Mulder smiles, and sends a thought remembering his mother at the Vineyard on her own. It might be called a prayer, if he was a man of any sort of religious faith.

‘Sorry we’re late, Mom.’

‘Don’t be silly, Dana, I don’t know why we have to meet at such an ungodly time anyway.’ She ushers them into the living room. Bill sits in front of the tree wearing a Santa hat, his son perched in his lap lifting and shaking any gift in his proximity. Scully hugs her sister-in-law affectionately, and Mulder notes that something has thawed between them since San Diego.

‘What’s he doing here?’ Bill asks in surprise, quickly removing his Santa hat.

‘Hush now, Bill,’ Maggie says easily, entering with a tray of mugs and a cafetière full of coffee. ‘It’s too early to be so contrary.’

‘I just think it’s odd that her work colleague is in our living room at 6:30am.‘

‘Bill, please. Fox is Dana’s partner, and they get to decide the context of that. Not us.’

Mulder glances at Scully. He’s not sure what Maggie has just insinuated, or what Scully has been saying to make Maggie to make her think that way. They’re still walking this path cautiously, and yet Mulder feels like Maggie has just confirmed something fundamental that neither had fully acknowledged yet. Scully reflects his surprise, raising an eyebrow before looking back at her brother.

‘Admit it, Bill,’ Scully says, ‘you’re just embarrassed that Mulder’s seen you in your jimmy jams.’

There is a pause in the room before Bill spreads his hands and laughs.

‘Guilty. Grab a seat, Mulder, let’s see if there’s a lump of coal under here somewhere for you.’ Scully squeezes his arm in solidarity. Mulder sees the steel under Bill’s smile and nods, accepting the tentative olive branch.

‘Excellent.’ Maggie sits beside the tree and pulls Matthew onto her lap, who desperately reaches towards the tree. ‘My grandson has been patient enough. Now that we’re all here, and caffeinated, how about we open some presents?’

4. 2001

Mulder stares through the nursery glass at the eight babies wriggling in their little beds. It’s like a very small and very strange zoo exhibition. I’m sorry guys, he thinks, visiting hours have just started for you. His baby is back row left, wearing a blue hat and sleeping with his mouth slightly open, oblivious to all the motion and emotion surrounding him.

Scully needed stitches. The doctors were not happy with her delivery in general, and Mulder felt them glance suspiciously in his direction when he wasn’t looking. They had also given Scully a sedative: she had been shaking with shock and exhaustion, having had no sleep during the 16 hours since the delivery. In the helicopter she had gripped her son with a haunted look in her eyes, only reluctantly handing him to the nurse when the desire to have him checked over outweighed her instinct to hold tight. Go with him, she’d begged, the force of his hand squashing his fingers, don’t leave him alone. Make sure he’s ok. Please, Mulder. He’d wanted to stay until she slept, but his continued presence only made her more anxious. He had left her, weak and weepy with her legs in stirrups, as exposed and vulnerable as a person could find themselves. The nurse had offered to bring the baby to Mulder to hold, but without Scully it feels like a betrayal somehow. He is satisfied just peering through the window, admiring his perfect lips and nose.

‘Fox,’ he turns to see Maggie standing at his shoulder. Her face is tight, her clenched teeth barely restraining her anger. His stomach drops as he feels himself ride over the crest of a rollercoaster.

‘Mrs Scully. Did you just arrive?’

‘I tried to visit Dana but they said she’s sleeping.’ Maggie has yet to put her overnight bag down, her knuckles white as she grips the handles. ‘Do you mind telling me what happened? How my daughter got to Georgia?’

‘Scully, uh, she was in danger and so we thought it safest if she left DC.’ Maggie purses her lips. Mulder’s palms are sweaty. What had made perfect sense at the time was now sounding reckless and stupid.

‘I see. And why Georgia?’

‘We needed somewhere unexpected, somewhere that no one would know.’

‘How exactly did she get here?’

‘One of her colleagues drove her. Special Agent Reyes, you may have met her, she’s been working with Scully for the last, well really for the last 6 months now.’ Mulder felt with each answer Maggie was coiling tighter and tighter, preparing to strike. ‘Scully likes her, trusts her, so it seemed like the best choice.’

‘I see. Where were you?’

‘I was trying to make sure that the people who were trying to get Scully didn’t. Couldn’t.

‘And did you succeed?’

‘No, no I didn’t. But they didn’t get her, thank god.’

‘You didn’t succeed,’ Maggie says, shaking her head slowly. ‘You sent my little girl to some abandoned town in the middle of nowhere, with no electricity, running water, or even any antibacterial spray, to give birth on her own with only a colleague she’s known for 6 months for support. Is any of this inaccurate?’

‘No, it’s not.’ Mulder’s voice is quiet in contrast to Maggie��s increasing volume.

‘Do you mind telling me what on earth you were thinking?’ Maggie finally shouts, throwing her jacket at him. He catches it clumsily. ‘How could you do this, Fox? In what possible way was this the best solution?’

The tiredness, anxiety and fear which Mulder had been suppressing for the last 72 hours bursts forth, and he is suddenly possessed by rage.

‘Excuse me, Maggie, can I call you Maggie? I think it’s about time, don’t you?’ His voice is quiet but violent. Maggie blinks in surprise and takes a step back. ‘This is my son we’re talking about here. My –‘ he falters as he thinks of Scully in the third room down the corridor, sleeping while her injuries are stitched. His chest hurts with the ferocity of his love for her. ‘This is my whole world. I didn’t just send them away for a jaunt down South. It wasn’t for the fun of it. If we hadn’t have sent them away, in all likelihood we wouldn’t have either of them right now.’

Maggie presses her fingers to her lips as tears slide down her cheeks. Mulder immediately hates himself for shouting at her, she who has already lost so much as a result of Scully’s dogged insistence to stay by his side. He too blinks away tears as he realises what is about to happen next: Scully isn’t going to see her mother meet her grandchild, Scully’s miracle son. She will miss their introduction.

‘I daresay you’re right,’ Maggie mutters. ‘Everything you’ve said matches what Mr Skinner told me. I know you had no choice. But, my god Fox, another phone call, another panicked rush to a hospital, this time in Georgia. I don’t know how many more times I can do this.’

‘I know, Mrs Scully,’ Mulder rubs her shoulder tentatively, taking her bag from her.

‘Please, you’re right, you should call me Maggie,’ she huffs, wiping her eyes. ‘I know you did what you thought was best. But I can’t pretend I understand or agree with it. I think I have to ask you for a little more time before we’re in the same room together.’

Mulder nods. ‘I understand, Maggie. I want to check on Scully anyway, make sure she’s ok. Before I go, let me show you your grandson. There he is: he’s the champ in the top left. See him?’

Mulder sees her face soften, and she places her fingers lightly on the glass window, drinking in every detail of the baby.

‘Oh Fox…’, she murmurs, ‘he’s beautiful. Look at him. He looks like you, you know.’

‘You think?’

‘That bottom lip, there’s no doubt.’ She sighs. ‘He’s wonderful.’

‘Do you want to hold him?’

‘Can I? Have you?’

‘No… no. I’m going to wait for Scully… But you really should. You know how angry she’ll be if she wakes up to learn that neither of us held him this whole time. She would want you to.’

Maggie nods. Without speaking, without eye contact, she holds his hand briefly in thanks. Mulder recognises her resolve; he knows Maggie is happier now she has something practical to focus on. Her face betrays her excitement as she flags down a nurse. He carries her bag with him and opens the third door down the corridor where he is greeted by Scully’s pale face, her anxiety having vanished in sleep.

5. 2005

Mulder hears the gravel crunch under the car as Scully pulls up into the drive. He turns on the grill but stubbornly keeps his back turned as Scully and her mother enter the house. This is Maggie’s first visit to their unremarkable house, their little haven. For the last six months, Scully has met her in the city, at neutral settings or at Maggie’s place. They told each other it was for safety, that it was better for both Mulder and Maggie that they didn’t put Maggie in a position of consorting with a fugitive, but they both knew the truth: they were scared of what Maggie might say. Of how she might react to seeing Mulder again, after so many years on the run.

Scully arrived home from her first meeting with Maggie with red eyes and a stuffy nose.

How was it? Mulder had asked.

It was great. Amazing. It was so good to see her again. Her replies were short, and Mulder heard her unspoken words. They had gone to bed without speaking any further that night.

After six months, Maggie had finally asked to see where Dana and her outlaw partner were living. A Fourth of July barbeque seemed like a good occasion, the external focus distracting from any tension. Scully bought fireworks and s’mores ingredients; Mulder built a bonfire ready for the evening.

He hears footsteps on the deck and turns to see Maggie. They study each other quietly: her white hair, wrists tightly covered by crepe-paper skin, his lined face and wider jaw. He’s been waiting for this moment since Scully floated the idea with him. Now it had arrived, he realised how many lost years sat between them. Maggie stands a metre away, but the distance is a metal spring that stretches wider and wider and wider.

‘Hello Fox,’ she says, and her voice takes him back to hospitals, to phone calls, to missing people and conversations haunted by death.

‘Hi Maggie.’ He doesn’t move, and neither does she. He wants to tell her he’s sorry, but he doesn’t want to accept sole responsibility. He wants to ask for forgiveness, but he isn’t afraid of defending his choices. He wants to ask how she’s been, what their absence felt like for her, but surely the hole they left in her life is too great for him to think about patching up now. Behind him, the barbeque hisses as the fat drips from the meat.

‘Dana tells me you built this deck.’

‘I did, yes. It was my first project when we moved in. Where is Scully?’

‘She’s getting the potato salad ready.’ Mulder looks towards the house and cringes inwardly when he sees no sign of her. ‘It’s lovely out here.’

‘It is.’ Suddenly he’s sick of this dance. ‘Maggie, I want you to know –‘

‘Fox, I think we’ve had enough.’ Her assertiveness catches him unawares and he stops. ‘Don’t you agree? Enough anger, enough apologies, enough guilt.’

He nods cautiously.

‘What did Scully say about our time away?’ He asks. Maggie sighs and looks at her hands.

‘She didn’t say a lot. She mentioned motels, some kitchen work. You know how she is. She stopped talking before she got in over her head.’

‘Are you…. Mad?’

‘Oh, I’ve been mad alright. Father McCue can attest to that.’ Mulder turns back to the meat, and Maggie stands beside him. She looks so like her daughter out of the corner of his eye; there’s a familiarity between Mulder and Maggie that he’d forgotten about. All the fear they’ve shared together sits within a current of energy between them. ‘But I don’t want to be mad anymore.’

The spring suddenly snaps back into shape.

‘That’s good to hear,’ Mulder turns the meat. ‘I was afraid I was going to get my ass kicked.’

Maggie chuckles and Mulder suddenly sees that their bonfire, fireworks and s’mores will be genuinely delightful.

‘Just stay, though, please?’ She asks tentatively. He realises that their détente is quick but delicate, in need of nurture. ‘Stay here. Let me visit occasionally. Maybe there’s a room that I might one day come to think of as being mine. Just let me see you both.’

‘Maggie… Of course we will. You’re welcome here any time. At any time.’

‘What are you two talking about?’ They both turn to see Scully approaching with a tray of salad and iced tea. Her small smile is cautious and there’s apprehension in her eyes.

‘I was just about to ask Fox why the deck slants to the left.’ Maggie takes the tray from Scully and kisses her cheek.

‘Maggie, I’ll have you know this is excellent craftsmanship. It slants so the water can drain off effectively.’ They sit at the table together, with Scully looking from her mother and her partner. Her face glows in a way he hasn’t seen for years, and he squeezes her hand under the table. He is pleased to have brought her back, happy to have given her a home. She is starting to thrive. She looks at him, her eyes shiny with tears.

‘Look at me, I’m being ridiculous,’ she laughs, wiping her eyes. ‘I’m just so glad we’re all here together.’

#submitted #submission #submission summer 2k20

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myownsuperintendent · 4 years

Text

New Fic: “Faith” (Welcome Series)

In Wyoming, Scully considers her own faith through her conversations with Emily. Part of my Welcome Season 11 AU (based on the false Emily casting rumors), set between “Conversations” and “At the House.” Rated G. Also here on Ao3; the whole series is here.

.....

When they go downstairs in the morning, both of the kids are gone.

Of course, Emily’s an adult, and William’s not exactly a baby either, at seventeen. And it’s not as though she and Mulder have any authority over them, Scully thinks. There’s no reason to expect them to consult with two near strangers about where they go or what they do.

None of that keeps her from a rising feeling of panic, when she looks around the house and doesn’t see them anywhere. Emily’s door is ajar; even William’s isn’t tightly shut as usual. Something has happened, she thinks. Someone’s taken them. And then, when her rational mind points out that they heard nothing, that there are no signs of a struggle: They’ve left. They’ve gone. They don’t want to be here with us. Because William’s made that clear enough, and maybe Emily threw in her lot with him, even though she’s seemed to want to get to know them. She wouldn’t blame her, might even admire her for it. But having this chance, even if it felt slim and complicated and heart-breaking, and now having it taken away again…

“Are their things here?” Mulder’s face is pale.

“We can’t go through their things,” Scully says.

“But if something—”

“We can’t go through their things,” she says; she hears her own voice sharp, rising. “We need them to trust us and we can’t go through their things!”

“Do you think they left?” he asks, pain in his voice. “You don’t think Emily…”

“I don’t know,” she says. She looks out the window; there’s so much land. So many places for two kids to get lost. They must have loved growing up here, she thinks, and almost hates the thought. “Should we go out and look?” It sounds like a wild goose chase even as she’s saying it, but she doesn’t want to sit here and do nothing.

They’re collecting their shoes from the guest room when they hear a car. When they rush downstairs, Emily and William are just closing the door behind them. She’s wearing a blue skirt and cardigan set; he’s wearing a button-down shirt and khaki pants.

“Oh, good morning!” Emily says, smiling. “Did you two find everything for breakfast? Will, don’t—” But he’s already pushing past them, on his way up the stairs. They hear his door slam. It still hurts, but the relief at knowing he and Emily are alive and home makes up for it a little.

“Where—” Her voice still sounds shrill, and she makes herself steady it. “Where were you two?”

She still sounds frightened, she thinks, because Emily’s face takes on a look of concern. “Oh, gosh,” she says. “We didn’t mean for you to worry about us. We were at church.”

At church. She was thinking abduction, abandonment, and they were at church, where many people go on a Sunday morning, which this is. “Oh,” she says. “Of course.”

“I’m really sorry if we frightened you,” Emily says. “You weren’t downstairs yet when we left, and I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“It’s okay,” Scully says. She’s clinging on to the kitchen island, she realizes; she lets go.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Mulder adds.

“We didn’t want to miss again this week,” Emily explains. She doesn’t say anything more, but Scully does the math; last Sunday was the day after they arrived. Things were probably too chaotic for Emily and William to think about church.

“That makes sense,” she says. “We just…I forgot what day it was, I guess.”

“It happens,” Emily says. “I should have mentioned it to you last night. We should have invited you.”

Now that’s a thought. She imagines sitting in a pew beside the two of them. Somehow, she doesn’t think it would make her relationship to her faith any more straightforward.

“It’s all right,” she says again. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Emily studies them, her brow furrowed. “Do you go to church, usually?” she asks. “I mean, you don’t have to…I mean, we do, but…”

“It’s not really my thing,” Mulder says, lightly. From the look on Emily’s face, Scully can’t tell if this is what she expected.

“I do sometimes,” Scully says. “Mostly at the holidays. I used to go to mass then with my mom. Your grandmother,” she says, wondering what that relationship would have been.

“Oh, you’re Catholic?” Emily asks, and Scully nods. “And your mom…is she…did she pass or…?” She, too, seems unsure how to navigate this relationship at second hand.

“Yes, she passed away a couple of years ago,” Scully says.

“I’m so sorry,” Emily says. “That’s…that’s very sad.” Scully’s struck by the words she chooses. She wonders if Emily is sympathizing with her or mourning for herself.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You could still come with us if you wanted to,” Emily says. “Everyone is very friendly, at our church. But you don’t have to,” she adds quickly.

Scully thinks about the two of them coming through the door this morning. William had been smiling, until he caught sight of her and Mulder. Maybe church is a place where he’s happy. Maybe it’s one where she shouldn’t intrude. She settles for, “Thank you for asking us,” which isn’t a yes or a no.

Emily knows she’s being diffident, she can tell; her daughter is no fool. But she doesn’t press it. She just says, “Did you have breakfast yet? Do you want to make something together?” And when they nod, she opens the refrigerator.

.....

Scully wakes up early the next Sunday, but she doesn’t approach the kids. She watches the car pulling away before she goes downstairs. Thinking about Emily’s cooking, she decides that she’ll make breakfast today; Mulder and Emily will want to share it with her, she thinks, even if William doesn’t. And even if he doesn’t, at least she can offer. At least she can let him know that she’s going to keep trying.

They come through the door, dressed nicely again, talking to each other. “…think about it,” Emily is saying. “Because I think it would make all of you happier…” She breaks off, when she sees Scully.

“Good morning,” Scully says. “How was church? I thought we could have breakfast…” William starts for the stairs.

“William!” Emily calls after him. “You’re not paying attention to anything I—” But her voice fades as he disappears from sight. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m trying.”

“You don’t have to,” Scully says. “Mulder and I will. It’s not your job.”

Emily doesn’t look as if she much cares for the idea of something not being her job, but she nods. “I try to keep telling myself,” she says, “that it’ll happen when it’s meant to. And it will.”

“Yes, when he’s ready,” Scully says. “We can have breakfast, anyway. The two of us. And Mulder will be down soon.”

“That sounds nice,” Emily says. “It was sweet of you to make this, Dana.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Scully says, even though it sounds kind of silly. “Well, one of the things I’m here for, anyway.” Emily laughs and takes a piece of fruit.

“Did you have a nice morning?” she asks Emily.

“Yes, thank you,” Emily says. “There was a good sermon. It…well, I think it helped me.” Scully wonders if she herself could say that kind of thing, openly, to someone she really didn’t know that well yet. She wonders if she wishes she could.

“Did you go to this church with your…?” She wishes she knew what to call the Van de Kamps. “Well, have you been going since you were kids?”

“Yes, since I came here,” Emily says. “I guess pretty much everyone around here goes there, if they’re going.”

“That makes sense,” Scully says. She forgets they’re not in the city.

“So we know everyone,” Emily continues, “and that makes it like home.”

Home. A fraught proposition for all of them. “Have you told anyone,” Scully asks, “about us?”

“Just Steve,” Emily says. “Otherwise no. Not yet. And I don’t think Will has either.”

“You know it’s okay for you to talk about it,” Scully says. “This doesn’t have to be a secret.” She doesn’t want it to be, but more than that she doesn’t see how it can be. Not forever.

“I know,” Emily says. “And I’m sure people would be nice about it. It’s just hard to explain.” That’s an understatement. “I’m doing all right, though. Like I said, the sermon helped.”

“What was it about?” Scully asks.

“Meeting people where they are,” Emily says. “So you can help them.”

A topic seems like it could hold meaning for more people than just Emily. “That sounds nice,” she says, hoping it doesn’t sound too weak, too vague.

“It was,” Emily says.

.....

Emily comes through the door on Saturday morning with a large shopping bag. “Toys,” she announces, setting it down on the kitchen island.

“I’m sorry?” Scully says.

“We’re a little old for toys,” Mulder says, grinning, “but it was sweet of you to think of it.”

“They’re for the church drive,” William announces. It’s still unusual for him for address them when he’s not responding to a direct question; Scully wonders if he’s trying to show them how much they still don’t know about their children.

“Yes,” Emily says. “I bought them yesterday after work. I thought maybe we could wrap them here.”

“Sure,” Scully says. “That sounds good.”

“Will, could you get the wrapping paper?” Emily asks. He nods, darting out of the kitchen quickly. But he returns soon enough, with Christmas wrapping paper, covered in wreaths and bells and smiling Santa Clauses.

They take the paper, a roll of tape, and Emily’s bag into the living room, and the four of them settle around the table to wrap the toys. It’s easier this way, Scully thinks, when they have a project to work on; they can just talk to the kids about the task at hand, not try to elicit feelings or deeper truths. Emily’s bought a range of toys: Barbies, stuffed animals, little toy cars, art supplies. “Wow, you got a lot,” Mulder says. “Aren’t other people bringing toys too?”

“Of course they are,” Emily says, tearing off neat strips of tape and lining them up along the edge of the table. “But I always like to get things. The more the merrier.”

“This is cute,” Scully says, taking a stuffed bunny to wrap. Looking at the toys here makes her think of all the years she missed. She’ll never wrap toys for her own kids, even if she’ll wrap them alongside them.

“Thanks,” Emily says. “They give us a list of things kids are asking for, so I try my best to get them.” She’s wrapping an art set. “I used to love these things. It’s so much fun, getting Christmas presents.” She and Mulder have gotten the kids presents, at least, Scully thinks. But she’s not sure if they made the right choices. After years of no presents, the first one holds too much weight. “I’m going to take them over to the church tomorrow,” she adds. “Maybe you could come?”

“If you’d like,” Scully says. In some ways it seems safer, going with the kids at Christmas instead of a regular weekend. There’ll probably be a lot more people there; they won’t have to face as many questions. Yet it feels loaded, too, this season of joy and miracles. You might say she’s got her miracle now: her children, found. Her family, together. It’s a miracle that she wants to believe in, that she desperately wants not to lose, but it’s work, too, every day. Of course that’s partly her own fault. Another complication. She shakes her head, sticking a piece of tape to the wrapping paper. “Are there any other special things your church does at Christmas?” she asks. “Besides the toy drive.”

“We have special decorations,” Emily says. “Lots of holly and all that.”

“And cookies,” William adds. “After the service.”

“Well, there are always cookies,” Emily says, “but the Christmas ones are especially good. And we have lots of singing.”

“Do you like singing?” Scully asks.

“Well, I like it,” Emily says, “but…” She pauses as if deep in thought.

“But she’s terrible at it,” William says. “That’s what she’s trying to find a way to say.” He grins. Scully tries to think whether he’s included them in a joke before. She doesn’t think he has. Maybe that’s another miracle.

“I am bad,” Emily says. “But that’s not the point, when you’re singing in church. Being good or bad, I mean.”

“I’m not a good singer either,” Scully says. She likes finding these commonalities, however tenuous.

“Aw, you’re not bad,” Mulder says. He’s wrapping an unwieldy teddy bear, and her heart surges with love. She’s been feeling that a lot when she looks at him lately, when so much else is uncertain.

“I bet the kids are really going to like these,” Scully says. “You’re…” She’s not sure what to say. You’re a good person, she wants to tell Emily, because she’s learned in the past two months that she is, truly good. She’s afraid the words will sound overly simple, that she won’t be expressing what she really feels. But she wants to be honest with the kids, to not hold back. So she says it. “You’re a good person.”

Emily smiles. “Thank you,” she says. “I try to be. I don’t think I’m anything that special. But Christmas should be about doing good things for people. That’s what we’re meant to do.” She ties a ribbon around one of the packages, carefully.

Maybe Emily’s right; at least, Scully feels a pull from the words. She knows that Emily’s faith is of a different brand from her own. Emily doesn’t have the doubts she has. Emily has things she knows she has to do—go to church, spend what looks like a week’s rent on toys for kids who don’t have any, be endlessly kind to the rest of them even when things are unbearably tense—and she does them. But the idea of Christmas as a time of goodwill is one that Scully can share.

“I’ll go with you tomorrow,” she tells Emily. “At least to bring the presents.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Emily says, and she’s smiling now.

.....

Yesterday was a hard day. They still have those. They’re not uncommon. They still hurt like hell.

It started off as a simple conversation—about baseball season coming up, about William playing, about going to see his games. And then it turned into a discussion of how they’d never seen any of his games before, how they had no right to be excited to see him play now, it had nothing to do with them, because they left him, they gave him up, maybe the Van de Kamps had ulterior motives but at least they had been there to help him learn to catch a ball, which was more than could be said for Mulder or Scully, and that was their fault, and they couldn’t just come in and start to care now and expect everything to be great. William slammed his door. Emily followed him, but when she came back downstairs, she didn’t say anything, only looked troubled. Scully cried in the bathroom that night, when she was getting ready for bed; Mulder knew she’d been crying, of course, and they held each other tightly in the guest room bed in the home of their children’s other parents, her head tucked under his chin.

They decided to give him space this morning, so they didn’t come down until after the kids left for church. When they get back, William gives them a tentative smile as he comes through the door. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Mulder says.

“Hi,” Scully says. Maybe it’s enough. They eat breakfast together, the four of them, and talk about watching a movie that night.

Scully can feel the tension dissipating as she washes the breakfast dishes with Emily; Mulder and William are taking a walk. “Are you okay?” Emily asks, looking at her as she passes her a dish to dry.

She’s promised herself that she won’t make Emily her sounding board, but she doesn’t want to lie either. “Better,” she says. “Thanks.”

“Do you…” Emily pauses, scrubbing at a plate. “Do you…sorry if I shouldn’t be asking…do you have anyone who can help you? Or anything?”

She’s touched, but she doesn’t want Emily to be worrying about her. “Thank you for asking, sweetheart,” she says. “I have Mulder.”

“Oh, of course,” Emily says. “But…I guess I meant someone more outside.”

“You mean like a therapist?” Scully asks. “I don’t right now. But you’re right. It wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“Or even…I don’t know,” Emily says. “It’s just that you’re always trying to take care of us. And that’s good, don’t get me wrong. And I think I kind of know what it’s like…not exactly, of course…but I try to help Will too.”

“You help a lot, Emily,” Scully says. “I just worry that it’s too much—”

“See, that’s what I mean,” Emily says, and Scully has to admit that she has a point. “But maybe if you had something to take you out of it all. Crocheting’s like that for me. And church.”

Crocheting and church aren’t necessarily analogous activities, in Scully’s mind. “What do you mean?” she asks.

“Well, when I crochet,” Emily says, “I don’t really worry about things, because I start concentrating on the pattern. And even when you don’t do a lot at once, at least you get something done, you know? There’s more there than there was before. And I think it’s the same way, with church.” She almost laughs, as Scully looks at her. “I’m really not explaining it very well. But I guess—well, it’s like the pattern. There’s a place for everything, even if it doesn’t look like it at first. I was upset about last night too, today, but it helped to be there and remind myself of that. And that we can work on things a little bit at a time. Just to think about being part of something, with other people…” She breaks off again. “It’s hard to explain. It’s just something that helps me.”

“That’s good,” Scully says. She means it, even if it can’t be true for her.

“So I just wondered if you had something that takes you out of things like that,” Emily says. “You don’t have to tell me what it is or anything.”

Scully thinks. “I don’t know if I do.”

“I hope you don’t think…I’m not trying to make you come to church with us,” Emily says. “It’s just that’s what really helps me. But it doesn’t have to help you.”

“It’s complicated,” Scully says. “There are…sometimes it’s comforting and sometimes it isn’t.” Emily nods. “Maybe because of everything I’ve seen,” she says. “In the FBI and…everything.” She doesn’t know quite what everything encompasses for her.

“That could be hard,” Emily says.

“Sometimes,” she says, “it’s hard for me to know what to believe in.” She doesn’t know if she should be saying this. She doesn’t really want to get into a whole theological discussion with Emily. She doesn’t want to shake Emily’s faith with her own unsteady fumblings. She doesn’t know if she wants to believe or not.

Emily’s face is concerned, as she looks at her, and Scully wishes she could say something to make her stop worrying. That shouldn’t be Emily’s job. She wishes it were easy, that she could just say, Of course, you’re so right, I’ll go back to going to church every week. She used to wish she could say that to her mom sometimes. Apparently, the ability to make her feel guilty spans the generations. (And it hasn’t skipped her, either. She’s very, very good at making herself feel guilty). She thinks about the times her faith has helped to free her and all the times it’s helped her pile that guilt on. “Sometimes I just feel small,” she says. That’s not what she meant to tell Emily. She doesn’t know, herself, if she means it as a good thing or a bad thing.

Emily nods but doesn’t say anything, as they finish putting the dishes away. “Well,” she says, “maybe I could teach you to crochet.”

She’s never been much of a one for craft projects (they seem like something she should like, but she always finds herself lacking the patience), but in this moment that seems nicer, simpler, and she nods too.

.....

Scully’s known all along that Emily would like to have her join them at church, even though she hasn’t said it right out. But it hasn’t been a place she’s wanted to go. She helped Emily bring over the toys at Christmas, but that was as far as it went; she didn’t stay for the service or take one of the (very delicious-looking) cookies. She’s not sure why that is. Maybe because it’s not the church she grew up in. Maybe because it’s hard for her to express her own faith. Maybe because it’s part of the lives her children have led without her.

But it’s Easter. They’ve been here six months now. Emily’s got a new dress and sweater; they’re bright yellow, and she looks beautiful. “Do you want to come with us, Dana?” she asks, and Scully thinks maybe she should do this for her. That this isn’t about herself.

“Sure,” she says. “I’ll come.”

They ride to church in Emily’s car, that morning. Emily’s in the new dress, and Will looks spruced up too: even his shoes are clean. Scully hadn’t really thought about church clothes when she’d packed to come here; she plucks at the collar of her blouse. They get some stares when they walk in, which isn’t surprising. It’s a small community, and she’s sure people have heard exaggerated versions of their story, which is wild enough as it is. But they sit down in a pew, the three of them in a row.

The order of the service is unfamiliar to her—more than she expected, maybe. There’s no Latin. She folds her hands in her lap, over the prayer book.

She looks over at the kids, sitting next to her. They look calm, at ease. When Emily catches her looking, she reaches out and touches her hand.

She tries to lose herself in this moment, like Emily said. In being here with her children, and in sharing something they might all believe in, even if it’s not in the same way. Maybe there can be a kind of faith in that.

#my fic #the x files #alternate universe #Dana Scully #emily sim

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 4

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Finally, after fifteen minutes of staring at her mostly full coffee cup, Mulder tosses both their drinks in the trash and trudges back to the Hoover building. He had plans to work late, but seeing Scully makes focusing on work impossible so he goes home to lie on the couch and stare at the ceiling instead, replaying their one-sided conversation over and over. Upon reflection, he realizes that he didn’t speak a single word to her other than her name. He was paralyzed, his feelings for her in direct conflict with his desire to never again feel the way he felt after she left his apartment that final time. He wishes that he’d asked her what she wanted from him, why she was there.

The phone rings and he rolls off the couch to retrieve it from his desk.

“Hello?”

“Will, I’m surprised you’re home. I was expecting to leave you a message.”

He smiles at the coincidence of Valerie calling him at this exact moment; she always seems to intuit when he needs to hear from her. Like he does with everyone, he had directed her to call him by his last name when they met. She did so for a while, but when things took a turn towards the intimate she informed him that she could not call a man she was sleeping with “Mulder” and sought to find an alternate moniker, Fox being out of the question. He was Maverick for a bit, then Sly, and for a brief moment Doug (he was never clear on the origin of that one). Ultimately, she went with his middle name, William, and finally shortened it to Will.

“Oh, and why’s that? My bustling social calendar?” he retorts, finding his way back to the couch and sitting heavily.

Valerie snorts. “More like your hopeless addiction to work. How are you? It’s been too long.”

Mulder sighs. “I’m...okay.”

“That bad, huh? You wanna talk about it?”

He considers the question. Talking to his ex-girlfriend about another woman seems a bit uncouth. “I’m not sure it’s something you’d want to weigh in on.”

“Girl trouble, then?” she says with a smile in her voice.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Spill it,” she demands.

He tells her everything, about meeting Scully, about getting to know her, falling in love with her. He spares some of the gory details on their sexual encounter and her visit the next morning. He finishes on seeing her that day, and the reason he begged off work early. This is the most he’s shared with anyone about Scully, The Gunmen being great friends, but not the sort you seek dating advice from. It feels good to get it all out.

“Damn, Will. That’s a lot. Shouldn’t you be happy, though, after seeing her today?” He can hear the crunch of potato chips as she speaks, ever the dedicated snacker.

“It was good to see her in a sense, but it also feels a bit like a step backward. Like I’ve lost progress in the effort to move on.” He’s lying down now, one leg kicked over to rest on the coffee table and Priscilla curled up on his belly.

“I don’t get it,” Valerie says deadpan.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“You’ve been pining over this woman for the better part of a year, and she turns up to tell you she’s single and she realizes that she should have chosen you all along. That’s somewhat of a fairy tale ending, is it not? Aside from the whole cheating-on-her-fiancé-part, I guess.”

“No, Val, she said that getting involved with me was a mistake, which I already knew. If anything she was rubbing it in, which seems uncharacteristically cruel.” He runs a hand down Priscilla’s back and she cracks an irritated eye at him until he stops.

“Oh my god, Will,” Valerie replies, pulling the phone away from her cheek and sighing in exasperation. “You know, for all that fancy education your parents paid for, you’re really dense sometimes.”

“Well then by all means, enlighten me.”

“She said she ignored the signs and made the wrong choice. She’s divorced now. The marriage was the wrong choice, you dolt. That other guy was the wrong choice. The signs were telling her you were the right one.”

Mulder sits up suddenly, Priscilla clinging to his chest in a last-ditch attempt not to get dumped on the floor and piercing his skin painfully. She ends up on the couch beside him.

“How sure are you about that?” he asks, his heart starting to race.

“Pretty damn sure. The way you describe her, she sounds like a thoughtful person. I don’t see what motivation she’d have to reiterate to you that what happened was a mistake; she’d already made that clear in the first go-round. The only reason she’d want to say all that to you is if she realized she was wrong. She wanted to set the record straight, and apologize. Not for what happened with you, but for choosing the other guy.” He can hear the slurp of her eating something like soup in between sentences, the wet smacks making this revelation sound like an offhand comment.

He’s quiet for a long moment, replaying his interaction with Scully today through the lense of her wishing she’d walked away from Ethan, that she’d chosen him. He closes his eyes. Does he dare hope that Valerie is right?

“You still there, Will?” she asks impatiently.

“Yeah, yeah I’m here. I’m just...trying to wrap my head around all this.”

“Well, I gotta run, so hopefully you can do your ruminating solo. I didn’t even get to tell you the reason I called.” He can hear her up and moving about, opening and closing drawers and cupboards.

“Shit, you’re right. Sorry. What’s up?”

“I’m pregnant,” she says, and then waits a beat before adding “it’s not yours, if that’s where your brain is going. We haven’t slept together in almost two years, you may recall.”

“Uh, yeah...yeah I do recall that seeing as I haven’t slept with anyone in almost two years. Are you...should I be offering congratulations? This is a good thing?” He’s hesitant, unsure if they’ve reached a stage of life where a pregnancy is happy news.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing. I’ve been seeing this guy for a little over six months. It wasn’t planned, but we’re excited. The relationship is still pretty new, obviously, but I think I can see myself growing old on a porch swing with him.” There’s a smile in her voice, a dreamy contentedness that makes his chest ache. It’s the reason they broke up, so they might each have a chance at something like this. He hopes he’ll have his chance too.

“That’s great, Val. I’m happy for you,” he says with a tight voice.

“Thanks, Will. Sounds like you found your person, too. You just gotta go out and get her.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“What does she call you, by the way?”

“She calls me Mulder.”

Valerie laughs softly. “Must be fate.”

———

The days since seeing Mulder have been dreary, both in terms of the weather and her mood. She has already lectured Missy repeatedly over her terrible advice to see him again, opening up fresh wounds and sealing shut doors that she had previously held out hope might open again. The morose look on his face as she admitted that she wished she’d chosen him was a kick to the gut. It was too late, far too late, and he wasn’t able to forgive her. Though it’s what she knows she deserves, it still hurts.

She sits in the clean and quiet autopsy bay, filling out paperwork that she tends to reserve for the end of her days. She’s been working more overtime lately, in no rush to return to an empty apartment and be alone with her thoughts and self recrimination. The idea of dating seems obscene, and yet she can admit that she’s lonely. But not lonely for just anyone; she wants only the one person she knows she will never have.

“Excuse me,” calls out a smooth baritone from behind her, and she turns on her stool to see Mulder there. His charcoal grey suit and white dress shirt stand in contrast against his red tie, one hand in his pocket in an attempt to be casual. The cool bravado she saw in him before is absent, replaced with something vulnerable and raw. She feels adrenaline rush through her limbic system, stealing from her the ability to speak.

“I’m looking for the pathologist on duty,” he continues, and she feels a rock in her gut. He had to come here for work, and see her again. She feels guilty for existing in a space that he is forced to enter.

“I’m the pathologist on duty,” she responds regretfully.

He approaches her cautiously, taking the stool beside her without invitation, and considers her for a moment. With a look of trepidation, he holds out his hand and she gives him a quizzical look.

“Fox Mulder,” he says, his green eyes so earnest and open. There is no anger, no resentment.

“Dana Scully,” she replies, her voice catching as she understands, slipping her hand into his.

They are starting over. A clean slate. A new chance to get it right.

“You don’t look like a Dana,” he says, and there’s just a hint of playfulness in his voice.

She laughs, her mouth smiling while her eyes glaze over with tears. Their hands still clasped, he pulls her close, her stool rolling into the space between his knees as he wraps his arms around her shoulders. She should be embarrassed by this unprofessional display out in the open, but the only feeling she can muster is relief at the smell of his cologne and the press of his chest into her cheek. How many nights has she mourned the loss of this? Hundreds. Perhaps last night will be the final time.

“Would you like to get coffee with me?” he asks against her hair and she laughs again, nodding as her cheek brushes his shoulder. “Are you free now?” he adds.

She pulls back and looks at him, his eyes shining back at her with hope they’d both given up on.

“Yes, I’m free,” she answers.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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lepus-arcticus · 5 years

Text

HALF-MOON DINER 4:00 PM

The Half-Moon Diner was a relic from the 60s, with cracked cream tile and flaking red leather stools lined up at the counter. Strains of tinny bluegrass harmonies scrolled forth from an old antenna radio behind the bar, filling the air with a lament about whatever happened down by the banks of the Ohio.

Even under the weak fluorescent lights, Hugh was a presence. In the grimy throng of farmers scarfing down gelatinous heaps of scrambled eggs and reheated strawberry pie, he appeared to Scully as a beacon, lit from the inside by the glow of tragedy. She sat across from him in a corner booth, her shoulder pressed up against the window. Sheets of rain melted her reflection into the glass, blurring a ghost of her into the dark sky outside.

She felt warm and sullen, cupping a chipped china mug of tar-black coffee between her palms. People stared at them, caught themselves, turned away, glanced back for more. The young, pretty waitress in her lemon-yellow uniform had been polishing the same plate for ten minutes, gawping at them from over the bar.

If Hugh noticed, he didn’t seem to care. He hunched over the table, the very picture of tortured, contained passion.

“Hugh,” Scully began, conscious of their audience. His hand, splayed on the Formica, was brown and dusted with sun-bleached hair.

“How’s this. I’ll tell you everything… anything you need to know, Dana,” he said quietly. “Anything that’ll help. Ask away. I’m yours.”

Scully looked up from the table and found him gazing intently at her. Under the beam of his spirited eyes, she found herself somewhat at a loss for words, for strategy. “Um. Well I suppose you can start by telling me about your wife. About your marriage.”

A sad smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “I guess that would be the place to start, now, eh?” He picked up his cup and sucked down a mouthful of coffee, appearing to gather his thoughts. “Em. Well. I bought the farm in ‘94. Met Anna the same year. Met her here, in fact. She was a waitress.” His voice faltered, and he looked over at the bar, as if he could still see her there. The girl cleaning dishes blanched, and seemed to remember something pressing to attend to in the kitchen. “Nineteen. Loveliest thing I’d ever set my eyes upon,” he continued. “Sweet as the sunrise.”

Scully blinked and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “And why Horizon? Why leave your home behind for such a faraway and isolated place?” She imagined the lack of anonymity, nowhere to run or hide, and suppressed a shiver of revulsion.

“You’ll think I’m a langer,” he offered, chuckling self-consciously and scrubbing his chin with his hand. “Ehm. I, eh, I guess I watched The Hangin’ Tree a few times too many. Staying in Ireland just wasn’t as… romantic of a concept as the call of the mythical Old West.”

Scully couldn’t help but smile a little. “If it’s any consolation, I think Gary Cooper had that effect on a lot of people.”

Hugh grinned at that, full-on, a disarming flash of brilliance that he swiftly pulled back into submission. “God, I love that bastard. Anna loved him, too. She, ehm, she grew up in that religious colony, without television, you know, so films were quite a thrill for her. The novelty, I suppose.”

She nodded, sipping her coffee. It was burned and bitter, and it coated the roof of her mouth.

“Now… now I know what you must be thinkin’, because everyone was thinkin’ it, but she and I really did have a lot in common, despite... the age difference. When you’re… when you’re not with your family, even if it’s by your own doing… well, there’s a loneliness there that I’m not sure can be described. It’s something you don’t understand until you’ve experienced it. I left a lot of people behind to come here. Not all of them were supportive of it. Of me.”

Scully thought of Bill in San Diego, of Charlie in Canada, of her father scattered in the sea, of her sister in the cold ground. “But Anna had Rhiannon, didn’t she?” She said. “And Marion, too. I’ve been given the impression that the three of them were quite close.”

At the mention of Marion’s name, Hugh clenched his jaw. “Ah. Well. Don’t let folks lead to you believe that it was all sunshine and rainbows up at Kicking Horse. That Rhiannon is a strange and fiery woman, and certainly no great admirer of mine. And Marion… well, if you happen to have sisters, I’m sure you can imagine how it could be. Especially when it became clear that Anna and I were of a mind to be married.”

Melissa at fourteen leapt to her mind, her eyes brown as pondwater and lined with crumbly black. Her scalp tingled with the memory of her hair in her sister’s fists. She didn’t even remember what the argument had been about. She pushed the image down, and continued. “And when did you begin your affair with Marion? After the wedding, or before?”

Hugh exhaled sharply and looked away, out the window, staring down the soaked smudge of his reflection. A fork of lightning darted down into the fields in the distance. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Did Marion tell you that?”

“In as many words,” Scully replied.

He turned his palms up in a gesture of helplessness, and then dropped them again. “I mean, what on earth could I ever say to defend myself? It was never supposed to go that far. Anna had these moods, and she’d been so distant, and Marion was always around, always had a listening ear to lend, that girl, and I⁠—we⁠—just got wrapped up in the… in the forbidden excitement of it all, I guess. The hiding. The secrets. The passion. But I ended it as soon as it begun. It was nothing more than a few weeks of foolishness.”

Scully looked him over, trying to gauge the honesty of his words. She found herself wishing for Mulder’s powers of insight. “When, Hugh?”

He swallowed. “This is going to look bad. But it was a few months ago. Shortly before… well, when the omens began. But you mustn’t think that… I mean, who could… I still loved Anna, I wanted to make it work, and Marion loved her as a sister; we didn’t want to hurt her, neither of us could ever…” He stared hard into her, releasing a shaking sigh. “You have to believe me. About this, about the signs…”

The shrill cry of Scully’s cell phone cut into the air. She dug it out of the rumple of her coat and shut it off.

“Dana… you don’t believe me about the omens.” It was a statement, not a question.

“My partner does,” she replied with a sigh. The bell over the front door of the diner tinkled.

Hugh nodded, chewing his bottom lip. “This town… Horizon… it’s a strange place. Was strange long before I put down my roots.” He was getting worked up, a tremor easing into his voice, his eyes beginning to glisten. “This is a fucking nightmare. Whatever is here killed my wife. Killed our child. Killed her goddamned horse. It’s not done. I’m next. I know it.”

“Hugh,” she said softly, and reached over to cover his hand with her own, just to soothe him, just to draw him back into calm, clear conversation. Marion’s words of warning leapt to her mind, but now that she’d heard the full story, she was less inclined to take her seriously. She remembered sneaking around with Daniel, how she felt as though she was helpless to resist him, too.

Hugh took a breath and closed his eyes, sliding his other hand over hers. His skin was rough and warm, and it sent a flush of sweetness through her.

“And just what’s goin’ on here?”

Scully turned to see the thick slab of Theo’s chest. Above them, his eyes were indignant, bright with suspicion. Behind him, a dozen faces turned to follow the drama. Scully ripped her hand away from Hugh’s.

“Sherriff Gladstone,” she said, arranging her face into a practiced professional scowl.

“Dana was just asking me a few questions, Theo,” Hugh said in a bristly tone, as she gathered her coat. This was ridiculous, she’d done nothing wrong. So why did she feel so exposed?

She stood and shouldered past Theo. “We’re all done here, Mr. Daly. Thank you for your candour. Theo, I’ll send you those autopsy notes once I go over them with my partner,” she said, wrapping herself in her overcoat, and without a goodbye to either of them, she marched out of the diner and into the cold downpour of rain.

KICKING HORSE B&B 6:23 PM

The bed was littered with crime scene photos.

Mulder squinted into the bright laptop screen at the rolltop desk in the dim of his room. The connection was crummy, and the going was agonizingly slow. There was little public information about Horizon, even less about the Bishops or the colony or even the reservation. Nothing about homicidal behaviour in crows, mythological or otherwise. He lingered around thoughts of ghosts, of signs, of family, of loss, trying to find a path.

He hoped there were records in town, old newspapers, anything that would help him discern a pattern. He had a few ideas, but he needed Scully's perspective, needed her to eliminate the mess of avenues he laid out for her until they came to an agreeable trail to follow. He needed her to disagree with him, to make him work for it, so that he could gauge the depth of conviction he carried about the hunches he was nursing.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, slamming the screen closed. Where the hell was she, anyway?

He was just about to reach for his cell to try her again when he heard footsteps on the stairs. At first, he thought it was Rhiannon, armed with either a peace offering or another scolding, but then he heard the door of the next room shut.

He stood, briefly stretching his arms behind his back, and followed the sound.

“Scully?” he asked, with a gentle knock.

There was no answer but the sound of her movements inside—a shuffling of clothing, a muffled sniff. He rapped his knuckle against the wood again. “Hey, Scully, you okay in there?” He placed a hand on the door, trying to sense her inside of the room.

It swung open abruptly.

Scully’s hair was wet with rain, and she’d changed into her robe. There were black smudges of mascara clinging to her eyelids, and she looked so small and vulnerable that he had a sudden, dire urge to scream at her.

“Where were you?” He asked tersely.

She walked over to her briefcase and flung it open on the bed, gathering loose papers and Polaroids and thrusting them towards him. “Here are your initial autopsy notes,” she said. “I'll transcribe the rest tonight.”

Mulder stared. She shook the papers a little when he didn't take them, then tossed them back to the bed.

“You can't just not answer your phone,” he pressed, lodging his hands on his hips. “We’re on a case.”

She turned to look at him, expression neutral, but she couldn't hide the redness at the tops of her ears, the stiffness in her shoulders. “And what about all the times you've ignored my calls, Mulder?”

Silence yawned between them, punctuated only by the slap of rain against the windowpane.

“... Scully, look⁠—” he continued, trying to diffuse the situation. “You're right. I'm sorry. I was just concerned, okay? You sounded upset earlier, and I just—I know that Daly makes you uncomfortable.”

She blew a huff of air from her nose, and turned away.

He forged ahead. “I, uh, had an interesting day.” He was expecting her to take the bait, but she remained quiet, clearly distracted. “I don't think Abel Stoesz is involved... he's a nasty piece of work, but I can't see it coming down to him. But Scully, Marion knows something. We need to talk to her. When she's cooled off a bit.”

She nodded.

“...Uh, any luck with Daly?”

Scully fidgeted with her fingers, twining them together and rubbing at her thumbnail. “Mulder,” she said, and the pit of his stomach dropped. “I don't want you hearing this from anyone but me.”

Taken aback, he waited, searching her face.

“After our initial interview, Hugh and I decided to continue our conversation in town.” She paused, bracing him with her eyes, daring him to say something. His lips were suddenly very dry, and he darted out his tongue to wet them.

“And?”

“Well, the fact is… to onlookers, we may have appeared a little… familiar. Our demeanor may have been construed as inappropriate.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mulder, it was nothing.”

Something sour and vile filled his chest. “If it was nothing, why the little confessional here?”

“I was comforting him, that was all. I don’t want Theo putting ideas into your head.”

An itching heat prickled over him. Scully was slipping away from him, literally and figuratively, wasting away, fucking murderous psychopaths and getting inked in sleazy Russian tattoo parlours and getting all cozy with sketchy farmers while they were supposed to be conducting a goddamn investigation.

“Oh, like how you comforted Ed Jerse? What, you got a bucket list number you need to fill or something?”

She looked as though he’d slapped her. “What is your problem?” she asked through her teeth, her voice low and deadly as a viper.

“My problem is that your decision making skills have been severely compromised since your diagnosis, Scully. You can’t even keep a professional distance from a good looking suspect?”

“Hugh Daly is a victim, not a suspect.”

“Did you happen to conveniently forget about Marion’s warning? Scully, listen to me here, she knows something!”

“Marion is twenty two years old, Mulder, and highly emotional, and she and Hugh⁠—”

“Scully, I need you with me on this, not having tea parties with⁠— ”

“⁠—If you’re going to crucify me every time I show a shred of human decency to someone⁠—”

“⁠—Oh, come on! That’s not what you were doing, and you know it.”

She snatched up the papers again, and shoved them towards him. “Mulder, take the damn notes and get out. Just leave me alone.”

Alone. She always wanted to be alone. But only when it came to him.

He ripped the papers out of her hands, fixed her with one last searing gaze, and left.

1:33 AM

Darkness. True darkness, and then a swift, startling awareness unfurled through her body.

The inky miasma of the room pressed into her, trapping her, locking her down. She tried to move her hands, but found that she couldn’t. Things were strange, and wrong, and the only thing she was sure of was that she wasn’t supposed to be here. There was a tingling buzz in the back of her head, growing, getting louder, becoming more and more insistent… and then perfect, eerie quiet.

A presence.

There was a figure at the end of her bed. She couldn’t quite see it, couldn’t quite focus on it, but she felt it, as real as gravity, and it was singing, in a voice so thin that it sounded more like a thought passing through her mind.

I cannot get o’er…. and neither have… I wings to fly…

Her heart seized in terror. She knew that she was dreaming. She had to be. She struggled against the oppressive gauze of sleep, fighting for air, and then she was there, and it was real, and she was sucking breath into her lungs, chest heaving and chilled with sweat. As she struggled and failed to move her limbs, she realized she still felt someone, something, there with her, and became suddenly and painfully alert. She mentally located her gun on the nightstand. Feeling gradually bled back to her, and she carefully wiggled her fingers, staring at the ceiling, willing there to be nobody there when she looked.

She took a deep breath, counted the punches of her heartbeats, and glanced down. Nothing.

Of course there wasn’t, she reprimanded herself. She was just having another nightmare. The case was just wearing on her. Anna’s body, Mulder’s accusations. Hugh.

Her pulse began to settle. The rain had cleared, and as she glanced over to the window, she could see a freckled arc of stars through the glass. She took a few more steadying breaths, struggling to sit up, thrusting her hands through her sweat-damp hair. She tuned an ear to listen for Mulder’s snores, but there was no sound.

She wanted to get up, to go to him, to make things right between them. But her mind went blank when she thought of what that might entail. What it could lead to, here in the dark in the middle of nowhere.

Instead, she kicked off the fluffy summer comforter with still-shaky legs, and went over to the window. A gentle breath floated up from the radiator. It wasn’t too hot to lean against, so she did, luxuriating in the comforting flood of warmth through her pajamas.

Her reflection stared back at her from the window glass, and she reached out to trail her fingers along the surface. For months, she’d avoided the thin, tired, sombre woman in the mirror, that horrible, consumptive apparition of herself. She remembered last night’s dream, her own face poised above her, pale and waxy in death.

Soon, she thought. I’ll be dead soon.

She passed the word through her mind over and over again, like fingering a strand of prayer beads, one for each of the countless cadavers she’d cut open in the course of her work. Sometimes they’d just been part of her day, barely human, interesting arrangements of flesh on a slab, and she a 20th-century haruspex, reading entrails.

But it had to be that way. It wasn’t that she was unfeeling⁠—she just preferred to keep her own emotions locked away, muzzled and collared like dangerous, mythical animals. Despite the popular opinion of the grunts in the bullpen, she wasn’t cold. No, she burned too hot for comfort. Melissa had been the same, but she’d embraced that heat. Harnessed it, rode it into battle. Made it work for her. In this and in so many other ways, Melissa had been the stronger one of them, the one that knew how to listen to her heart, to her gut. The one that knew what bravery was.

Did she see the gun, the hand in the dark? Did time slow to a crawl? Did Missy know, did she suspect, even for a second, that she was going to die?

Scully hoped not. To be aware of your own mortality was strange, too strange for her to fully grasp. There were other lives she’d wanted to lead, other paths she might have taken. She wanted to be a doctor. She wanted to be a mother. None of that would ever happen⁠—this was it for her. And what was the legacy she would leave behind? A few files in Mulder’s cabinet labelled with Scully, D.? A family torn apart, both of her mother’s daughters dead in the name of her work? A trail of unavenged victims and half-solved cases that no court of law could begin to prosecute?

Grief and helplessness rose like water in her throat, drowning her from within. Was this really God’s plan for her? What good had she ever really done with this life? What would Missy think? What would her father have to say?

And Mulder… Oh, Mulder. There was just too much there to contemplate. She wondered if she would ever have the courage to even begin to tell him what he meant to her. She wondered if, even worse, he already knew.

She clipped the latch of the window and shoved it open, forcing her breath to slow and deepen before the tears spilled over.

Fresh air met her skin with a gentle kiss, a whisper of wind pushing its fingers through the wheat outside. The clean country air was thin and rejuvenating. She closed her eyes against it, inhaling, sending a filament of prayer to whoever would listen, a prayer of peace for Mulder, peace for her mother.

And then she heard it again. Warm breath in her ear.

Both shall row… my love and I...

A shock of fear electrified her, and she flung her shoulders around. And then she heard a heavy swoosh, like a baseball bat cutting through the air.

Blood rushed into her ears, and she felt a razor-sharp heat open the skin of her shoulder.

She staggered backwards, instinctively covering her face, the pain and surprise of it trapped in her chest, so that she couldn’t cry out. The bird screamed at her as it ripped, a shrill harpy caw filling the room. She tasted blood in her mouth, felt the creature’s beak scraping and tearing viciously at her back as she stumbled away⁠—

CRACK⁠—

The door nearly splintered with the force of Mulder’s kick, and then Scully did cry out, in the terror and rage of it all. She expected to hear a gunshot, but none came⁠—just the heaving thump of Mulder’s body on hers, tackling her, rolling on the floor so that he was above her, shielding her. Black wings beat around his face as he reached up and grabbed the comforter from the bed, lunging at the dark and screaming bird, trapping it against the floor with his body.

Scully whipped her eyes around the room⁠—the crow appeared to be alone in its attack. She scrambled up and slammed the window shut, shaking fingers working the latch closed. Mulder was hunched over the struggling, squawking, blanketed lump on the floor. He fumbled around it as she ran back to him, and with sure, angry hands, he gained purchase on what he’d been searching for.

He grasped and twisted, and there was a sick, muffled crack. Flinging the dead bundle away from himself, he knelt in front of Scully, who had fallen back against the footboard. He ghosted his fingers down her cheek, looking deeply into her eyes as she struggled to gain control of her breath. “Scully, you okay?” She touched his wrist, trying to speak, taking in the scratches on his face, the blood beading along a deep cut across the tendon of his neck. “Had to tackle you. Couldn’t get a clear shot, you okay? Did I hurt you?”

She was beginning to feel the hot, white pain of it, blood trickling down the back of her pajamas. “My back,” she said.

“Let me see.” He tugged at one of her shoulders, and she swiveled obediently, pulling at the neck of her shirt. “...Shit, Scully, you’re all torn up.”

“Go get Rhiannon,” she breathed, every moment becoming more and more cognizant of the pain. Mulder scrambled up to a crouch, grabbing his gun from the floor and placing it in her hands, cupping her face. “Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” He grounded her with his battle-worn monotone, the planes of his face blue in the night.

Scully closed her eyes and nodded, willing her heart rate to go down. Blood streamed from her, plastering her pajamas to her back. She was dizzy, raw-nerved. She heard Mulder’s movements downstairs, his voice bellowing for Rhiannon, the creaking and slamming of doors, the rattling of cupboards in the kitchen. She breathed through her mouth, settling into the pain, eyeing the bulge under the blanket.

When Mulder entered the room again, he had a large white metal first aid kit under his arm and a serious look on his face.

“Where’s…?” Scully asked.

“She’s gone. Her truck is gone. The dog is gone. I found a field kit, but Scully, from what I can tell, you’re going to need professional medical attention. You’re bleeding. A lot. Rhiannon’s gone. The closest hospital is hours away. Talk me through this, here. What do we do?”

“Get me to the bathroom,” she rasped. He ducked out to toss the kit with a clang into the bathroom, and returned for her. She reached for him, and he gently helped her up. They staggered clumsily together across the hall, Mulder careful not to touch her ruined back, the eyes of the Bishop women on the wall following them.

Mulder flicked on the wall switch. The wan, metallic light flickered to life above them, the buzzing from it echoing off the bathroom walls. The bathroom was longer than it was wide, and housed a clawfoot bathtub, no shower, a tiny black square of window, and a kilim rug rough under her bare feet. The ceiling was slanted, and so low that Mulder had to stoop his head.

Scully caught sight of herself in the pockmarked mirror. She was pale, her hair wild, and dark splotches of blood were soaking through her robe. Mulder loomed above her, looking guilty. “Scully. What do I do? Tell me what to do. Tell me what you need.”

“I need to get this shirt off.”

Mulder exhaled unsteadily as she peeled her robe off and tried to lift her tank. The fabric stuck painfully to her lacerated skin. “A little help here?” She managed to ask. Mulder visibly swallowed and helped her lift her shirt, averting his eyes politely as she brought the tattered, sticky fabric around to cover her bare chest.

The bathroom was cold against her skin and the heat of her blood. She glanced over her shoulder to survey the damage. Her naked back was lashed and streaked, and there was one deep, seeping cut that ran three or four inches from the inner curve of her shoulder blade to the base of her neck. Mulder’s face in the mirror was drawn as he surveyed the damage as well. The gash on his neck was bleeding into the collar of his shirt.

“Scully, fuck. Okay. it’s gonna be okay. What do I do? What do you need?”

“I can’t reach. These need to be cleaned. Water. Clean towel,” she managed, beginning to feel faint.

Mulder sprang into action, rooting around the squat wooden armoire for fresh towels. Scully slumped onto the fuzzy cover of the toilet seat, clutching her bloody shirt to her breasts. The rug was already spotted with her blood. She flashed on the photograph of Anna in the field, her intestines curled in the dirt.

Mulder, jaw set, rinsed the towels in warm water from the sink. He dropped to his knees in front of her⁠—“Here, can you turn a little?”⁠—and scraped the towel over her back.

She sucked air over her teeth. “Mulder, gentle...”

The towel was uncomfortably rough as he cleaned her, murmuring comforting nothings that would usually infuriate and humiliate her, were she not sick and scared and half-naked in a stranger’s bathroom.

“Scully…,” he said, “this one is bleeding pretty seriously. It looks bad.” Fuck.

“It… needs pressure. Clean towel. 15 minutes,” she breathed.

He discarded the wet, bloody towel and rummaged around for a clean one, pressing it into her back and shoulder with a comforting, firm hand. His other hand rested on her arm, caressing her almost unconsciously, sending tiny shivers up to her neck. The slanted walls of the bathroom seemed to crowd in on them, pressing them closer together.

After a few minutes, when the sharp edge of shock had worn down, Scully spoke, her voice shaking and tenuous. “It was a crow. Dammit, Mulder, it was a crow.” He nodded, chewing the inside of his lip.

“Good thing you weren’t out taking a midnight stroll in the wheat.”

“Don’t joke about that,” she said, haunted by Anna’s shredded face. He had the good sense to look vaguely ashamed.

“Scully… this can’t be a coincidence. What’s the common denominator here? Hugh Daly gets you alone, maybe shows a bit of interest in you, and bam, birdfeed.”

“Maybe there’s… maybe there’s a disease here. Maybe that’s why the animals are acting strange, attacking people. That might explain Hugh’s horse, not to mention the one on the highway… and, and Anna. And the crow that flew into my window tonight.”

“Then why haven’t we seen other animals affected? There are literally thousands of cows and horses in Horizon, don’t you think Rhiannon would have noticed something, would have mentioned something?”

“Well, she’s grieving, maybe she hasn’t thought to…”

“And where is she? What is she doing out in the middle of the night?”

“Maybe there was an emergency.”

“Well, these walls are pretty thin, and I didn’t hear a phone ring or anybody knock on the door, did you?”

They fell into another uneasy silence. Scully was weak with residual fear, the pulse of her blood hot on her back, the pain clarifying her thoughts. “Mulder…”

“Yeah?” He answered, his voice just above a whisper. He was so, so close, the scent of his skin all around her.

“Um... check if it’s... stopped bleeding.”

He peeled back the towel, gently stroking the skin next to the cut. “Oh, Scully,” he breathed.

“Do you see any white? Any muscle tissue, subcutaneous fat?”

“Ugh… um. Maybe.”

“Let me look…” she said, turning and placing a hand on his shoulder, using him for balance as she pushed herself up. His hands went to her elbow, to her hip, and he followed. She went to the mirror and turned her back to it, squinting at the cut. It wept fresh blood. “Mulder… I’m going to need stitches. I can’t reach to do them myself.” She looked over her shoulder and regarded him with as much sternness as she could muster. Comprehension and horror overtook his face.

“No. No, Scully. Wait for Rhiannon.”

“And what if she’s not back soon? Or ever? This needs to be closed up, ideally within the next six hours, and it’s a simple process. One you’re fully capable of performing with my instructions.”

“...Can’t we just wait?”

“Mulder,” she said, growing frustrated. “Buck up. I just want it over and done with.”

“Scully! No, Jesus, what if I⁠—?”

“Shut up and get that first aid kit. I need to see what’s in there.”

He blinked at her helplessly, then resigned himself and leaned over for the white tin, bringing it back and opening it. Luckily, it was well-stocked, something Rhiannon might bring with her on a call.

Scully rifled through the case one-handed, unearthing thread, a curved needle that resembled a fish hook, a roll of gauze, and a bottle of iodine.

“Should I.. do you need ice? I can go get ice,” Mulder ventured.

“That might be a good idea,” she conceded in a strained voice, the pain radiating hot and sharp across her back.

He blinked up at her, his eyebrows slanted in concern. “Okay. I’ll be right back. You stay here. You scream if anything happens. Loudly. And stay away from the window.” Scully nodded and watched him as he disappeared through the doorway, closing it swiftly behind him.

The moment he was gone, she sank back onto the toilet seat, and let loose one single, silent, wretched sob, clutching at her tattered shirt so hard that her nails bit into her palms through the fabric. She hated herself for it. For her weakness, her fear. Hated herself for needing him. Hated that he might be right.

She pulled herself together quickly, biting her tongue hard, blinking back tears. Minutes slurred onwards, and soon, Mulder’s voice sounded beyond the door. “Scully, it’s just me,” he warned, before rattling the door knob and letting himself back into the bathroom. He cradled a dusty bottle of Glenfiddich under his arm, and toted a few handfuls of ice tied into a kitchen cloth, already melting into his shirt.

“Thought this might help too,” he said, liberating the bottle from the crook of his elbow with his free hand and sloshing it around a little. She looked up at him as he unscrewed the cap and handed it to her.

Oh, Mulder.

She adjusted the arm that was holding her shirt to her chest, took the bottle from him, and pulled deeply. Liquid fire swished down into her chest, into her sinuses. As she drank, she met Mulder’s eyes, and found something in them that was suspiciously close to admiration.

“Alright, Anne Bonny,” he said, taking the bottle back and taking a short, scowling swig himself before screwing the cap back on and clanging it down next to the base column of the sink. He kneeled in front of her again, helped her turn around, and brought the dripping ice pack to her back. After the initial jolt of it, numbness swept through her slowly, both from the drink and the cloth. Rivulets of melt trickled down her back, sweetening the rhythmic throb of fading pain.

“I’m ready,” she said, once the bite of the ice had faded into a blunt gnaw.

Listening carefully to her instructions, Mulder washed his hands and clumsily sanitized the needle, threading it with some difficulty. He soaked a cotton pad in iodine, and guided it slowly over her skin in strokes so soft and careful that they could have been mistaken for a lover’s touch.

“Scully, I can’t do this,” he pleaded, when everything was prepared.

“Mulder,” she countered patiently. “You know how to sew, right?”

“I mean, I can do a button, but… this isn’t the Indian Guides.”

“Please… I trust you. Just do it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“I need this. I need your help.” She looked over her shoulder at him, and saw determination return to his face.

“God, Scully. Okay. You let me know if you need to… if you need a break, or if something feels wrong, or…”

“Make sure you catch enough of the flesh, okay? Pull it open a little. It’s a rotation, remember, not a stab. Just keep your hand steady.”

He sucked in a breath, and then she felt the first pinch of the needle invading her skin, the slow, tense curve of of it, then the tug of the thread as it slid through her, the tight pull as he knotted her skin back together.

“One down,” he murmured in concentration, and then he entered her again. She gasped quietly.

“Am I hurting you?” He asked with infinite tenderness. “Am I going too fast?”

“It’s fine, you’re… it’s fine,” she said.

“We can take a break if it’s too much. You’re the boss.” His hot palm swiped over her shoulder, and she glanced down at her knees.

“No, it’s… it’s not that.” She realized she didn’t know quite what it was. “You’re doing fine. Thank you, Mulder,” she added as an afterthought.

“S‘okay,” he said, and continued, but even more slowly, more gently than before.

“I’m going to need antibiotics as soon as possible,” Scully said, more to herself than to him. “And the swelling⁠—did you see any Motrin in the tin?”

“No, but I’m sure Rhiannon has some kicking around,” he replied softly. “You sure that was a normal crow, though, Scully? I feel like an exorcism is more the order of the day than antibiotics.” He said this with flat humour in his voice, but she didn’t think it was very funny.

Six stitches, and then there was gauze and tape, and then it was done.

He swiped a warm, wet cloth over her back one more time, avoiding the dressed wound. His hand continued downwards, knuckles bumping over the ridge of her spine, and the pads of his fingers came to rest on her tattoo.

“I’ve only seen it in snapshots. The red is really…”

Scully pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and leaned forward, just a little, a silent invitation for a closer look. Mulder bent down further, tracing it with his fingers. She could feel his breath on her skin.

His voice was coarse and close. “It’s nice.” His fingers brushed in a spiral over the snake, sending chills up her spine, heat rising between her hips.

“Mulder⁠—”

His hand leapt off of her skin, as if the snake had bitten him. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay⁠—I just… let me look at you.” She swiveled, holding her shirt to her breasts with one arm and bringing her hand to his face with the other. He was far better off than she was, just a few scratches across his cheek framing his rocky nose. She tilted his chin in her hand, and examined the cut along his neck. It had stopped bleeding on its own, but left a trail of rusty red down into the scooped gray collar of his shirt.

Their eyes locked together and held, and a stroke of energy went through her, something undeniably foundational, something as deep as love. But then the light in his eyes shifted.

She felt a hot trickle of blood spill from her nose and pool between her lips. Self-consciously, she brought the back of her hand to her face to catch it, and turned away.

“Scully…” Mulder gently grasped her wrist and tugged her hand away, turning her face to his, tenderly dabbing the blood away with a clean corner of the towel.

“I’m fine, Mul⁠—”

“⁠—STOP that,” he seethed, suddenly intense, inches away from her face. “Stop it with that, Dana, you are not okay. I’m sick of this shit. Stop it. It’s me, for fuck’s sake. It’s me.”

She tongued the corner of her mouth, tasting blood, and felt the hot sting of tears forming behind her eyes again, the twist of humiliation and anger in her belly. Mulder sighed deeply, his shoulders heaving.

“You’ve got to trust me, Scully. You’ve got to let me in. I’m right here with you. You’re not… you’re not fighting this thing alone.”

Despite her efforts to keep it at bay, a tear welled, crested, and rolled down her cheek. Mulder seemed to hesitate momentarily, then leaned forward and pressed his lips against it, sweetly, lingering. He pulled back, and then, as if surprised by his own audacity, he launched himself up, his bum knee cracking. “I’m… uh, do you have anything to sleep in? I’m gonna…” He disappeared without finishing his sentence, and reappeared a moment later with a clean t-shirt, which he tossed in her direction before leaving again.

Scully closed her eyes, willing them to dry. She dabbed at the sticky blood that had transferred from the shirt to her chest, and careful of her injuries, she slid the shirt over her head. It was soft, smelling of Mulder and laundry soap.

“Scully?” Mulder appeared in the doorway again, wide-eyed, his voice urgent, gun in hand. “Scully⁠—the crow is gone.”

“What do you mean the crow is gone? I thought you killed it!”

“I did, but it’s gone.”

“How can that be possible?” She stood, bracing herself against the sink.

“I have a few ideas,” he said darkly. “But… I don’t want you in that room tonight. I think you should come to mine so I can keep watch.”

“Mulder, I’m⁠—”

“DON’T⁠—start with that again. I’m gonna get cleaned up, and you’re coming to my room.” Something about his tone of voice reminded her of her father, and she found herself unable to protest. She followed his orders, watching him strip his shirt off and dab at his chest with a wet cloth, and then following him to his room. It was a mirror of hers, with the same sloping roof. “Take the bed,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“Where are you going to sleep?”

He nodded towards the small armchair in the corner.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mulder. The bed is big enough for the both of us.”

He seemed to consider this, chewing his lip, hands on his hips. “Okay, but I’m taking the side closest to the window. Just in case.”

Scully curled into the cool sheets in the dark of the room, favouring her good side. The sleepy smell of him rose to meet her from the pillow, a scent that was dark with dreams. Mulder was pacing, checking the locks, peering out of the window, the floor creaking under his feet.

She watched him quietly as he slowed and then finally stopped.

“I, um. I think your room was Anna’s,” he sighed, leaning his forehead against the window glass.

“I think it was, too,” she said, and was grateful that he didn’t ask her to elaborate.

He turned, his long, lithe silhouette approaching the bed, the moonlight glancing off of the curve of his shoulder. Carefully, he crawled in beside her. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked contentedly on. Scully felt as shy as a teenage girl; she was careful not to touch him, but she yearned to all the same.

Mulder tentatively reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and rested his palm on her cheek, thumbing just below a scratch.

“Why is it always me?” she whispered, indulging in a fit of uncharacteristic self-pity.

He scooched towards her without a word, his knees knocking her shins, and kissed her sweetly between the eyes as he threaded his arm under her neck. She rested her cheek on his chest, sucking her tongue nervously, submerging herself in his heavy, warm aura. He nosed her hairline.

“You’ll be fine,” he murmured. “We’ll figure this out. All of it. You’ll be fine.”

#omens #txf fic #the x files fic

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scullysexual · 4 years

Text

Gone

If you’ve ever watched Dark (the German show on Netflix) it’s very similar to that. I started watching it and this popped into my head. I can also throw it onto the never ending list of college aus I keep writing. I’ll be some time before the next chapter is posted but I just wanted to see what you made of this.

Chapter One: Goodbye.

The dreams are always the same; a bright light, my sister shouting for me. And there’s somebody standing at the door. I can’t move. I reach for the gun but I can’t shoot. I’m just frozen…like I’m paralysed or something.

The cassette player clicks, the tape pausing. Mulder stares at it. Dr Montague sighs.

“That was recorded a year ago,” the therapist says, looking down at his notes. “After your hypnosis treatment.”

Mulder silently nods, not looking away from the player.

“Are you still having those dreams?”

Mulder turns away from the player, his eyes to the carpeted floor.

Montague looks up at his lack of response.

“I need you to talk to me, Fox,” he coaxes, a slight harshness to his voice. “You need to tell me if you’re still having these dreams.”

Mulder sighs and nods quickly.

“Right.” Montague looks down at his notes again. “And it also says that you were suffering from Insomnia, is that right?”

Mulder nods again. “Guess I didn’t want to have the dreams,” he shrugs.

“And Dr Werber prescribed you with sleeping pills. Have they helped?”

Mulder shakes his head. “With the sleeping yeah, not much with the dreams.”

“Okay.” The doctor scribbles something down in his book. “Well, we’ll review what we’ve spoken about today and I’ll get back to you on how to go forward.”

Mulder nods, wanting nothing more than for this session to be over with.

“I think that about wraps up today’s session then.” Mulder reaches for this bag, quicker than what is probably polite. Dr Montague doesn’t miss it. “I will see you next week, Fox?” he asks.

Mulder nods, already heading towards the door and out.

He runs down the steps of the office buildings, the fresh air a welcome reprieve from two hours in a stuffy office. He unlocks his bike, yanking it from the bike stand, and climbs on. He rides towards the forest, away from the city and the people, and the normalcy they had been able to continue on with during his absence.

A year gone and it was like everything was the same as it was before.

But no, it wasn’t, because just like his sister, another kid was missing.

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

There’s whispers all around him.

Some people gawk at him as they walk past, others mutter to their friends. He picks up words like Spooky, Freak. Catches sentences as they fly past him; I heard he said his sister was abducted by aliens, Someone told me she was kidnapped by that guy who was selling vacuums, I was told she ran away. Mulder keeps his head down, remaining quiet.

That’s what everyone told him to do; his therapist, his teachers, his parents. Keep your head down, ignore them, don’t retaliate. It’s difficult, he wants to shake them off, knock a few of them around the head. He clenches his fist instead.

They said school was going to be the hardest part of adjusting back.

The latecomers hurry through the gate. Mulder is just about to turn and follow them inside when a body jumps him from behind.

His body smacks into the grass, the window being knocked out of him. The other body quickly moves off him as Mulder raises up onto his hands and knees, coughing over and over towards the ground, feeling like he’s about to cough his guts up.

“Whoa, dude…” a familiar voice says. “You’re guard must be way down today if you let that happen.”

Mulder finishes his coughing fit, standing as Ethan, his best friend (his one and only friend, actually) looks on concerned.

“I’m fine,” he says, getting a few last coughs out.

“Sure,” says Ethan, though he’s still not looking convinced. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

They find their seats easily: back row in the corner. Mulder hooks his bag onto the back of his chair and sits himself down.

“Have I missed much, then?”

Ethan pulls a face as if to say no. “Not really. Oh, another kid went missing, but other than that, everything’s been pretty much quiet in Dullsville.”

Mulder smiles at the town nickname. “I saw the missing posts all over town.”

Ethan shrugs, “Who cares? Kid has a weirdo anyway, sprouting all that whacky shit about aliens in the corner. Who’d believe all that?”

Mulder turns away, suddenly uninterested in the conversation anymore. Whacky shit, yeah.

Ethan notices and realises. “Dude, I’m sorry. You know I don’t think that way about you.”

Mulder shakes his head, shaking him off. “It’s fine,” he says.

It wasn’t fine, though. All those things Duane Barry would continuously say may have seemed insane at the beginning but maybe there was some truth in it after all.

Mulder looks over to the door, to where the rest of the class filters in. His stomach tingles when he catches sight of curly red hair sat beneath a black beanie. They make eye contact and she smiles- almost as if she’s as happy to see him as he is of her- he smiles back, giving her a little wave, one she returns.

He turns back to Ethan, who now has a big smile plastered across his face.

“I didn’t think Scully would still be here,” he says.

“Dana?” The smile turns into a grin as Ethan leans back against the wall. “Guess she’s got a thing or two to stick around for now.” Scully looks back over to them and Ethan blows a kiss towards her. She turns around, rolling her eyes.

It suddenly dawns on Mulder just what Ethan meant. His stomach drops as he looks towards his friend.

“You and Scul…Dana?” he asks, almost unsure.

The grin still across his face, Ethan nods. “Guess a lot of things have changed after all.”

He turns back to Scully trying not to feel so disappointed at it all.

“You know, we’ve been thinking…” Ethan says and Mulder turns his attention back to him. “We’re gonna go to the Wishing Well, see if we can find Barry’s stuff.”

Mulder stares at him like he’s supposed to know what that means.

Ethan sighs and rolls his eyes. “You know, his stuff. His drugs and that. Pretty certain his stash is at the Wishing Well.”

Mulder thinks it over and nods. “What time?”

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

He sits on a log, waiting, his bike lying on the ground beside him. Above the trees, he sees the sun about to set, half the sky cast in a light purple-orange paint. Is his sister really up there? He’s starting to doubt himself.

“Ethan not here yet?”

Mulder turns around and smiles as Scully walks towards him. He shakes his head, standing.

“Typical,” Scully says, looking up to the sky and back down again. “He’d be late to his own funeral.” Mulder laughs as Scully spins around. “Charlie, keep up!”

Mulder looks behind her to see Charlie Scully walking towards them. He gives a confused look towards Scully.

“He begged to come,” she says as a way of explanation. “Not that I had much of a choice,” turning to Charlie and giving him daggers. She looks back at Mulder. “He said he’d snitch if I didn’t take him.”

“And I want a quarter of whatever you find,” Charlie adds.

“If we even find anything. For all we know this stuff could’ve been cleared out already.”

Mulder stares at her. All day he’s been wanting the chance to speak to her, since that first class when he found out she and Ethan were…something. It had been eating him up all day. He’d hoped, he’d really hoped.

Guess like most of his hopes, they’d all end in disappointment.

“Scully, I-“

“How are you-“

Mulder laughs nervously, Scully pursues her lips together.

“You start,” he says.

“How are you?”

“I’m good,” he nods. “It’s weird being back but yeah, it’s not been too bad.”

Scully nods, a slight smile across her face.

“You?” he asks.

“Okay. I’m been good.”

He nods back. A silence passes over them.

“You know, it was really strange you being gone,” she says, almost shyly.

Mulder looks to the ground, his hands in his pockets. “Couldn’t have been that strange,” he mutters but it’s quiet in the forest and so she hears it regardless.

He glances a look at her, sees her walls going up around her. Can almost imagine her tongue pressing hard against the back of her teeth, her chin lifting and her blue eyes turning to ice.

“You were gone, Mulder,” she answers, all warmth and friendliness gone from her voice. “I wasn’t gonna sit on your doorstep waiting for you.”

He lifts his head up fully, his own eyes turning to steel. “You didn’t have to get with my best friend, though.”

Yeah, that’s good. Make her hurt, too.

There’s a crack in her resolve. A break in her wall. It’s her turn to look away.

Good.

“What are you two just standing there for? Let’s go!” They hear Ethan shout just away from them. He strides up, clocking Charlie on the back of the head as he does so. “Why you bring the Shrimp?” He turns back to Charlie. “Is it not past your bedtime?”

“Fuck off,�� Charlie says, swatting Ethan’s hand away when he goes to hit him again.

“I said he could come,” says Scully, turning away from the group and beginning to walk ahead.

“What’s up with her?” Ethan asks Mulder.

Mulder shrugs, not about to get into his and Dana’s conversation. The two start following her, Charlie walking behind them and rubbing his sore head.

“And I want more than a quarter of what you find!”

“Piss off,” says Ethan.

The Wishing Well had been the centrepiece of the forest. When they were younger, it had been a happy place, well looked after by the people of the town. It was a working well, once. Water in it every day, changed regularly, too. They’d throw their pennies in, making wishes, hoping they would come true.

As time went on, the well became overgrown. People stopped caring, kids stopped coming, they even stopped changing the water. Spider webs, wasps nest, ant hills became its inhabitants. The area was overgrown with grass, wildflowers, poisonous mushrooms. It became a place where teenagers would hang about. Nobody ever came here so nobody ever bothered them.

“Where is it then?” Mulder hears Charlie say.

“Bet it’s not even here anymore,” Scully says, annoyance clear in her voice.

“It’s just under the grass,” Ethan says. He walks over to a heavily grassy bit, removes a handful of moss but stops short when he realises that it isn’t there.

“Told you,” Scully says, looking away.

“Looking for this?”

They all turn as Phoebe Green appears out of nowhere, holding Ethan’s prize.

“That’s not yours,” Ethan says, stalking towards her.

Phoebe is quick and tall- taller than Ethan- and holds it above her head, out of his reach.

“It’s not yours, either,” she says. “Finders keepers.”

“Yeah,” says Ethan. What he lacks in height, he makes up for in body mass. He pushes Phoebe, she trips and falls, her head smacking against the wall of the well, dropping the bag of weed. Ethan scoops it up, proudly. “Finders keepers.”

Mulder stands there, unsure of to do.

“You fucking dick, Ethan,” Scully scolds. She walks towards Phoebe and kneels down. “Are you okay?”

Phoebe whacks Scully’s hand out of the way. “I’m fine, I don’t need your help.” She pushes herself off the ground, wipes her hands on her jeans. “Dickhead,” she calls to Ethan.

“Bitch,” Ethan casually calls back. He’s just about to open the bag when a growl emits from around them.

Fear runs through Mulder’s body, a chill up his spine. Phoebe and Scully back away from the well.

“What the fuck was that?” Ethan asks.

“Probably a bear,” says Scully, shaking her own fear away.

The growl happens again, vibrating through the ground. Leaves shake and stones tumble about before it stops.

Charlie looks over, his face white. “I don’t think that was a bear.”

Mulder stares at the well. “I…I think it came from the well.”

Scully lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m telling you, it was a bear!”

A loud thud sounds from behind him. Mulder jumps back, shaking and genuinely scared as he shines his flashlight upon the sound of the thud.

“I don’t think we’re alone,” Phoebe says.

“Guys, there’s something in the well…” Charlie mumbles.

There’s a sudden downpour of rain, the sky darkening. Thuds and rustles and the growling sound happens again.

Mulder’s body propels him forward, he doesn’t even remember choosing to run, his feet just move.

He can hear the others behind him but he’s solely focused upon himself; running and running and running.

Until he freezes, his body falling onto the hard ground, chin smacking against a rock in the process.

A blinding white light forces his eyes closed. In the distance, he hears shouting. A name. Over and over.

Dana! Dana! Dana!

The light goes. He can move again. He hears a shout of Charlie! as the rain continues to pour down him.

#txf #high school au #gone #chapter 1 #fic:gone #i write

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scullyfemme · 5 years

Text

Timing -- Ch. 3

“You’re not Mulder.”

Dreamland time baby!!!

Tagging @today-in-fic | Read it on Ao3

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---

“Is this supposed to be a date?” Scully cocked a brow at the dusty Nevada road they were driving down. “You know Kersh will have our asses if he finds out about this.”

“Depends on if you want this to be a date,” he ignored the second half of what she’d said. They passed a mile marker. “Two more miles to go.”

“I’m all a-tingle,” She deadpanned.

She asked about his supposed “source,” who he claimed worked at Area 51, and she found herself thinking about his constant search for proof. For truth. Before they had embarked on this new phase of their relationship, it had started to drain her. But everything had a slightly new feeling to it now that they were together. Like when you finally clean off an old pair of earrings or shine an old pair of shoes and realize how much potential they’d had. To be honest, she was a bit excited to be out on the road with Mulder again like this, though she refused to let him know that. They hadn’t worked anything resembling an X-File in a while.

Still, her mind wandered to thoughts about the people who lived near here. Raising families and buying homes while they drove on, endlessly.

Will that ever be us?

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She realized she’d spoken out loud. “I mean, uh- There are people who live around here. People who live normal lives. Nine-to-five jobs and a cookie-cutter house with a white picket fence and-” she stopped herself from mentioning kids, not wanting to re-open that wound for a casual conversation.

He glanced over at her. “Are you saying you want a nine-to-five job and a cookie-cutter-”

“No, no,” She cut him off, shaking her head. She couldn’t imagine a life in suburbia. “I just mean, like...settling down,” she sighed. “Something resembling a normal life.”

“Well, this is a normal life,” He argued. Seeing her look, he continued. “Normal for us, at least.”

“That’s true,” She said. They didn’t really have lives that lent to normalcy.

“But if you want something normal, then we can try something normal,” He said, reaching over and taking her hand in his, resting them on the center console. “What is it you want? The white picket fence? I can get one for my apartment, but I don’t know where I’ll put it.”

She smiled, her mind slightly more at ease. He’d made a joke, but she knew his sentiment was real. It had always been clear that that sort of life didn’t quite fit him, but he’d be willing to try it. For her.

The sound of tires squealing and the blinding headlights streaming through the car disrupted their moment, and they pulled their hands apart.

“Mulder.”

“I don’t know if we’re going to meet that crackpot after all.”

---

“Come on, Mulder, let’s go,” She tugged on his sleeve, shooting a glare at the man who had confronted them, who had an odd look on his face.

Mulder was uncharacteristically quiet as they drove away, and Scully repeatedly glanced over at him. She didn’t say anything, assuming that he was just stewing about not being able to meet his contact.

When they pulled up to the gas station, she decided to try to pull him out of his funk. “Are you okay, Mulder?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you haven’t said anything since we left those men on the highway. Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine. Gas cap’s on your side.”

She frowned. He always got the gas. He’d even once made a joke about chivalry while she argued that pumping gas was hardly chivalrous. “Okay...if you don’t wanna talk about it.” She got out and started pumping the gas.

Still in the car, Mulder turned the radio on, fiddling with the dial. Her phone rang, slightly muffled by the noise and the confines of the car.

“Mulder?” She called through the window. He didn’t hear her. “Mulder.” She repeated.

No response. Was he ignoring her? Maybe he just couldn’t hear her. She closed her eyes with a sigh of frustration, then left the pump to open the door and get her phone. The music blasted out of the car at deafening levels, but she got in anyway.

“Hello?” She asked, but couldn’t hear over the radio. Her lips pursed, she reached over and turned it down. “Hello?” No response. Whoever was on the other end had hung up. “Ugh.” She hung up and got back out of the car.

“Oh, Dana?” Mulder leaned over. “Want to pick me up a pack of Morleys please?”

Dana? “Since when do you smoke?” She eyed him with doubt. Was this some sort of joke?

He heaved a sigh. “Well, you’re not gonna be a Nazi about it, are you?”

The question genuinely stunned her and she didn’t know how to respond. Slamming the door shut, she went inside, lost in her thoughts.

Mulder didn’t smoke. He’d never smoked. In fact, they’d had multiple conversations where they’d talked about how neither one could even stand the smell of cigarettes after all their dealings with the Cancer Man. So why did he request a pack? He hadn’t seemed any more stressed than usual or anything, so she didn’t understand what could be driving him to smoke.

She recalled their conversation in the car. Was that it? Had her questions about normalcy set him off? He’d seemed receptive enough to it at the time. Maybe it was actually bothering him and he was lashing out in some weird way, trying to push her away before she could ask about it again.

She pursed her lips, feeling a flash of anger. She put back the bag of sunflower seeds she’d grabbed on instinct and stalked out without getting the cigarettes. If he wanted to be a child and not talk about what was wrong, so be it. But she wasn’t going to encourage him. When she got back in the car, Mulder looked over at her expectantly.

“They were out,” She said shortly as she buckled in.

“Of Morleys?”

She shrugged, keeping her eyes forward. She was very clearly mad at him and he knew her well enough to pick up on that, but for some reason, he didn’t seem to. Or if he did, he didn’t say anything.

They drove for a while before she turned to him. “Mulder, if I said something that upset you-”

“God, this again?” He looked at her as if disgusted. “I told you I’m fine, Dana. Jeez, you’re just like my wife.”

“Excuse me?”

A panicked look crossed his face. “A wife,” He corrected. “You’re like a wife.”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but she had no words. So that was what this was about. One discussion about settling down and he was pushing her away. She hadn’t even said anything about getting married. So much for no regrets.

Scully had half a mind to yell at him, to argue with him. But she couldn’t bring herself to. She didn’t want him to know just how hurt she was, so she sat back in her seat and sulked, staring silently out of her window for the rest of the drive.

---

“‘I’d give you his name if I had it?’” Scully repeated Mulder’s words back to him in an incredulous tone. Their meeting hadn’t gone at all like she’d expected it to. “Whatever happened to protecting our contacts? Protecting our work?”

He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “He asked. Hang on a second.”

She watched in disbelief as he went over to chat up Kersh’s assistant. Right in front of her. Scully stood up to her full height in indignation, her lips pressed in a thin line. She’d hoped that whatever streak of pettiness Mulder had displayed last night would be gone by now so that they could have a proper discussion about it, but apparently that wasn’t the case.

He noticed her anger this time as he got back to her. “What?”

“What is going on with you?” She couldn’t help but ask, despite not wanting to discuss this at work.

Mulder scoffed. “Will you please stop trying to pick a fight with me?”

“Mulder, you are acting bizarre!” She hissed.

He turned and looked back at Kersh’s assistant through the office windows, then looked back at her with a gloating smile. “Jealous?” He asked, then slapped her ass before walking off.

Scully’s jaw dropped in shock. Her face burned a bright red with the amount of embarrassment and anger she felt. Her hands curled into fists; she was absolutely fuming now, and she’d had it with him. Once they were off work, she was going to confront him. She might even need her gun.

She angrily chewed her lip as she sat at her desk, occasionally looking up to glare at Mulder as he played some golfing game on his computer. It was strange that he was playing a game at work, much less a golf game, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about that right now.

Her phone rang. “Scully,” She answered.

“Oh thank goodness. Scully, it’s me.”

She frowned. The phrase was a familiar one; she’d heard it from Mulder countless times. But Mulder was right there. And this voice didn’t sound familiar.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“It’s me, Mulder.”

“Mulder?” From his desk, Mulder waved dismissively, clearly thinking she was talking to him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t call sooner," the voice continued. "Look, something really weird happened last night when that UFO passed over us.”

“UFO?” Her frown deepened. That was certainly a very Mulder thing to say, but there hadn’t been a UFO last night. And again, Mulder was right there.

“You don’t remember?” He asked. “You don’t remember. Okay, the man that you’re with, that’s not me. His name is Morris Fletcher. He’s an Area 51 employee.”

“Morris Fletcher,” She repeated as she wrote the name down. A thought crossed her mind. Was this Mulder’s contact? But why would he call her? And why would he claim to be Mulder? She considered getting Mulder’s attention so he could listen in on the call and let her know, but she decided against it. If he could be petty, so could she.

“That’s right.” The man said. “Everyone else seems to think that I’m him, but I’m not. I’m me. I’m Mulder.”

“Look,” She sighed. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but-”

“It’s not a game, Scully, I can prove it. I-” He stopped and was silent for a moment. “Well, I don’t know if this is a secure line. I don’t want to say anything too risky. Are you telling me that Mor- that Mulder hasn’t been acting weird?”

She opened her mouth to defend him on instinct but realized she didn’t have any defense. He had been acting weird. “Well, he-” She stammered, then turned in her chair to prevent Mulder from hearing her. “He, uh, he asked for cigarettes. And...flirted with some woman,” She added under her breath, unable to believe she was confiding in this random man.

“Flirted?” The man sounded disgusted. “See, Scully? I would never do that, you know that. First of all, I wouldn’t want to, especially not now. And second of all, I know you’d probably murder me for that.”

She hesitated. He was right, and it seemed like he was alluding to her and Mulder’s relationship with his comments. But it was just too crazy to believe. “I don’t know…”

The man sighed. “Scully, I love you, but things would be a lot easier if you just believed me sometimes. Look, just get out here as soon as you can, and I’ll prove it to you. I promise.”

I love you? “W- How will I get in touch with you?”

“You won’t. I’ll get in touch with you.” He hung up.

Scully hung up too, staring at the name she’d written down. Morris Fletcher. She’d look him up and have that call traced.

Mulder turned back to her. “Who was that?”

She shot him a glare. “None of your business.”

“Jeez, lady.” Mulder reclined back in his chair. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Scully shot up from her seat, fully intending to lash out at him, but stopped when a few of their desk neighbors looked up at her in surprise. She remembered where she was. Smoothing down her skirt, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, needing to cool off.

---

At the sight of Kersh’s assistant leaving Mulder’s apartment (giving Scully a catty look, to boot), she’d decided it was time to commit murder. She could excuse some of his behavior as weird immature lashing out because he was uncomfortable, but this was taking it way too far. She rapped at his door.

“Just can’t get enough, can you?” His voice sounded from inside.

She fumed at his audacity. “It’s me.”

The door opened and Mulder stood just inside, a cigarette dangling from his mouth and his shirt half off. He looked completely unfazed by her anger. “Oh, hey, Dana.”

Dana again. Since when was he calling her Dana? That was low-priority compared to everything else, though. She burst into his apartment and whirled around to face him as he shut the door.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her voice was forceful, and she was grateful it wasn’t wavering.

He looked confused by her tone. “Oh, you know, just a little lunch break. What’s up?”

“A lunch break?” She whispered, so mad she couldn’t even speak. “A lunch break?” She repeated, louder. “You have the gall to tout some woman around right in front of me and then play it off as a lunch break?”

He raised his arms in surrender. “Jeez, Dana, I didn’t know I owed you anything.”

“Owe me anything,” She mouthed the words in anger, then took a deep breath, trying to calm down so she didn’t actually murder him. “Mulder, if you- If you wanna break up, this is far from-”

“Break up?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oho! That’s what this is about?”

“Excuse me?” She asked. What else would this be about?

He ignored her, though, his hand going to his chin in amazement. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been wasting my time with that bitch when you and I were an item this whole time?”

Scully stepped backwards, looking and feeling like she’d just been slapped. She’d never heard Mulder call anyone a bitch before. And why was he acting so surprised that they were together? Was this some sort of ploy? Some sick game? A way to act like they’d never been together?

It’s not Mulder, a small voice in the back of her mind said. She instinctively brushed it off, but then thought back to that phone call. That man — Morris Fletcher — had almost made a convincing argument. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t encountered Mulder imposters before. She recalled the shape-shifting man who’d showed up at her motel room to try and kill her years ago. And Eddie van Blundht.

“Well, Dana,” Mulder started speaking again. “I’m real sorry.” (he didn’t sound sorry at all) “I think I just, uh, haven’t been myself. Whaddaya say we start over?” He moved closer and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Don’t touch me,” She stepped back from his grip, her anger flaring up again. She wasn’t going to turn to some crazy theory to excuse Mulder’s actions. And a half-assed apology like that certainly wasn’t going to fix anything. “We’re done.” She spat, then turned and stormed out of his apartment.

“Done?” He called after her. “Where are you going?”

She didn’t answer.

---

Scully blinked in surprise as Morris Fletcher’s wife slapped him and called him a son of a bitch. Not a good day for relationships, huh?

Still a bit stunned, she tried to get her bearings. “I’m sorry, um, Morris Fletcher?”

Fletcher — who looked strangely excited to see her — closed the door and guided her away from it. “Scully, it’s me,” He spoke quietly. “It’s Mulder.”

“Uh,” She shrugged off his hand and stepped back. Why was this man so close to her? “You’re the man from the other night? From Area 51?”

He opened his mouth to answer but was distracted by his wife shouting “Liar!” from the house.

“You phoned me,” Scully continued. “What is this all about?”

Fletcher looked frustrated. “I'm Mulder. I'm really Mulder. I switched bodies, places, identities with this man, Morris Fletcher. The man that you think is Mulder, but he's not.” He added, then seemed to notice his reflection in the window of the car. “Of course you don't believe me. Why was I expecting anything different?” He said, mostly to himself.

She just looked up at him, wondering if this man was crazy. If she was honest, part of her wished he was right, if not to have some reasoning for Mulder’s recent behavior.

After a beat, he turned to her. “Your full name is Dana Katherine Scully. Your badge number is…” He thought for a moment. “Hell! I don't know your badge number. Your mother's name is Margaret, your brother's name is Bill. He's in the Navy and he hates me.”

He does hate Mulder, She thought to herself. But anyone could know that. Her brother would probably buy a billboard if he could.

He continued. “Lately, for lunch, you've been having this six-ounce cup of yogurt — plain yogurt — into which you stir bee pollen because you're on a bee pollen kick, even though I tell you you're a scientist and you should know better.”

She blinked at that. How did he know that? She didn’t even register his wife shouting something else.

“Look…” She floundered for something to say, some reasoning. It was just too crazy to believe. “Any of that information could have been gathered by anyone.” They often ate lunch in the bullpen, now. Tons of people saw her do that.

“Even the bee pollen thing?” He asked, incredulous. “That is so you, that is so Scully. Well, it’s good to know you haven’t changed.” He was nearly ranting now. “That’s somewhat comforting.”

Scully opened her mouth to retaliate. Whatever was going on, it was uncomfortable hearing some strange man act like he knew her.

He took her by the shoulder and guided her even further from the house before she could speak, though. “Look, what about this?” His voice was nearly a whisper, as if he was afraid someone would hear. “We’re together. Only you and I know about that.”

She stiffened. Shrugged off his hand again. “Mr. Fletcher, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but lots of people tend to assume that my partner and I are romantically involved. I can assure you that’s not-”

“Oh, c’mon, cut the crap, Scully!” His voice rose in frustration. He gestured as if searching for something to say. “I can- I can get more specific!”

“I don’t-”

“I told you I loved you in the hospital after you saved me from that ghost ship,” He charged ahead without letting her stop him.

That got her attention. At least enough for her to listen.

“You didn’t wanna believe me,” He continued, slightly calmer now. “You thought it was the drugs. You drove me home after I was discharged and we had an argument about it, and then we-” He stopped and glanced behind himself, as if worried someone would hear. When he spoke again, it was nearly a whisper. “We slept together. For the first time.”

Her heart pounded with panic. How could he know all of this? “Mr. Fletcher-”

“Afterwards, we ate Chinese food and talked about how we shouldn’t tell anyone. You spent the night and woke up so sore from my couch that you said you’d never do that again, but you have.”

She was about to argue, but paused. He was missing something. “Something happened between those things.”

He smiled. “The Gunmen dropped by. You hid in my room like a teenage girl whose boyfriend’s mom just came home.”

She knew her face was flushed now. It was all too accurate. She shook her head. “Mulder and I have both been bugged before. Spied on. How do I know that’s not how you learned all of this?” It made her deeply uncomfortable to think of someone spying on her and Mulder during such intimate moments, but it was more likely than body swapping.

Fletcher sighed in exasperation. “You really do make me work for everything, don’t you, Scully?” He ran a hand through his hair — the same way Mulder did, she realized — then looked back down at her. “Okay. Ask me anything.”

She licked her lips in thought, trying to think of a good question. “What was our first date?”

He smirked. “Depends who you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you.”

“The cemetery,” He said with a small smile. “You laughed.”

Her throat tightened. Part of her wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that all of the craziness between her and Mulder today was because it wasn’t Mulder. But the investigative part of her brain pointed out that they’d had that conversation in a public place. Someone could have overheard. She searched for a memory, something she could ask him about where she knew they were totally and completely alone.

Try any of that Tailhook crap on me, Scully, I’ll kick your ass, Mulder’s voice sounded in her head.

She looked up at Fletcher. “What did I sing to you?” No further explanation.

He frowned for a second, as if confused by the question. Then recognition crossed his face and he smiled. “Joy to the World.”

Her lips parted in shock and she leaned forward, searching his face as if half-expecting it to open like some sort of skin suit, revealing someone else. “Mulder?” She whispered, her voice thick with disbelief.

“Yeah,” He smiled, breathless with relief and nodding emphatically. “It’s me, Scully.”

Her gaze wandered, her mouth agape. “I don’t- How?”

“Something flew over us the other night,” He explained. “A UFO or something. No one else seems to remember it but me. And Morris, I’m assuming. I don’t know how it did it, but all of a sudden I was watching you get in the car with Morris, only you thought he was me.”

She didn’t seem to be fully paying attention to him, though, still reeling at this discovery. After a moment, she looked away in thought. “I was so mad at him,” She murmured quietly, as if to herself.

“Morris?” He asked. “What did he do?”

“He-” She ducked her chin in embarrassment. “I caught him...fooling around with Kersh’s assistant,” She muttered, almost too quiet to hear.

“He what?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise, which quickly turned to anger.

“I don’t- I don’t know if they actually slept together-”

“Oh my God,” He buried his face in his hands.

“But I saw her leaving his — your — apartment,” She said, looking thoroughly embarrassed by the whole thing. “She wasn’t fully dressed.”

Fletcher — Mulder, she reminded herself — lifted his head up to look at her. “Scully, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t do that, you know that.” He looked genuinely contrite, knowing how she must have felt witnessing that.

She nodded thoughtfully, feeling relieved despite the fact that she still wasn’t fully sure she believed him. That was more like Mulder. After a moment, she spoke. “So...what do we do now? I mean, how do we fix…” She gestured to all of him. “This?”

“Unfortunately, I’m still looking into that,” He said. “I’m gonna go back to ‘work’ and try to get ahold of something — a piece of evidence.” He leaned a bit closer. “Can you meet me tonight? I’ll need you to take it to the Gunmen and have it analyzed.”

She hesitated, not exactly excited for yet another four-hour flight back to Washington (and probably another flight back here). She thought for a moment. “Is that going to help us change you back?”

“I don’t know,” He admitted. “But it’s at least a starting point. Can you meet me, Scully?”

“Hold on, Mulder,” She lifted a hand as if to stop him. It would take both parties to switch bodies back. “We have to think about this. Even if we find a way to fix this, there’s no guarantee that we can do it without Fletcher’s cooperation. He might even know how to do it. But he definitely doesn’t seem interested in giving up your life anytime soon.”

“What are you saying?”

She chewed her lip. “I’m saying that...as much as it’ll probably kill me, I’m gonna have to gain his trust. Go along with his charade. I might be able to get some information from him in case we don’t find anything with this ‘evidence.’”

He smirked, and she thought she could see a ghost of Mulder’s smirk on that ugly face. “You’re not gonna kiss him, are you?”

Her face scrunched up with disgust, which was all the answer he needed. “Where do you need me to meet you?” She asked.

“I’ll get in touch with you.”

---

Mulder — Fletcher — had followed her. That was the only explanation. How else would he have known that she went back to Nevada? Or that she’d talked to “Fletcher?”

She’d been backed into a corner. Kersh had threatened her job, and there was no knowing how much she could help Mulder if she got fired. Plus, she needed to gain Fletcher’s trust.

Mulder approached her in the gas station, a paper bag in his hands. “Scully, I got it. I got the proof.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything to him, instead only looking up at him with guilt. He registered it a split second too late as multiple vehicles pulled up, nearly blinding him with their lights.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered before turning away, unable to watch as the soldiers barged in and took the bag from him before cuffing him.

“Scully?” His voice was more urgent now.

She looked back at him, her expression saying what she couldn’t out loud. I had to, Mulder. I’m so sorry.

She thought she saw understanding register in his face, but they were both distracted as Fletcher walked in, flanked by two other men. “Damn it, Morris,” One of them said to Mulder.

Mulder ignored him, though, completely losing it at the sight of Fletcher in his own body. “You! You son of a bitch!” He fought against the soldiers who were holding him. “You orchestrated this whole thing!” He continued struggling — fruitlessly — as the soldiers dragged him out of the store. “You bastard! Tell them the truth! He’s not me, Scully! Would I do this?”

At the sound of her name, she had to turn away again, pressing her lips together to fight the tears in her eyes. Did he think she didn’t believe him? That she’d willingly helped Fletcher do this?

I didn’t have a choice. She kept repeating that in her head as if it could shake away the feeling that she’d just betrayed her best friend. Her partner. The person who trusted her more than anyone else in the world.

She would fix this. She had to.

After a few moments, she felt Fletcher’s hand on her shoulder and had to resist the urge to shrug it off.

“You hate me now, right?” He asked. When she didn’t answer, he continued. “Dana, I’m sorry I narced on you to Kersh, but I was afraid you’d lose your job. I mean, when you stomped out of my apartment and I found out you were going to Nevada, I was worried you were going to do something crazy.”

She bit back a million retorts that built up in her mind, instead setting her jaw and turning to face him with a carefully even expression. “You did the right thing, Mulder.”

He blinked in surprise. “I did?”

She gave a tight smile. “I’ve been telling you for years you should play more by the book, haven’t I?”

He smiled with relief, unable to read her body language the way the real Mulder could. “Hey, it’s the new me.”

---

Two weeks suspension without pay. And on top of that, she couldn’t believe she’d agreed to dinner with Fletcher. Or that he’d asked. Was it really that easy to win him over after she’d nearly ripped his head off? A simple “you were right” and he thought everything was okay? She’d been even more stunned when he suggested a home-cooked meal. As far as she was aware, Mulder wasn’t exactly a master chef. In fact, she wasn’t sure what he could cook. Everything he did further squashed any doubts she had that Mulder — the real Mulder — had been telling the truth.

Still, she had to get Fletcher to cooperate. And she had a plan. She double-checked that she had her cuffs and gun before knocking on the door.

The sight of Mulder wearing an apron that said “something smells good” would normally be enough to make her bust out laughing, but unfortunately there was little to be found funny about this situation.

“Perfect timing,” Fletcher said. “Welcome.”

It wasn’t until he moved aside that she noticed how clean the apartment was. “Wow.” Her eyebrows shot up, genuinely impressed. A small part of her noted what a shame it was that it took some weird body-switching scenario for Mulder’s apartment to be cleaned. She was so stunned that she barely even noticed Fletcher taking her coat.

“You like, huh?” He asked a little too close to her ear. “Yeah, I thought it was time I stopped living like a frat boy.” He shrugged. “Come see the rest of the place.” Taking her hand, he led her through the living room and into the bedroom.

If the sight of Mulder’s clean apartment stunned her, then the sight of his bedroom — completely spotless and now including a bed — nearly overwhelmed her. Her jaw dropped at the sight. She was surprised to find a part of her actually missed the boxes and dusty Playboys. It may have been annoying, but at least it had been Mulder.

“Come. Sit.” Fletcher excitedly patted the bed.

“Um, no,” She started to back out, worried he was trying to trap her into something. There was a difference between going along with his act and going so far as to sleep with him.

“Seriously, just check it out.” He reached out and pulled her by the wrist and sat her down on the bed. It moved under her way more than a normal mattress should.

Oh, God. A waterbed? she thought, trying to hide her disgust. He sat down beside her and the movement of the bed knocked her off balance, falling back onto it. Her jaw dropped again as she saw her own reflection staring down at her, and her face flushed at the thought of being able to see herself during... certain activities.

Fletcher propped himself up on his elbow. “D’ya hate it?” He asked, grinning devilishly.

She hesitated, trying to calm herself. “No, I don’t hate it,” she said, and unfortunately it wasn’t a complete lie. As awful as a waterbed was and as horrifying as an above-bed mirror was, at least Mulder had a bed now. Once this was all over, she might be able to actually stay the night here without stiff muscles. Perhaps just mild nausea from the waterbed.

His grin widened. “Well, alright then. Don’t go away.” The bed shifted nauseatingly as he got up and left the room. When he came back with champagne and accompanying flutes, Scully couldn’t stop her eyebrows from shooting upwards. Big plans.

He handed her a flute and she stared at it thoughtfully for a moment, deciding it was time for one last test. She was already certain that this man wasn’t Mulder, but as a scientist she needed all the evidence she could gather.

“Mulder,” She kept her voice light. “Remember that time we were lost in the woods down in Florida? And you got injured?”

He frowned, looking a bit panicked. “Uhh, vaguely. Why?”

“I just-” She shook her head with a frustrated sigh. “I can’t seem to remember the name of the song that I sang to you. Do you remember? The tune’s been stuck in my head all day,” She added, then started humming the chords to “Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown” to throw him off.

“Oh, that’s the, um-” Fletcher snapped his fingers a couple times, trying to remember. “The Jim Croce song. Leroy Brown.”

“Thaaat’s right,” She said as if she’d just remembered. “And that was what I sang to you?”

“Of course,” He turned his attention back to the champagne bottle. “I vividly remember that part.” He winked.

“Mhm,” She nodded, her jaw tight. She licked her lips and then turned to him. “Do you know what would really be fun?”

“What?”

She pulled out her handcuffs and dangled them in front of him with a cocked eyebrow. Fletcher looked like he’d nearly come on the spot. “Oh, yeah. Me first?”

“You first,” She smirked.

Excited, he couldn’t seem to take the cuffs from her fast enough. While he cuffed himself to the bed, she stood up and pulled out her gun. “Now what?” He asked, turning back, but flinched in surprise when he saw her gun aimed at him.

“You’re not Mulder.”

The panicked look on his face was nearly comical. “What?” The champagne cork popped at that moment, and Scully could already imagine laughing about that with the real Mulder in the future. “Baby-”

“‘Baby’ me and you’ll be peeing through a catheter,” She said, lowering the aim of her gun. “Your name is Morris Fletcher. It was Mulder who was arrested in the desert. Now, how do we get things back to normal?”

---

Fletcher had turned out to be completely useless and somehow knew nothing, but luckily Mulder’s source called while Scully was interrogating him. And after two more flights to Nevada and back — along with a nearly unsuccessful bar adventure — they arrived at the Lone Gunmens’ lair, flight recorder in tow.

Scully pressed on the buzzer. “Open up,” She called out. After a few moments, she started hearing the clicks and clanks that meant someone was unlocking the various locks.

Frohike opened the door. “Mulder.” He let them in, and Scully tried to brush off the fact that she hadn’t been greeted. It wasn’t even really Mulder, after all. “If I had known you were coming, I would have made more salsa.”

“We need your help right now,” Scully said, offering up the flight recorder to Langly.

“Who crashed?” He looked it over with interest.

“Who, what, why,” She said. “I need to know everything that’s on that data recorder.”

The three rattled off technical terms that she didn’t care to remember, then Byers turned to Fletcher. “Where did you get this?” He asked him.

What am I, chopped liver? “Groom Lake,” Scully answered. “Outside Area 51.”

“Dreamland.” Frohike raised his eyebrows. They had a brief discussion about some spy plane before Fletcher — browsing through an issue of the Lone Gunman — started giggling to himself.

“What’s with him?” Frohike asked.

“Ignore him,” she said.

“Mulder-”

“He’s not Mulder,” She corrected with exasperation.

All three Gunmen turned to her with questioning looks.

“This aircraft.” She pointed at the flight recorder. “When it crashed it somehow resulted in a…a body swap. Between Mulder and…” She gestured to Fletcher. “This asshole.”

The three looked confused, both by the situation and by the fact that Scully was the one saying these sorts of things. They laughed nervously, but stopped when they saw she wasn’t laughing along with them.

“Asshole?” Fletcher sounded offended, putting down the paper and approaching her. “Listen here, lady, you probably wouldn’t have even realized I wasn’t Mulder if you two weren’t banging.”

Scully stiffened, feeling three pairs of eyes slowly turn to look at her.

“Banging?” Langly asked.

She clenched her jaw, thinking quickly. “No, he’s just trying to rile me up because I embarrassed him when I caught him with Kersh’s secretary.”

“Kersh’s secretary?”

“Ah,” Fletcher nodded in understanding. “Keeping it a secret, huh?”

“There’s no secret to keep,” She bit back, her eyes threatening murder. Fletcher seemed more amused than fazed, though, which only angered her more.

The Gunmen exchanged looks, unsure who to believe. Scully inwardly groaned. Great. Now the three most suspicious men in the world had reason to wonder if she and Mulder were together. That'll be fun to deal with.

“Who the hell are you?” Frohike asked him.

Fletcher explained who he was, then managed to rile the three of them up by claiming to be the one who came up with most of their stories. Scully let it continue at first, simply grateful that they were distracted from the topic of her relationship with Mulder. But then Frohike brandished his spatula.

“The name’s Frohike, you punk ass. What the hell did you do with Mulder?”

“Shut up, all of you,” Scully stepped in, then pointed to the flight recorder. “If you guys want Mulder back, then get me these results.”

---

“You don’t look too happy. Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to put two kids through school.”

Scully looked up at Mulder, hugging herself. She still couldn’t quite believe it was him. “I just got off the phone with Frohike.”

She explained how the whole thing had been reliant on completely random variables — ones that they had next to no chance of replicating. And even if they could, there was no guarantee that it would work.

Looking completely downtrodden now, Mulder glanced over to the car where Fletcher sat. “What about him?”

She followed his gaze and sighed. “‘Agent Mulder’ has become Kersh’s new golden boy. The son of a bitch confesses to Kersh more than I do to my priest. I’m just tagging along for the ride.”

He turned back to her. “What do you mean, ‘just tagging along?’”

She pressed her lips together. “I’m out of the Bureau. I’ve been censured and relieved of my position.”

“No.” His voice was nearly a whisper. “You can explain it to them like you explained it to me,” he said urgently “You have the data. You can make them understand. You can get your job back.”

She looked back up at him affectionately, appreciating his sympathy. But she felt no desire to continue at the Bureau without him. Or worse — with a fake him.

“I’d kiss you if you weren’t so damn ugly,” she said, and meant it. By far one of the worst parts of this situation was that she wasn’t able to give him a proper goodbye. They’d known each other for years, but their relationship was still so new. Ever since it started, she’d been afraid of how it might end, but she’d never imagined it would be like this. Forced apart by some weird, random X-File. Not even a conspiracy, just completely random variables within a nearly impossible feat of science. She supposed it was some sort of poetic justice, maybe they even deserved it. Like so many other times before, a chance for happiness was being stolen away from her and there was nothing she could do about it.

Mulder smiled wistfully at her and nodded, looking like he wanted to kiss her anyway. They stared into each other's eyes the way they always did, and she wondered if he was thinking about the same things she was, but the moment was interrupted by Fletcher honking the horn.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer!” He called out, his head hanging out of the window.

“If I shoot him, is that murder or suicide?”

“Neither, if I do it first.” She squeezed his arm, then turned towards the car.

“Hey, Scully.”

She turned back, and he held out a closed hand in offering. She held out her own, and he dropped some sunflower seeds into it before taking one back to put in his mouth. Yep, she thought, looking up at him. That’s Mulder.

She got in the car and watched him get in his. What kind of lives would they have now? She didn’t know what she would do when she got back home. She couldn’t even teach at the academy anymore. Maybe she would turn back to medicine, finally returning to what would have made her parents proud years ago.

She only knew two things for certain: she wouldn’t stop searching for a way to fix this, to bring Mulder back. And she wouldn’t stop investigating X-Files. What was his life’s work had become hers as well, and she could only hope that continuing to investigate them would help heal what was being broken at having to leave him like this. Maybe she would even find a solution to this problem buried in a random case.

And what about Mulder? She indulged in wondering what he would do with his life as she drove. He had a wife now. And kids. And a more regular job than theirs had been. That normalcy that she’d asked about, he was now forced to experience without her. No doubt he’d try to repair Fletcher’s marriage despite the fact that he wasn’t him and didn’t love his wife. That was just the kind of person Mulder was. He’d learn to like the kids, probably even grow attached to them. Despite his insistence on being a misfit and an outcast, he had a knack for dealing with others. When he tried.

He’d go to work, probably using it as a way to get the inside scoop on some X-Files. She knew he’d never stop investigating them, either. Maybe someday, by complete coincidence, they’d meet up again on the same case. They’d catch up, and it would be nice, except it wouldn’t be. Because it would still be Mulder, but it wouldn’t be him, not fully.

She wiped away a stray tear as Fletcher started talking, telling some story about the motel manager.

---

“Come on, Mulder, let’s go.” Scully tugged on his sleeve, shooting a glare at the man who had confronted him. She saw him light a cigarette as they drove away.

For some reason, the four-hour red-eye back to Washington felt like it was nearly the tenth one she’d made. She brushed it off, assuming it was just because they were always flying. Mulder — in the seat next to her — looked like he was trying and failing to sleep.

“Sorry your confidential source didn’t pan out,” she murmured, not wanting to wake anyone who was actually sleeping.

He turned to her with a smile, then took her hand. “Well, I guess you were right, Scully. Just another crackpot who watches too much Star Trek.”

They managed to get back in time to change clothes at her apartment and go to work, where the two yawned all day and barely got any actual work done. Luckily, their unauthorized trip to Nevada seemed to go unnoticed by Kersh. At one point, Scully opened her desk drawer and noticed what looked like two coins fused together. Where had that come from? She considered getting Mulder’s attention to show it to him, but decided she was too tired to hear a conspiracy ramble today.

After work, they walked to her car (not having had time to drive him by his place to pick up his car before work). She yawned. “It’s Friday,” -which was strange. Wasn’t it just Monday? Maybe she was more tired than she thought- “are you staying at my place tonight? Or would you rather sleep alone?”

He yawned back. “I don’t know, Scully. After being treated to the comforts of your bed, it’s been getting harder and harder to fall asleep on my couch.”

“You should get your own bed, then,” she quipped, putting her car into gear.

“Then what would be my excuse for spending the night at your place?”

She snorted. “I can think of a few.”

They dropped by his place so he could grab some things, and she begrudgingly followed him up to his apartment, sleepily leaning against the wall next to his door as he unlocked it. His jaw dropped when he opened the door, then he checked his apartment number as if unable to believe he was at the right unit.

“Mulder?” She straightened up. “What’s wrong?”

Wordless, he gestured into his apartment, and she turned to look. Her own jaw dropped at the sight of the spotlessly clean apartment with a few new tasteful decorations. They both stepped into it, mouths agape, and looked around.

“Mulder, did you...hire someone?” Her voice pitched up higher than usual due to her state of shock.

“No, I-” He stammered, then looked at her. “You aren’t joking with me, are you? Was this you?”

She shook her head, her eyebrows raised in innocence. “It looks nice,” she said, then turned to him with a cocked brow and a smirk. “But where will you put the white picket fence?”

He smiled and put an arm around her shoulder. “Oh, I was thinking right about here, in the middle of everything.”

She grinned at him, but he looked away, distracted. He’d noticed that his bedroom door was open and went over to it, peering inside.

“Scully.”

“What?” She rushed over to look, following him into the room, but stopped short at the sight of a new bed. Standing proudly in the middle of his now-clean room. “Holy crap, Mulder. How- How did this get here?”

He shrugged. “Maybe it was a gift. Maybe someone overheard you badgering me to get one,” he joked, but she wasn’t paying attention to him.

“Mulder,” She muttered, leaning towards the bed and looking up. He followed her gaze and saw his own reflection looking back. Slowly, they both turned to look at each other with equal amounts of incredulity.

“Well,” He put his hands on his hips and sighed. “I guess...gift horse and all that.”

“Mulder, you’re not at all suspicious about how this happened?”

“Right now, all I care about is getting some sleep. And now I’ve got a bed.” He sat down on it and was startled by how much it moved.

“A waterbed?” Scully’s eyebrows looked like they would just about shoot off her forehead.

He groaned and flopped back fully. “Just when I thought my back would get a break.”

#kai.fic #xf fanfic #msr fanfic #timing fic

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monikafilefan · 5 years

Note

Mulder teaches Scully to ride a bike (or Scully teaches Mulder)

This was so fun to write and I’m happy I was finally able to break through my writers block with this gem. I hope you like my attempt at humor!

Tagging @today-in-fic

——

“Mulder, I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“But you haven’t even tried it yet,” he states the obvious as her hands unclench the handlebars. His supportive grip slips away from the curve of her waist and he can’t hide his disappointment.

He watches her suck her plump bottom lip between her teeth and shuffle away from the wheel. She’s nervous, he notices now, and can’t fight off the instant surge of affection for his strong and fearless partner.

“Come on, Scully, I promise I’ll be right here to catch you,” he assures with a smirk.

She scoffs with fists on her hips and glares up at him through the gleaming summer sun. She’s wearing an old Bureau tee that accentuates her fit, sinewy frame and her jaw-length russet hair is pulled back in a low pony, punctuating the seriousness of this moment for her. She’s prepared - and though Mulder will never admit it aloud - he finds it utterly adorable.

“I’m not incapable, you know. I just… have trouble getting started once I’m seated is all.”

The playful stakeout conversation of childhood quirks leading up to this event was one that had both shocked and tickled Mulder. Learning that her rainbow tasseled bike with the banana seat and training wheels still attached was the last one she’d ever ridden, had him promptly tucking that golden nugget of information away for a perfect day such as this.

He nods with hands up, surrendering to her annoyance. “I have never once thought of you as incapable, Scully. Quite the opposite, in fact,” he confesses and feels the truth of his words coloring his golden skin.

“Well, that’s comforting, I suppose,” she says softly, arching a brow while allowing one of her rare, toothy smiles of appreciation for him to light up her sun-kissed face. “I have been known to save your ass on occasion throughout the last six years.”

“You won’t hear me disputing that fact, partner. I’d shout it throughout the bullpen if I thought anyone would care enough to listen to what ole Spooky had to say.” He watches her flush and turn her face into the breeze to calm it. If Mulder were bold enough, reckless, he might just lean down and press a kiss to each bronze-colored freckle peppering the apples of her cheeks. “It’s just that tomboy Dana Scully not being able to ride a bike seems like such a shame.”

“Mulder…” she huffs, facing him curiously. “I’ve never told you I was a tomboy growing up.”

Logically, Mulder already knows why she hasn’t mentioned this fun fact about herself. One, they only share personal details of their past when confronted head on. For self-preservation, most likely. To keep the professional status quo when their deeper feelings begin to bubble too close to the surface.

At least that’s what he does.

Two, he finally understands that even a strong, serious woman who chooses to fight ferociously as an equal among peers in a male dominated profession, might also want to be seen as feminine as possible when more personal opportunities present themselves.

“No,” he agrees, “you haven’t.”

“My mother.” Her statement is one of realization for Scully. He can tell she doesn’t know what reflective moment spurred on by tragedy in which her mother may have divulged childhood details to him, but the wistful look on her face leads him to believe she’s silently grateful for it. “Okay, then. Show me how it’s done, Yoda.”

He chuckles. “Oh, Scully, you hit me with a Star Wars reference and I’ll do just about anything for you.” Something flickers in her gaze that sends heat churning in his gut. He clears his throat as she runs the tip of her tongue across her rosebud lips and adds, “but Star Trek is more up my alley.”

“I’ll write that down for next time.”

Mulder waves her closer and nudges her hip playfully. “Come young Jedi, there is much to learn, there is.”

Scully grins, rolling her eyes and urges him on. He straddles the center bar of his old mountain bicycle he’s had in storage for nearly seven years, and pops the kick stand. With one sneaker on the pedal and the other pushing off the paved bike path, Mulder’s long legs whirl in a tight circle.

And he’d be lying to himself if his ego weren’t beginning to take over and push him to impress the woman he loves.

“See, you just shift your weight like this...” he hollers over his shoulder and pumps his legs harder with a sway of his hips, watching Scully in the distance as she points at something ahead of him. “...and then keep your balance as you—ah, oh shi—”

His words are cut off with a sudden jolt thrusting him toward the front wheel wedged within a pothole, handlebars twisting inward. Before he can catch his balance, his knees buckle, careening his hips down to connect with the only thing separating him from the pavement: the metal bar jutting out between his legs.

His crotch connects with force, sending a full 176lbs of meat, muscle, and bone down on his manhood.

“Mulder!”

Searing pain shoots up through his balls and into his groin. “Ah, fuck!”

His vision swims with burning tears as he slumps forward, breathless. He tentatively raises himself off the offending bar and appropriately crumples into the grass with a whimper.

He barely registers the clang of metal and aluminum hitting the hot pavement.

“Mulder,” Scully breathes out next to him. She’s here; touching him, soothing his pride. She caresses his cheek with what he’s deciphered over the years as sympathy as she needlessly asks, “Oh, Mulder, you took a bar to the groin, didn’t you?”

His gut clenches as a wave of nausea washes over him like a tidal wave in response.

Mulder swings his head away from his partner’s crouch to gag and spit pathetically on a nearby ant hill. Scully has shot him; seen his body and mind exposed; watched him bleed; held him as he cried; talked him out of shooting himself with holes in his head; and had taken vigil at his hospital bed too many times to count. But she has not and will not witness him lose what’s left of his breakfast all over her pristinely white Keds as he writhes in the dirt.

“Just take a deep breath for me,” she encourages. “That’s it.”

He groans deeply after swallowing back the precursor for puke. Carefully cupping his balls and penis, making sure the three important things currently thrumming with pain are still whole and intact between his thighs, he croaks, “I think broke my… my lightsaber.”

He hears her huff out a laugh and cluck her tongue. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Mulder.”

“Maybe we’re better off if you teach me how to ride the Scully way,” he jests, meeting her soft, baby blue gaze as she hovers above. “I think we work best together that way, don’t you?”

She shrugs. “Oh I don’t know, Mulder.” Her warm hand slides around the back of his neck and helps pull him up to his knees. “I kind of like the way you ride, too.”

Mulder winces with a hand still awkwardly soothing the pang in his balls and his stomach roils. “Ugh…”

“Okay, let me take a look.” He gives her bug-eyed expression. She seems to wrestle with a decision in her mind and then gives him a determined nod. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

“Wh-why? They're still there. Trust me, I feel them.”

She sighs and knee walks around to face him. He’s hunching slightly on his knees, gripping both his crotch and his waist in intermittent agony.

Scully gives his arm a sympathetic squeeze. “It’s rare, but if you have serious damage to your testicals or penis, then I’ll be taking you to the hospital instead of home.”

“Sonofabitch.” His face flushes with embarrassment. He cannot believe his attempt to do something remotely sweet for his best friend will end with him icing his nuts on his couch alone tonight.

“Come on, just a peek,” she smirks, and he can’t help but grin in return. If he has to endure a shot to the boys in order for her to offer up her own innuendo, he’ll gladly take it every time.

With no one else around, Mulder reluctantly nods and slowly removes his hand, gesturing that it’s okay for her to slip into doctor mode.

Her slender fingers curl around the elastic, tickling the fine hair line above his groin, and helps him shuck down the front of his boxer briefs.

A cool, gentle breeze sweeps across his genitals and he hisses at the exposure. He looks down to see Scully’s red head poised just inches above his dick. Suddenly, a thought he’s completely neglected to consider during his bout of pain slams into him. Her proximity alone can make him hard. And this… this will be bad.

“Sc-Scully?” he rasps, feeling himself twitch to life. “Um—”

“—are they usually… uh, are you usually this… engorged during activity, Mulder?” Her voice is thick, honeyed, and it sends a tsunami of blood rushing downward.

“What?” You… well I’m not sure,” he shrugs, desperately attempting to think of anything that will salve off the rapid growth of an erection.

A puff of warm breath blows across the swell of him and fingernails gently scrape at his thigh.

Frohike. Skinner in a skirt. Byers wearing an apron…

When her soft fingertips graze the underside of his swelling cock, it’s too late. Mulder’s harder than he’s ever been, and the pain in his balls now is instantly gone.

The pain is gone.

“You’re fine.” Scully clears her throat, rocks up to her feet and quickly motions for him to pull up his shorts. He obeys, dumbstruck and too aroused to speak.

Risking a glance, Mulder notices that her once sun-kissed cheeks are now tomato red, and her sweat dappled chest is heaving.

“Thanks…” He stands, chagrined at the large bulge protruding proudly through his shorts. He mumbles, “I appreciate it.”

“Well,” Scully starts with a smile pulling at her mouth, “don’t say I never did anything for ya.”

“You… you did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

She picks up the bike and wheels it over, grinning. “I am a doctor, Mulder. I was just hoping it would work, you know with me being… well me,” she says shyly, attempting to mask her uncertainty of his physical attraction for her.

“Of course it worked. In fact, you work far too well far too often if you must know.”

Their eyes dance coyly together in the sunlight. Something new and simmering passes between them. Another golden nugget of intimacy to save for later.

“So...” She breaks the gaze and swings a leg over the bicycle seat. “Am I riding this death trap back to the car, or are you?”

Mulder laughs, slipping his hands back around the dip in her waist, fingers grasping at the velvet skin peeking out beneath her shirt, and leans in close.

“Teach you, I will.”

“Don’t push it, Yoda,” she tosses back with a smirk. “I’d much rather have my partner teach me to ride the Spooky way. Lightsaber and all.”

——

#msr fanfic #humor i think #UST #thoughtful Mulder #Scully has tricks

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frangipanidownunder · 5 years

Text

Fox Mulder’s Guide to Building a Pool: part 2

Read Part 1

A/N This is in answer to an anon prompt: Mulder builds a pool in the yard. It ran away from me so I’ll post it in two parts.

This is set post IWTB and assumes Season 10 didn’t happen. Because it shouldn’t have, am I right? Angsty to start with.

Winter

November rushed headlong into house and yard with blizzards and ice storms and squealing winds under the doors. The pool project remained as frozen as the ground but his brain was always planning. Winter was the end of things, yet, even as he scraped freezing condensation from the inside of the windows, he felt a kind of resurgence. Like his bare, unadorned spirit had rested enough to begin anew. It helped that he spoke to Scully often, random phone calls, text messages with links to articles she’d found on cryptid sightings or arcane deaths. Her emoji use was spot on. Aliens and foxes and ghosts and a solitary blue heart.

Christmas Eve and she sent him a message about a sighting of a ‘gargantuan, hirsute humanoid’ in a Florida forest and after reading it with a sense of comforting familiarity and relieved distance, he googled the meaning of the blue heart. Trust, harmony, peace and loyalty. Reading into emojis had to rank right up there on the Fox Mulder Chart of Weirdness but the idea of it, that she had carefully researched this colour and chosen it as the one to close off her messages to him, took root in his own heart and he felt a burst of that same restless energy that had plagued him for months.

He walked to the back door, chancing a look out. A smirry rain fell, leaving the bare branches oily in the low light. Further around, the pool, sunk below the hard, cold earth was a gaping dark mouth, the concrete bearing the marks of months of bad weather. In one corner, debris from the yard had collected, twigs and small stones, plastic wrapping floating in the grimy pool of melted snow that covered the base.

The sound of her voice as she picked up the call pulled a smile to his lips. She sounded pleased to hear from him. Excited almost.

“Hey.” It was an extended version of her usual greeting. A stretching of the word into something more. His heart skipped. “I know you don’t celebrate, but Happy Christmas, Mulder.”

It would have been typical for him to make some flippant remark about stockings or mistletoe but instead, he raked up the trash in the pool as he wished her season’s greetings and listened to her stories of wrapping gifts for the kids at work and the terribly formal staff dinner where the turkey was overcooked and the hasselbacks were rubbery and she left early so she could pull on her pyjamas and robe and watch It’s a Wonderful Life and then, after a breathy pause, added, that it wasn’t the same on her own.

“What’s that noise?” she asked.

He could have said it was the sound of his heart breaking free of his ribcage but he shook his head at himself and took a deep breath. “Would you believe me if I said I was cleaning the pool?” She laughed and he burst right through her green light. “Did you want to come over, Scully?”

She would very much love to, she said, and he held the phone to his chest while he scraped out the detritus against the side wall one-handed. The first flake of snow landed and he looked up to the silver heavens and whispered a thank-you.

Guilt crept in when he saw a parcel in her hand. “I didn’t get you anything, Scully.” He took her coat, the bag of groceries and the gift and she said she’d forgive him and he grinned at her as he rattled the box until she tutted and snatched it back from him.

“I’ll put it under the tree,” she said but the living room was empty of seasonal decor and she looked down at the gift and her feet and he wondered if he could pull out all the boxes in the attic to retrieve the decorations but she shook her head and laughed through her nose. “Don’t worry about it.” She could still read him like a book.

The intensity of the storm took them by surprise, heaping snow against the window sills and the door and Scully’s car until everything was silent-white and glistening. He poured brandy over ice and she sank into the couch next to him wrapped in a blanket and wearing a resigned smile.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m not due at mom’s until New Year. I was going to be working but that changed, so I have no plans.” She squeezed his knee and there was a glint in her eye that had him almost believing that she’d engineered the weather, just like that Holman guy from years before, but Dana Scully MD was no lovelorn meteorologist. She was the sender of blue heart emojis, the bringer of turkey steaks and farmer’s market vegetables, she was the best present ever, the three wise men and more.

She was also a little tipsy, he thought, eyeing her reddened cheeks and the way she shucked off her boots to tuck her ankles under her ass. He hadn’t seen her so loose for years. He’d spent too long ignoring her that by the time she left she was coiled like wire rope and just as cool to touch.

“If this storm keeps up maybe we can skate on your pool,” she said and giggled, pressing her fingers under her nose.

“You want to rush me to ER with multiple fractures on Christmas morning, Scully?” He swallowed the liquor.

Her face straightened and she cleared her throat. “It will be strange, won’t it, being here tomorrow? Waking up on Christmas morning together. It’s not something we’ve done for…”

“Three years,” he said and let that settle between them before adding, “but I’m looking forward to it.”

“Because it feels like we’ve moved past…all that?”

All that. All that rage and disappointment. All that bitterness and rancour. All that unsaid. Too much said. “Because it feels fated,” he said. And she pulled a face. “Preordained, inexorable.”

“Destined,” she said, leaning forward. “Portentous?”

He chuckled. “That has a negative connotation, like foreshadowed. It’s more ominous than auspicious.”

“I’m going to have to take back that Thesaurus and buy you something else, Mulder.” She nodded to the present on the table.

“I used to be poor,” he said and she quirked her eyebrow. “Then my partner bought me a thesaurus and now I’m impecunious.”

Her snort was half-laugh, half-surprise. “We’re not…”

“I know.”

The next morning dawned clear and Mulder was already awake. Had hardly slept. Like a child at Christmas, he thought wryly, impatient for his gift. Scully wasn’t for unwrapping though. At this stage, he was lucky she was here to decorate his living room. The brightest star. An angel.

She was dressed in his old anorak he’d used years before to clear the yard when they first moved in. It surrounded her like a canoe, pointed hood above her head and falling to almost her ankles. She was dragging something behind her, leaving a thick trail through the snow. Mulder opened the door and she huffed through, revealing her treasure – a small pine tree, dripping melting snow in grey piles on the floor.

He found a box of decorations behind a wall of old books, dusted them off and climbed back down the ladder. She’d made cocoa and found marshmallows from that Mary Poppins bag of hers. She added a dash of brandy with a hair of the dog wink and they made the tree pretty.

Flipping pancakes, he watched her as she sat in the chair near the window, wrapped now in one of his sweaters, pink-stockinged feet crossed. “If you squint through these blinds, Mulder, and use your imagination, of which you received a wild and overly large share, it looks like there’s a snow monster in the pool.”

“Are you still drunk, Scully?” He bent beside her, close enough to see the dark skin on the mole above her lip.

“I am not, look! There. See it? It’s got shifty eyes and a long nose.”

He rubbed at his own features and she jabbed his hand away.

“It’s there. I swear. Come on, I’ll show you.” She shot up and dragged him outside where the cold shrunk his skin around his bones. The sky threatened to unload again and she shivered despite her layers. He slunk an arm around her shoulders and she swayed into him. “There. Look. See?” Her finger pointed but he couldn’t have seen a thing beyond the fact that she was there, right next to him in the dead of winter, gesticulating to a lump of frozen water.

“At least when Frosty the Snowmonster dies, the pool will be quarter full,” he said, holding open the door for her. She dipped under his arm and it felt like old times.

Spring

Blossom hugged the ends of branches, pom-poms of pink dipping on the breeze. The sun was watery-warm and birdsong amplified the hope of the season. He’d tiled the pool himself, enjoying he exact nature of the work. The water delivery contractor was late but the from his vantage point on the front deck, Mulder couldn’t care less. Just for an hour or so, he could afford to do nothing. He told himself he deserved it. He let his eyes slip shut.

“Can’t a girl get a fanfare any more?” Scully was standing at the foot of the steps, casual in blue jeans and a fitted mint-green tee, her hair was pulled back in a scruffy ponytail that usually signified she was about to get messy.

He made trumpet noises and she bowed when she reached the deck. From her tote she took out a bag of pastries. He liked this version of Scully. He liked her very much. This soft, coquettish variety gave him hope like the spring and made him feel lighter.

“I’ll make coffee,” he said and ushered her through with a theatrical wave.

The truck arrived two hours late but that was two hours passed with Scully who spent her time asking questions about the pump and the pool fence requirements and whether he was going to plant a garden and how much she loved the mosaic tile design on the bottom and whether he’d considered a shade sail. She wrinkled her nose and her freckles danced. He had a vision of her sunburnt and cranky.

“I’ll order one before the heat hits,” he said, solemnly.

“Don’t do it just for me,” she said, over the din of the hose being unravelled from the truck.

As though he would do anything for anyone else. He’d spent much of the time since the Father Joe case doing things only for himself. He couldn’t see it then, but his focus had narrowed beyond the scope of voiceless victims, beyond the purview of his domestic responsibilities and from his refreshed perspective, he could see now how Scully had been cut out of his orbit.

“Did you imagine this when we first moved in here?”

“You designing and constructing a pool, sundeck and safety fence? Mulder, when we first moved here you couldn’t have built a house of cards. Remember when the screen door fell off the hinges and you tried to fix it but ended up breaking the drill. You were so angry, a wounded animal fighting off any help. I thought…” she covered her eyes with her hand to watch the water running over the bottom of the pool, steadily rising, filling the void. “I should have left sooner. Maybe you would have rediscovered this…this spirit of yours earlier.”

“You think your leaving prompted me to do all this?”

“Didn’t it?”

“It took more than three years of you not…”

She sucked in a breath and it dawned on him that she was still hurting too. Would it ever stop? Or was the pain destined to be a constant companion to remind them of their failings? Was building a pool really just a diversion from the agony of Scully being gone? Was her position at the hospital just her version of a building project? She was building herself a better life and he was building a pool.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing gently. “For not trying harder.”

The drone of the truck’s motor stuttered to a halt and he looked down at her. She was gazing at the water as it slapped at the sides, settling. “You have nothing to apologise for, Scully. I closed off, shut down, kept you out and then got mad at you when you made a new life.”

“We were both pretty closed off, Mulder. Talking for hours but never saying enough. Remember how we used to spend days on the road and never have to say a thing. We could go for miles in silence. It didn’t bother us then, so when did that change?”

“I think the truth of it is that we were both just talking at each other, trying to get our voices heard, but we didn’t care to listen for fear of actually hearing.”

She raised those brows of hers and smiled. “That’s very deep and heartfelt.”

The truck reversed and he looked down at the water and the moving outline of the blue love heart he’d tiled at the bottom of the pool. “Just like my pool.”

The first time she came over for a swim, she presented him with a new beach towel. It had a fox face on it and she was so proud of herself. She let him splash her and she bombed him and he didn’t want her to leave but he watched her drive away and sat on the verandah for hours after the sun went down.

She phoned to say she was coming over again and that gave him an idea. After all, he owed her two gifts now. So he went online and shopped.

Taking the parcel, she dipped her head in gratitude. “This better not be a beach towel with Big Blue on it, Mulder, or I swear to God…” She ripped the package open scattering paper everywhere. She held it up. It was a one-piece swimsuit the colour of those Caribbean island beaches, azure, the colour of her eyes. She pulled a face, whispering a wow and telling him he shouldn’t have because people might talk.

“Let them talk,” he called out, as she slipped into the house to change. “What else could they say about us that we haven’t heard already, Mrs Spooky.”

When she returned, she was wearing the bathing suit and a knee-length cream sarong. She pulled a wide-brimmed hat out of her bag and went to put it on but he stopped her.

“Just one more thing,” he said, finding the smaller parcel. “This is a very late birthday or really early Christmas present. Take your pick.”

“Another gift? You already got me this suit and I’m wondering if I should really spend the afternoon with a man who buys lingerie for a single woman…”

“It’s lingerie?” His voice was high-pitched because he was genuinely curious and a little sorry about her use of the word single which seemed unnecessary but she grinned wickedly and he breathed out in relief. “Damn. If I’d have known that I would have bought that red lace number…”

“Don’t push your luck, Mulder.”

The small gift was wrapped in silver frosted paper decorated with a gold bow. She opened this one with much more care and when she lifted the lid and saw the silver chain with the blue topaz heart pendant, her eyes filled with tears. “It’s beautiful, Mulder. You shouldn’t have. It’s too much.”

“Trust, harmony, peace and loyalty. Blue hearts. That’s what they mean.”

“Uh-huh.” She turned and he clipped the necklace under the hair. “You’re reading a lot into an emoji.” Was he? Maybe. Did he care? Not much. She turned to face him, stood on tiptoe and kissed him, softly, gently, with love. “But you’ve always looked beyond the obvious. And that’s why I love you.”

Love. Not loved. He took her hand and walked her to the edge. “Ready?”

She didn’t answer but tugged at his wrist and pulled him forward so they both plunged into the deep blue, going down and down.

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #fictober #msr angst and love #fox mulder's guide to building a pool

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