#in the one where mulder is like dead in the desert and he’s talking to Scully

[sochilll]

Yeah yeah Mulder and Scully are in love WHATEVER! What about Skinner!!! What about their weird little freak of a boss who’s obsessed with both of them! Now THAT’S compelling

[sisterspooky1013]

Returned

Rated X | 2705 words | Read it here on AO3

The terracotta backdrop of the southwest morphed into craggy mountain ridges and then lush rolling hills as they diligently evaded the consequences of their actions. With their newly acquired roles as the accused and the accomplice, they marked the passing of time with boxes of drugstore hair dye and a growing wreath of soda can tabs that hung from the rearview mirror.

They had more sex in those first few weeks on the road than they’d had during the entire truncated first few months of their relationship. In many ways, they were still new to one another physically; they hadn’t had quite enough time to get past the shy, exploratory stage of a budding sexual relationship and on to one where she might not self-consciously pull the sheets up to cover her breasts when they faced each other in the full light of morning. They’d waited so long to cross that line that it seemed reasonable to wade in slowly, and it felt as though they had all the time in the world.

When he returned to her, he was weak and disoriented by the longest stretch of lost time he’d experienced yet, and she was emotionally wrecked and physically taxed by the weight of his absence, as well as her distended belly and the perpetual burn of acid at the back of her throat. He rubbed her feet, dropped chaste kisses to her closed lips, but was too afraid of making her feel obligated to meet his sexual needs to do anything that might be read as an attempt to initiate. And then William was born, and Mulder was gone again before Scully had stopped sitting on frozen maxi pads to ease the pain between her legs. The next time he’d see her, William would be someone else’s child, and Mulder would be a dead man walking.

Their first night alone, she followed him into the shower of their run-down motel room and moaned into his mouth as she stroked his wet cock. He wanted to take his time, wanted to kiss every corner of her body and learn her newly acquired curves, but she turned around and braced her hands against the shower wall, looking over her shoulder at him expectantly. Seeing the red slash between her legs, water running down over her swollen lips, he gave in to his carnal urges and drove into her hard and fast as water bounced nosily off his back. It had been so long, and he’d dreamt of that moment so many times, he came within a couple minutes. He apologized and attempted to reciprocate, but she pushed his hand away. She seemed to have gotten what she wanted, and they were both so exhausted, they slept deeply while wrapped up in each other's arms.

It took several repetitions before he caught on to the pattern. She was desperate for him, feral, reaching across the console of their beat-up truck to stroke him over his dirty jeans as they flew down deserted highways. It was exciting at first, and he came so often that sometimes his orgasms were all but dry, until he realized that she wouldn’t let him touch her in any way that wasn’t designed to give him pleasure.

He tried to talk to her about it. When they’d first started sleeping together, it took some time for her to feel comfortable enough with him to relax and let go, and it took more time yet for him to learn just how she liked to be touched. The first time he made her come she bit his lip so hard she drew blood, and he quickly became addicted. Maybe this was like that, he reasoned. Maybe they just needed to start from scratch. But she brushed off his questions, claiming that she was perfectly satisfied with the sex they were having.

Physically, they were closer than ever. She was always touching him, holding his hand or laying her head on his shoulder. She slept coiled around him like a vine. He fucked her on an endless series of motel beds, in showers, bent over bathroom counters and low dressers, on the bench seat of the truck and the occasional rest stop bathroom. He fucked her right on the hood of the car in the middle of the night, the flat expanse of the desert around them making it feel like they didn’t even exist. When she got her period, she sucked his dick like it was her only source of nourishment, greedy and sloppy with one hand wrapped around his balls.

After a while, it started to feel empty, and the physical closeness only drew attention to the lack of emotional intimacy. His erections started to soften when he saw that she was avoiding eye contact, and the first time he kindly turned her down she locked herself in the bathroom and cried for over an hour, emerging only when he’d turned off all the lights and climbed into bed.

“Please talk to me,” he begged in the dark, touching her face and feeling the tears wetting her cheeks as she shook her head.

On a Sunday, they woke up in a mountain town flanked by snow-capped peaks on every side. The air was thin and crisp as he walked to a convenience store to buy coffee and muffins, and on a whim he picked up a pint of vodka and a bottle of orange juice. She smiled at him when he presented it to her, a kind of confused, curious smile that reminded him of a version of her he hadn’t seen in a long time. They got drunk at 10 am, and as the sun rose higher in the sky their motel room became warm and stuffy, so they both stripped down to their underwear while the geriatric air conditioner struggled to keep up. She was lying on her back, her hair fanned out over the pillow like an unnatural mousy brown halo. Her glassy eyes were on the water-stained ceiling, and his were on her.

Her belly was a bit softer, marked by long, silvery-pink stretch marks that began just beneath her navel and disappeared under the hem of her panties. She had always been petite, compact, especially after her cancer when she filled out her ravaged body with lean muscle. She was still small now, but the angular bits of her seemed rounded off. Her breasts beneath her sports bra looked both larger and less full than he remembered. Always prone to becoming emotional under the influence of alcohol, a lump began to form in his throat as he studied her. She was different, but she was still her. Still his. Beautiful in a brand new way that he wanted to celebrate, but she wouldn’t let him. He realized that he was missing her even as she sat half a foot away.

He saw her body tense before he shifted his eyes to her face and found her looking back at him, her nostrils flaring and tears pooling at the outer corners of her eyes. He pushed his mouth into a sad excuse for a smile that he knew she’d see right through.

“You’re beautiful,” he said in a harsh whisper, and immediately her hands flew to her face, obscuring her from him.

He crawled up the bed, lying on his side next to her while her shoulders shook with stifled sobs.

“Scully,” he said helplessly, laying his hand on her forearm, “what’s wrong? What did I say?” She shook her head, as she was inclined toward recently, and he heaved a frustrated sigh. “Please help me out here. I don’t know—I don’t know what you need from me.”

Over the course of a few minutes, she slowed her sobbing to a manageable sniffle, but when she spoke he could barely understand her.

“You must hate me,” she rasped, then punctuated it with a ragged gasp.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, tugging on her arm insistently. “Scully, look at me. You can’t say that to me and— Why would you say that?”

She was breathing in erratic little huffs, on the verge of hyperventilating, and she waited for one of the lulls in her spasmodic breaths to whisper, “William.”

He didn’t understand right away. It was too inconceivable to have ever crossed his mind. He felt himself sober up a bit as the gravity of the situation soaked in, and he felt just a bit nauseated as he quickly ran over the last few weeks in his mind with this new lens over them.

“Scully,” he said sternly, the tenor of his voice one that he saved for dire situations such as these. “Look at me. Right now.”

Slowly, she pulled her hands away from her face. Her cheeks were mottled and her mouth twisted up into an agonized frown. Her eyes were open, but she was looking past him.

“Look. At. Me,” he repeated, and she shifted her eyes over to his reluctantly.

“I love you,” he said, and she flinched, but didn’t look away. “I know you did what you had to. I know that you didn’t have any other choice.” He saw her falling apart again, but it was different. She wasn’t hiding it. She wasn’t running from him. “I do not hate you. I could never hate you. And I don’t blame you for what happened.”

She reached for him, and he pulled her close with a surge of relief. She clawed at his back, his hair, she pounded her fists against his shoulders as she grieved their son and the choice she had to make for both of them. He held her, shushed her and rubbed her back. He didn’t tell her it was okay, because it wasn’t. It never would be. But of all the things she lost, she had to know that his love wasn’t one of them. Of all the things she still had left to lose, she had to know that his feelings for her weren’t even on the list.

She kissed his neck, his jaw, his mouth. She kissed him desperately, her cheeks wet with tears and her mouth trembling. It felt like seeing her again for the first time, and his heart ached with love and sadness and the tiniest sliver of hope. He snuck his fingers under the band of her bra, pushing it up to reveal a hardened port wine nipple. Darker than he remembered, and more sensitive when he squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger. She whimpered, and his cock roared to life under the influence of muscle memory. All the sounds he pulled out of her in those early days still echoed in his ears, the feel of her coming around his fingers, his tongue, his cock, still embedded in his skin.

“Please,” he murmured against her mouth, skimming his palm down her bare belly and cupping her over her panties. “I want to make you feel good.”

He felt her throb under the cotton gusset, the wet heat of her steadily soaking through. He felt drunk on lust and love, hungry for her body and the deep connection they once shared.

She sat up just long enough to shuck off her bra, then lifted her hips and slid her panties down to her knees. Eagerly, Mulder moved to finish the job, pushing her legs open wide and raking his eyes over her, swollen and red. Scully watched him with some degree of trepidation, like he might not like what he saw. He crawled over her, dropped a kiss to the skin in front of her ear and whispered, “I missed you so much.” Reverently, he kissed his way back down her body, brushing his lips over the shallow grooves of her stretch marks and laying his cheek against the place where they—miraculously—created life. He felt her hands in his hair and smiled, then moved lower to taste her.

Some things about her body hadn’t changed at all, he soon discovered. She still tasted like freshly baked bread, still loved the feeling of his tongue deep inside her. He pressed his nose into her clit as he fucked her with his tongue and she dug her fingernails into his scalp, her back arching up off the bed. Memories that felt as distant as dreams danced through his mind: one of her legs draped over the back of his couch as she dripped down his chin, her thighs pressed tightly against his ears as she rode his face on one of her bed pillows, the hot spurt that surprised them both when he snuck a finger into her ass. If love can be conveyed via cunnilingus, he was loving her with every bit of himself he could muster, forgiving her with his tongue and lips and teeth, though she didn’t need forgiving. And she broke, eyes closed tight and mouth open wide, wailing and writhing with weeks’ worth of pent-up fear that she’d ruined everything, that things would never be the same.

He kissed her tenderly through the aftershocks, his head resting against her inner thigh. After a time, she tugged lightly on his ear to summon him and as he crawled over her, she slipped her fingers under the waist of his boxers and pushed them down. They kissed languidly as she stroked his cock, cupped his balls, touched him like they had all the time in the world. For the first time in too long, it didn’t feel like they were running. They were here, and now, and together. They were all each other had, all they wanted, all they needed.

“Make love to me,” she said self-consciously, offering her vulnerability like a gift.

He received her gratefully, their foreheads pressed together as he pushed into her, hot and wet. He sighed, remembering how she felt after he made her come, primed and tight like a string ready to be plucked. She wrapped her legs around his hips, tilting her pelvis up to take him in deeper, and his balls tightened when he felt her throb. He concurrently wanted it all immediately, wanted to pour himself into her and feel her gripping him tight, and never wanted this to end. He could only hope that there would be a next time, and then a next. That this wasn’t a fluke, but a new chapter.

He teased it out of her slowly, circling his hips and stroking her front wall as she whimpered beneath him. He kept her hovering just before the point of no return, whispering into her ear all the things he couldn’t tell her when they were separated by miles and danger and the consequences of his actions. All the things it was too soon for him to tell her before he was snatched away, things that felt terrifying at a time when he had no idea what true terror could look like. When he couldn’t hold off any longer, when he felt himself approaching the brink, he quickened his pace by increments and met her at the threshold, and they tumbled down and down together as they were always meant to do. She gripped him with such ferocity it made stars flash behind his eyes, and the wet slick of their combined orgasms sloshed lewdly in tandem with their throaty moans.

When he lifted his head, Scully’s eyes were closed and her chest heaving. He kissed her back to consciousness in a series of tiny pecks, and the corners of her mouth quirked up. Her eyes opened like blooming flowers, the blue of her irises bright as the afternoon sky. As he was once returned to her, she returned to him, the reunion made sweeter by the pain of the separation.

“Welcome back,” he said lightly, feeling like he could float right through the ceiling.

Scully smiled and blinked at him slowly, her strong hands running up and down his sides.

“Hi.”

They were beginnings and endings, cycling over and over like a butterfly who keeps waking up back in his cocoon. They transformed, they found a way forward, they found a way back to each other. He hoped, and believed, that they always would.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[freckleslikestars]

Oh, I thought you'd reblogged @wheres-mulder 's X-Files list (coulda sworn it was on your timeline, whoops!) I'll clarify: 8. David or Gillian?// 13. Favorite season(s)? Why?// 39. When do you think Mulder and Scully first started dating?// 40. How do you feel about the direction Chris Carter takes as the series progresses?// and 50. Any X-File blogs you would recommend? :D Thanks for taking the time!

Hmmm I don’t remember reblogging it but also there’s a (high) chance I did it whilst incredibly drunk and just don’t remember. (I have just found and reblogged it now though)

8. Gillian. Every time.

13. Season 1 cos they’re babies and season…I like season 6 actually because I think they’re facing so much adversity and yet they still manage to be them. (But also don’t like season 6 because the aesthetic suddenly changes from dark forests to light deserts and my heart lives amongst the trees so boo California move I guess)

39. Oho, what a question. Essays have been written upon such things. Also like…how do we class dating cause like? Sleeping together occasionally definitely isn’t dating, but I like to think they probably slept together around memento mori time and then never spoke of it again. And then probably again towards the end of season 4. But then nothing for ages so that’s not dating. And then I like to think they started casually sleeping together around millennium time. But is sleeping together without naming it and without talking about it but it’s regular enough that you’re spending most nights together, despite not actually, y’know, going out on dates or telling one’s parents or explicitly stating that you’re exclusive despite neither of you intending to sleep with anyone else dating? He takes her out for dinner after all things. She wears the blouse her mother bought her for Christmas that’s just a little bit too flirty for work and they share tiramisu for desert because ‘Mulder, I can’t eat a whole one, do you know how much cream they put in those things’ and he waggles his eyebrows and takes two bites before declaring he’s full because he loves the look of pleasure on her face as she delicately licks cream from the fork. Sorry, what was the question?

40. I’m gonna fist fight crisp cracker in a car park one of these days

50. Oh my god so many and I’m terrified of missing people so please please please don’t feel offended if I miss you, I’m bad with…everything, but names especially:

@baronessblixen for the amazing fic and generally being lovely

@enigmaticxbee for an incredible series of episode reviews and season breakdowns (god I love a spreadsheet)

@jewish-mulder for the gifs and the fics and the insights

@frogsmulder for the art and the fic and everything

@gaycrouton for the fic

@wexler-mcgill for the gifs

@wexleresque for the fic

Ummm oh god I feel like I’m missing so many people here but my brains dead so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[enigmaticxbee]

✖️✖️✖️ 7x16 Chimera

The one where... Mulder leaves Scully on a nasty stakeout to investigate affairs in suburbs... there are ravens? and broken mirrors?

Best: Scully: Mulder, when you find me dead, my desiccated corpse propped up staring lifelessly through the telescope at drunken frat boys peeing and vomiting into the gutter just know that my last thoughts were of you... and how I’d like to kill you. Mulder: I’m sorry, who is this? Grumpy, melodramatic Scully is my favorite. I think Mulder likes her too.

Worst: What makes this sheriff guy so irresistible to ALL these women? Cuz I don’t see it 🤔

❌ Flashlights

❌ Woods/Desert

❌ Slideshow

❌ Autopsy

❌ Evidence Disappears

✔️ Scully Misses It

✔️ Mulder Ditch

❌ Sunflower Seeds

❌ Voiceover

❌ Catch Phrase

❌ Scully is a Medical Doctor

❌ Mulder is Spooky

❌ Scuuullllaaaaayy! Muullllderrrr!

❌ Fox/Dana

❌ Inappropriate Touching (that I am here for)

❌ Casual Scully

❌ Casual Mulder

❌ Trench Coats

✔️ Bad Tie Watch

❌ Glasses Watch

50 States: DC x69 & Vermont (40/50)

Investigate: Apart

Solve Rate: 62% - they actually solve two cases this episode!

✔️ Bechdel Test: Yes, but does it still count if one woman kills the other two she speaks with because they’re both having affairs with her husband 😬

MSR: 🐝🐝🐝

Goriness: 👽👽👽

Creepiness: 👽👽

Humor: 👽👽

Rewatch Thoughts:

SOSS: I LOVE Mulder’s response to the question of whether he has a significant other: not in the widely understood definition of the term. This woman would not understand Mulder and Scully’s relationship - most people wouldn’t. They’re so many things to each other, there’s no one term to encompass their relationship. I doubt Mulder and Scully have even tried to define it. (Also it feels ridiculous at this point but the show was kind of ingenious at playing things for both the shippers and the non-shippers - I’m sure there were viewers who pointed at this same scene and said, see, he denied it, they’re not together - somehow ignoring the expression on Mulder’s face which says I love my partner and we tried to have a baby and we don’t know how to talk about any of this and you wouldn’t get it so I’m not going to explain it to you because I couldn’t but she’s the most significant person in my life and I love her).

Lots of good Mulder stubble this episode.

Without Scully to argue and banter through the case with, it’s just a lot of Mulder shrugging over raven lore.

I appreciate when the mutant or cryptid of the week isn’t killed so that they have to deal with what to do with them, but this multiple personality disorder causing drastic physical changes explanation is just silly.

I’m honestly not sure what to think about the resolution to Scully’s case - the show’s track record with transphobia is not good so I’m not inclined to give it the benefit of the doubt, and I’m not sure what it adds to the story.

Episode-Related Fanfic Recs:

Post-Chimera by @foxmulders - someone’s taken up residence in Mulder’s bed. This one made me smile.

[onthepyre]

the inevitability of everything

dumb little txf fanfic featuring mulder being a massive sap and scully just being so done with his bullshit.  1.1k, PG, dialogue heavy because idk how to write anything else

The sun has set outside as Mulder twists a pencil between his fingers, poring over a casefile.  It’s the same absurdities he’s read hundreds of times; forgettably unforgettable, with just enough strangeness to make it into his filing cabinet.  Bright lights, time loss, and stealthy glares from his partner — the usual.  It’s the same story he has hundreds of copies of, almost verbatim.  Scully could tell him that.  But new cases have been few and far between as of late, so he finds himself sucked into old, dead leads.  Scully says it’s the holiday season, approaching with alarming speed.  People don’t have time to spin tales when they have festivities to attend.  Even she had brought in a frankly rather ugly miniature tree to place on the desk.  It’s Christmas, Mulder, she told him.  Forgive me for trying to bring some holiday cheer into your lair.

He’s startled out of his focus as Scully sets a coffee cup in front of him.  “I’m not even halfway through my paperwork, so I figured you haven’t started yours yet.  Looks like a late night ahead.”  

She’s right and she knows it, but Mulder leans forward and puts his elbows on the desk — a lazy attempt to hide his best efforts at putting it off.  She doesn’t seem to notice this, but eyes the bag of sunflower seeds he’d come dangerously close to knocking over and raises her brows.

“You know me too well, Scully.”  He takes a sip.  It’s tooth-rottingly sweet, exactly the way he likes it.  He smiles at her.  “What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?  We can get the paperwork done some other time.”

“Mulder, it’s Thursday.  I don’t want to spend my Friday night at the office, and you’re already in hot water with Skinner after your, what, tenth trespassing charge?”  She has a point, but he isn’t in the mood for giving in.  “Next week,” she says, peering over her glasses in a rather accusatory way.

Mulder tucks his pencil behind his ear, leaning back in his chair again.  “I think the KFC is still open,” he states, trying to keep his voice neutral.  “I’ll pay.”

She continues to stare at him, but he notices the corner of her lips quirk a bit — the beginning of a smile.  

“Come on, Scully, aren’t you hungry?  You’ve been here since 6 this morning, and you barely ate lunch.”  She drops her gaze to her lap, a sure sign that he’s getting to her.  “Colonel Sanders is calling to you,” he says, lowering his voice to something near a growl for maximum effect.

“Fine,” Scully sighs as she stands.  She shrugs her coat on and rolls her eyes, playing annoyed to make him feel bad.  “I’ll meet you there.”  With that, she marches out of the office, coffee forgotten on the desk.

The drive, though short, feels oddly lonely without her in the passenger seat.  Mulder cranks up the radio to have something there, something to replace Scully’s voice.  It’s no murder scene he’s driving to, he knows, so there’s no reason for it to feel this empty, but he’s so used to having her there.  Even at the ends of some workdays, he drives her back to his apartment where they watch reruns of bad horror movies.  He has an inkling that’s the reason she was so worried about wasting a Friday at the office.  Now, though, Mulder listens to the weatherman talk about snow and tries to think of something else.

He pulls into the empty parking lot just seconds after Scully does.  She waits for him, smiling over the roofs of the cars, and he has to look away for a moment to deal with it all.  Everything he’d ever done had led him here, standing outside of KFC in mid-December, with the person he believes is something like his soulmate.  If he told her that, she’d laugh at him.  He doesn’t mind, though — she has a nice laugh.

Once they’re sitting, she thanks him.

“What for?” he asks.  He knows what she’s going to say before she says it.

“Getting me out of there.  I’m so tired, all these reports might kill me.”  She takes a sip of her drink.  “If I don’t get to Skinner first.”

Mulder lets her joke, if it is one, hang in the air between them before he speaks again.

“Do you ever think about the inevitability of everything, Scully?”

“What do you mean?”

“The way everything has led up to this.  How, maybe, if one of us did one little thing differently, we never would have met.”  

She pauses, gazing at some invisible point behind him as he looks her pointedly in the face.  “What brought this on?”

“I’ve just been thinking a lot lately,” he says, declining to mention that she’s the thing that’s occupied his mind.

“It’s a scary thought,” Scully agrees, still avoiding Mulder’s eyes.  “I’m just glad we ended up where we did.”

Are you, though?  He wants to ask.  Since she’s met him, her life has, by any measure, gotten drastically worse.  She’s been abducted, two of her family members have died, she spends her time investigating spooks instead of passing her knowledge to the future of the Bureau, to barely scratch the surface.  But then, she’s right — she could be dead herself, if one standoff had gone just a little bit worse.

“Me, too,” he says, and she finally looks him in the eye.  His hand sits on the table between them, and she reaches out to grab it.  Her thumb grazes the back of his palm and it’s everything he can do to not combust.  He squeezes her hand and shoots her a grin.

They talk for a while longer, though it’s less heavy, a little further from the untreaded ground between them.  Scully tells him of her disappointment in the FBI’s next rising star; Mulder explains the Lone Gunmen’s latest escapades.  They stand to leave when Scully slips in a another mention of how tired she is, and their early morning tomorrow — a glance at the clock in the corner proves it’s later than they should be awake.  

She stops him as they’re walking back to their cars, grabs his arm with nervous force.

“You know, Mulder, I’ve been meaning to tell you…”  She pauses, as if trying to find the words.  Maybe the courage.  He waits patiently, but is surprised when she grabs his shoulder and pulls herself up to kiss him.

It’s short, but not gentle by any means.  With one hand on the back of his neck, she’s practically yanking him closer to her height, nearly knocking their teeth together.  He isn't sure where she got the nerve.  He's glad she did.  She breaks the kiss, takes a step back.  Her brow is furrowed, but her face softens when he starts to grin.  She glances away, her face a mask of conflicted emotions.

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she says with a nod.  She’s gone in seconds, leaving him deserted and beaming.

“You too, Scully,” he whispers to himself.

[scullysexual]

hunger games au (with mulder and scully)

purely for my own self indulgence. 

- - - 

Chapter Two

The walk to the Square is always solemn. Everyone is quiet. There’s an sombre energy that buzzes around. No one wants to talk. No one even wants to be there.

Dana keeps hold of Melissa’s hand. That is, until they reach the cordoned areas. Squares blocked off with rope. They are pulled apart, directed to their appropriate squares. Dana watches as Melissa follows the crowd of 17 to 18 years olds to the front. When she looks behind, she spies Charlie on the other side of the Square and not too far away. She can’t see Bill or her mother. They’re somewhere around the edges, on-lookers now, on standby, unable to say or do anything.

Cameras are everywhere, multiple. Pointed at the stage, at them, at the audience. Ready to catch any reactions.

On the stage stand two glass balls, one filled with girls’ names, the other filled with boys’. Dana thinks of how many times her name is in that ball. How many times Melissa’s is in it, how many times Ethan’s.

But how many times are other names in that ball? Dana looks around at the people she can see. There just as underfed as she is, just as hungry as she is, if not worse. Their names have to be in there just as many, if not more times, than the people she’s worried about.

She watches Ethan’s eye and he smiles reassuringly, a hidden thumbs up towards her. Dana smiles back, a bit more optimistic.

“Welcome!” a happy shrill sounds from the speakers around them. Dana turns back to the stage to where District 12’s Capitol escort Monica Reyes stands at a microphone between the two podiums. As far as Capitol people go she’s the most normal Dana’s ever seen; her hair is a natural dark brown colour and even her clothes could pass as plain. She has the accent, however, and the mannerisms.

Monica is new, only having became an escort two or three years ago. She always sounds happy whenever she comes here but Dana knows she’s itching to go to a better district.

Behind her is the Mayor and on the other seat sits 12’s only surviving winner, and mentor, Walter Skinner. It’s the only time Dana ever sees him. On this stage, looking lost, not paying much attention to what’s going on.

Monica is saying something but Dana doesn’t quite catch it, not until the end where she says her signature May the odds be ever in your favour and makes her way over to the left podium. The girl’s podium. Always the girls first.

Everyone holds their breath. That anxiety that Dana tried to keep at bay creeps back in. Her stomach clenching uncomfortably. She wants Monica to hurry up, to stop with the act and just read the damn name but she also wants the whole thing to slow down, the whole thing to never happen.

A repetitive thought enters her head as Monica reaches into the ball.

Please don’t be me. Please don’t be me. Please don’t be me.

Dana doesn’t want to watch. She wants to shut her eyes but instead opts for clenching her fist, her nails digging into her palm, breath unsteady.

The name slip is pulled out and Monica makes a show of walking back to the mic, of holding the paper out before her and slowly opening it up.

Please don’t be me. Please don’t be me.

The name is read. Loud and clear so everyone and the cameras can pick it up.

“Melissa Scully.”

.:.:.:.:.:.

Dana and Billy had a fight once when they were younger. It had ended with the much bigger and stronger Bill kicking Dana off the bed. She’d landed with a thump on the bedroom floor. As their parents had rushed in, Dana had struggled to breathe. She had been winded, her chest tight and constricting.

She feels that now, that same feeling as when she had landed on the floor. Winded. Struggling to breathe.

The Square is silent. Families grateful there children have been spared once more. All except one family. No one will stop this.

The sight of Melissa approaching the steps up onto the stage kickstarts something in Dana. She ducks beneath the ropes separating them, shouting words she doesn’t hear herself saying but the look on Melissa’s face, her eyes widening as she stops dead with a single foot on the step, Dana doesn’t need to hear her own words.

I volunteer.

The Peacekeepers Dana had dodged catch up to her. They grip her by her arm intending on dragging her back in place.

“Well…” begins Monica. “Up you come then.”

The Peacekeepers release her arms and the reality of what Dana’s just done hits her. The adrenaline gone, she slowly begins walking to the steps, passing Missy on the way. Her sister manages to grasp hold of her hand on the way back, gives it a squeeze then goes back to her square.

As she stands on the stage, Dana can feel herself shaking. She looks down towards her hand, sees it jittering limping. She grips the edge of her dress to still herself.

“Now the boys!” cries Monica. She does the same thing as she did with the girls. Walks to the podium, takes out a name, stands back at the mic.

As Dana surveys the faces of the audience, her eyes lock with Ethan’s. He looks sad, shaking his head. Is he disappointed?

Lost in thought, she almost misses the name of the boy called out. Her fellow tribute. Someone she’s about the spend next week with.

“Fox Mulder.”

The name doesn’t spark much recognition with Dana. When she sees him approaching the stage, she thinks she’s saw him around school. He’s in the same class as Melissa, she thinks.

There’s no one to volunteer for him. Maybe no brother or sister to take his place. There’s no hesitation from him either. He leaves his spot near the front without a second thought, without waiting.

“How about a round of applause for our tributes!” says Monica, her voice forever happy and cheery.

But there is no round of applause. This isn’t entertainment for these people. This is murder.

With no luck from the crowd, they hurry along, playing the anthem and when it finishes Dana and the boy are taken by the Peacekeepers into the Justice Building behind them. As she’s taken away, Dana tries to find her family but chances are they’re already being ushered to the side, preparing to talk to her one last time.

That thought sends a chill through Dana’s body. This could be the last time they speak to me, she thinks.

Once inside, another Peacekeeper leads her to a room on her own. It’s tiny but still one of the richest places she’s ever stepped foot in, thick carpet, velvet chairs. It’s even nicer than the first house she lived in.

The Peacekeeper leaves and Dana sits on one of the chairs. She tries to occupy herself, cement herself in the present and not think of the future by running her hands against the fabric. It doesn’t really work.

What had she done?

Of course, she had done the right thing. Melissa may be older but Dana has more of a chance of surviving.

Melissa couldn’t even kill an animal. How would she ever kill a person?

A person.

If you commit murder here, you get executed. You commit murder in the Games, you’re praised. She’ll have to kill people. Real people. Not for food but for fun. Another chill runs through her body at that. At least she’s got the argument of survival.

The door opens and it’s her family, Missy leading the way. As soon as the door is wide enough, her sister bursts in, pulling her up from the chair and hugging her tightly.

“Why did you do that?” she asks still hugging her.

“I had to,” Dana answers calmly.

She pulls out of her sister’s embrace and sits back on the chair. Missy sits on the other. Everyone else stands.

“You shouldn’t of,” Melissa says. “You’re useful. Me…”

Dana looks towards her mother and sees the agreeing look in her eyes. Dana gets them food. Dana keeps them alive. It makes Dana angry at her mother, that if her mother had a choice, she would put Melissa in the arena.

“You’ll be fine,” Dana cuts in. She looks towards Bill who stands a bit away near the door. “The money Bill gets should be enough.” They all know it isn’t but there isn’t anything they can do about that.

“I could try to hunt,” suggests Melissa.

Dana shakes her head. “Don’t worry about that,” she tells her.

“Are you gonna die?”

It’s Charlie who asks. Dana hears her mother gasp quietly and shut her eyes.

“She isn’t,” says Melissa, her voice firm and certain. “Promise me you’ll do everything you can to win.”

Everything means killing but Dana knows Missy knows that.

“I’ll try,” Dana promises. It’s in that moment that she means it. She will try. She’ll try until she can’t.

She turns to her mother then.

“No matter what you see, you can’t leave them,” Dana tells her. It doesn’t matter if Bill and Missy are now adults. It took an eleven year old to fetch the bread for this family the first time. Now that eleven year old isn’t there.

“That goes for all of you,” she directs to all family members. “Nothing stops because I’m dead.”

Maggie nods. As does Bill and she thinks she sees Charlie do it, too.

They talk a bit more until it’s time to leave. Dana thinks that’s all the visitors she’s getting before the door opens again and Ethan appears.

“You’re an idiot,” he says upon greeting.

“Rather me than Missy,” Dana says.

Ethan nods. He knows how hopeless Melissa is.

“It was really brave what you did,” he tells her. “I don’t think anyone else would have done that. Even if it was their sibling that got called up.”

He moves from the door to sit beside her, the same seat Missy sat in.

“Are you scared?”

She throws him a look as if to say what do you think? then nods.

“Just think you’re in the woods,” he suggests. “You’re hunting.”

Dana pulls a face. “Only problem is, they hunt back. More importantly, they think. Like people think.” She looks away. The belief in herself from earlier evaporating away as she’s just left with fear and hopeless.

“Besides, there’s no guarantee it’s even going to be a woods or a forest. It could be water or even a desert.”

“I doubt it,” says Ethan. “They tried a desert a couple of years ago. Wasn’t very…entertaining.”

That was true. Too many tributes died to the elements; dehydration and even sunburn. It didn’t make for good entertainment.

“Still though…” she says with nothing more to add.

She wants to pull the conversation away from this and begins to talk of other things.

“I told my family they would get by with Billy’s wage but—”

“I’m already on it,” Ethan buts in. “I’ll make sure they’re eating.”

She wants to jump up and hug him but they’ve never had that kind of relationship before.

It’s not friendship really more companionship. Somebody to make the hours hunting a little more fun. It’s easier to focus on you’re prey knowing someone’s got your back, someone’s looking out. Maybe ally is a better word for Dana and Ethan.

A Peacekeeper is coming to tell them there time is up. She wants to grab Ethan, keep him on the seat. If he stays on the seat it means she can’t go anywhere.

But they don’t want any trouble so Ethan goes with one last thing for her.

“Stay alive, Dana.”

Dana smiles and nods really hoping she can.

[mchalowitz]

the process by which time passes

REPOST. you guys. @lilydalexf is the true mvp of this saga. she happened to have the story still open and was kind enough to send it to me. i owe her so much gratitude (as well as the other amazing xf bloggers that reached out to me). although i don’t interact much socially around here, it is amazing to be a part of a fandom that is so kind and supportive! writing xf fic is a creative outlet i enjoy so much and i love sharing it. now back to our regularly scheduled reading. (also if you guys wouldn’t mind boosting this new version so i can see the feedback, i would be so grateful.)

this is something i’ve been writing (at this point) for probably almost a year, which is one reason i’ve been pretty quiet on the fic-posting front. i’m so excited for everyone to finally see it but terrified at the idea that it’s not just an idea that only i know about anymore. it was originally the back half of a wip i abandoned but i couldn’t let this part go. enjoy!!

Mulder gives her a tight hug on the side of a desert highway. Scully presses her forehead to his chest, hoping her thoughts might leave her mind, reach his heart, and convince him to stay. He still gets in the SUV and she never sees him again.

In true Fox Mulder fashion, his physical presence isn’t needed to be a constant reminder. Government officials that she once exchanged pleasantries with at the coffee machine bang down her door and rip apart the life he abandoned.

“Have you heard anything?”

Skinner rifles through papers until the door clicks shut. Her badge feels heavy on her lapel. It feels wrong to be here.

“Only the official warrant,” Skinner answers. That was weeks ago. She has to frequently remind herself that he is doing the best he can. He can’t make it too obvious he’s interested in the hunt. She certainly can’t go digging herself.

“They’re closing the X-files,” he informs her. “There is an appeal process…”

“That’s not necessary,” Scully interrupts. “My assignment was to assess the validity of Mulder’s investigations. There is nothing to assess.”

“You believe in the work.”

“I’m a scientist,” she reminds him, offering nothing else.

Her final report is a jumble of words that states, no matter what she believed, the X-Files should never be reopened.

–

Scully spends idle days breathing in wet air on her mother’s porch. She hopes the sea might soothe her.

A week later, as she plans her return to Washington, she decides emphatically that it did not.

She discovers heart medication in her mother’s bathroom cabinet. Maggie attempts to downplay the circumstances, “It was a blip on a screen, Dana. The doctor said it was just precautionary,” but to Scully, it’s a call to action.

It isn’t difficult to resign. It seemed like it should, after giving the FBI almost a decade of herself, and much, much more than that.

She cries silently in her car after handing over the keys to her dream apartment and saying goodbye to her meticulously curated life.

She reminds herself starting over is the only way to move on. But she isn’t sure she believes it.

–

Scully is a seasoned Special Agent of the FBI, an instructor of pathology, but she struggles to call herself a doctor. After an onslaught of rejected resumes, she begins to believe the medical community of Maryland agrees.

A small hospital outside Baltimore is wowed by her determination alone. At the bottom of the ladder, no one knows the reputation of Agent Scully. She showed promise and expertise in her role, even if her partner was a kook. Dr. Scully has never formally practiced medicine and her bedside manner leaves something to be desired.

Scully hopes for an opening in pathology, where she might be more understood. John From Human Resources hums along with her plight. “I’ll keep an eye out,” he promises.

She begins noticing him behind her in the cafeteria line. On a fall day, she is trying to decide on the best fruit cup when he sides up to her. He is whisper-quiet, conspiratorial in tone when he says, “I wanted to give you a heads up that Dr. Harris may be retiring at the end of the year.”

The may sounds more like an is. A weight inside her lifts.

John assures her she is the first choice when the position officially becomes available. When he leads her to her new office in January, he asks her out to drinks to celebrate, and Scully is surprised, because she forgot people could see her that way.

John is completely unlike anyone else she’s been with. He is endlessly dependable. She never has to worry about where he is because he calls when he’ll be late. He thrives on a fastidious routine and makes safe, informed decisions.

Scully finally moves out of her mother’s house and into a modern three-bedroom she purchases with John. She leads an entirely new life. She climbs the ranks in pathology and is still able to go on real dates, and eat home cooked meals while they’re still hot, and sit in the pew every Sunday. She goes on weekend hikes and uninterrupted trips to the coast and has fine, but not life changing, sex. She accepts John’s proposal on the beach with a beautiful ring.

They have a small wedding. She doesn’t take his last name.

John tries so hard, never asks about her time in the FBI, even tries to adopt a child with her. When it falls through at the last minute, they decide on a dog instead. They get divorced after two years.

In her office one late morning, the phone on her desk lights up. “Dr. Scully, there’s a man on line one asking for you.”

“Thank you,” she says into the speaker. She picks up the receiver with the assumption of a request for a consult. “This is Dr. Scully.”

“Hey, Scully, it’s me.”

She drops the phone.

–

Scully’s stomach is in knots. She is too nervous to order any food. Mulder sits across from her at a diner, looking older and scruffier, and she wonders if this is all a cruel hallucination.

“Where have you been?”

His fingers tap nervously on the table. “Farrs Corner.”

After exploring little towns in the far reaches of nowhere, she remembers that’s Virginia. When she presses for how long, she discovers he’s been within driving distance almost this entire time. Her fingers clench. She wants to strangle him.

“It’s been six years, Mulder. Why now?”

“The FBI dropped the charges against me. I helped them with a case, they wiped the slate clean. I can start my life again, Scully, come back.”

Forget strangle, Scully wants to kill him. He thinks he can just come back? His ignorance to the domino effect of his actions has to be purposeful.

There was a life they wanted to live together that never had the chance to become a reality. She has spent six years trying to fill her life with meaning. Her marriage failed, her career path faltered. They have a child that is no longer theirs.

Scully stands from the booth. She stares down at him, asserts her power.

“I thought you were dead.”

He just nods. He suggests she give him a call, now that she has his number.

She doesn’t.

–

Scully always forgave Mulder too quickly; it was their fatal flaw. She frequently ignored this piece of common knowledge by justifying his more unsavory behavior as residual childhood trauma, or a severe lack of social skills, or plainly being obtuse.

She never found a way to justify him leaving her when she needed him without looking like an emotionally manipulated moron. How could she possibly forgive the embarrassment and isolation she felt after giving up her own child for ostensibly no reason?

Scully bared her soul to him, her body, and gave him everything she had, and she still took a backseat to his quest. There was a brief time where she thought something finally switched in him and the quest would take a backseat to her. In the earliest days of the millenium, working their way up from something undefined to something real.

A month passes. She speaks to no one about her meeting with Mulder, but when she has idle moments, it fills her mind. She tries to remain hot when she begins wondering what Mulder’s life is like now. She attempts to imagine how he filled six years worth of time, because he was never a picture of duality, never able to separate his life from his work, and what can he do after leaving it behind?

It’s a slow burning curiosity. Weeks long. She begins to think he didn’t push during their last meeting because he knew it would happen like this.

She scrolls through recent calls to find the number he left on her office phone. Scully hears the hello in that familiar voice and doesn’t hesitate to respond, “Mulder, it’s me.”

–

Scully sees a dream realized when she pulls up to a little house with a spacious porch on sprawling land. Mulder never liked the city.

He is clearly thrilled to finally present his vegetable garden and his paintings while giving her the grand tour. He recounts putting in the new water heater himself and his plans to replace the roof next spring.

Mulder makes her pasta and gives her the “good chair.” When her stomach is full, they talk about old times. She hasn’t talked about these things in years because she knew there was no one else that can laugh about what she saw instead of instantly recoiling except for the man sitting across from her.

“I have to get back,” she realizes when she sees the sun beginning to set out the window. They spent almost the whole day together. He nods in understanding.

“You see I’m not living in squalor,” he jokes as he walks her to her car.

“It certainly wasn’t the dilapidated hut I was expecting,” she teases. Her tone shifts from silly to serious. “You know, Mulder, after our last meeting, I really didn’t want to come here. I thought…I think you know what I thought. But I’m glad I came.”

“I appreciate any chance you’ll give me, Scully,” he replies.

–

Farrs Corner becomes a regular destination.

Mulder easily becomes the companion she was lacking, the return of the best friend she lost. Even with the passage of time, he still knows her better than anyone else.

She stops offering up her free Friday nights for on-call autopsies and tox screens to watch movies with take-out picked up just before civilization ends.

Without a Saturday shift to spoil their fun, they indulge in the full six pack of their favorite beer. His feet are propped on the coffee table next to their abandoned pizza box, as she folds her legs underneath her on the cushion beside him. She is full-bellied and warm.

“I can’t believe you were married,” he says in disbelief, taking a swig from his bottle. “Considering how many of my proposals you turned down.”

“Maybe I would’ve accepted if any of them had been serious.”

“So you’re saying there was a chance?”

She laughs and nudges his shoulder with the side of her bottle.

When she catches his eye, she sees a person that, yes, she thought she might marry someday. When she was younger, less hard, and had never seen the face of a child that was half him, half her.

She leans forward and presses her lips to his, jerking back as soon as he begins to respond. She tries to find something to say, a reasoning, but she finds his curious gaze, and can’t think of anything to say.

He closes the distance between them and starts where she left off. His kiss is wonderful. It’s hopeful and sexy as all hell.

He nudges her jaw aside with his chin, his mouth seeking out her neck. Her fingers tangle in his hair. “Let’s go upstairs,” he suggests.

–

Standing at the foot of his bed, Scully realizes she’s never been in Mulder’s bedroom before. He has simple furnishings; dark wood and soft blues. His belt clunks when it hits the floor. His bare chest warms her back.

She remembers his warmth, his proclivity to be so tender and gentle, and to let her lead the way. She turns and guides him onto the bed.

Modest kisses quickly turn unrestrained. He breaths in long pants as he shoves her panties down her thighs, letting her kick them over her ankle before hooking them over his hips.

He slips in so easily. Scully explores his changed body; the shifting muscles in his back, his thinner, sweat dampened hair against her hands, his ass clenching as he rocks into her.

Electricity runs through her when his fingers drift to her clit, taking her right to the edge. “Fuck,” he groans, his lips at her ear. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

She moans in utter bliss, deliriously overtaken. When she comes, she shatters. Mulder thrusts two, three times more, before following behind. He spurts hotly into her with growls of satisfaction.

Breathing heavily, they lay bonelessly on their backs. She feels the sweat cooling at her hairline. Her lips break into a big smile and a laugh leaves her lips. His follows and he raises her hand to his lips, feeling his joyous puffs of air against her skin.

“We are still very good at that,” she decides, turning her head toward him.

“You did always bring out the best in me,” he agrees.

Scully finds his boyish nerves when he mentions spending the night charmingly endearing. She wordlessly moves to press herself into his side, clinging to him in answer.

–

Mulder calls their connection cosmic, though Scully doesn’t believe in cosmicity. An otherworldly connect would trivialize their effort so far in their new era.

She worried how they would assimilate into each other’s worlds without the commonality of what easily linked them before. While their forced separation may never be seen as a positive in her eyes, it did allow for the growth to be content in domesticity.

Scully adores the version of Mulder she met over two decades ago. With his unwavering desire for truth and his absolutely brilliant mind. The hours they can spend talking remind her of that man often. They spar as they always did, laugh like no time has passed.

She delights in the side of him that is at peace with the mundane. He likes filling her drawers with clean scrubs, and working in the yard until he returns smelling like freshly cut grass, and giving her drafts of his paranormal mystery novel.

Uncensored honesty is their biggest challenge. It would be so easy to never discuss what plagued them in the past. They finally get to air their fear, their guilt, and their grief. Scully thinks she and Mulder come out better on the other side.

Mulder leads her to the quiet corners of the world, using his freedom to finally venture off his little property. They luxuriate in the Bahamas shortly after their first night together and they start stopping at all the roadside attractions they used to skip. He plans to finally take her to England and show her all the off beaten paths from his youth. She would go anywhere with him.

A beach house in Maine is this weekend’s activity. Scully accidentally leaves her stack of reading on the desk in her office. “I’ll grab them quick and we’ll go,” she promises him, hanging onto the open passenger side window.

“Don’t leave the coast waiting too long,” he teases. “I’m starting to lose my island glow.” She rolls her eyes at him and pushes up on her toes to kiss him briefly.

Though she promises to be quick, Scully still signs into her computer. She printed out the newest articles hastily before an autopsy and notices now that the first ten pages of the article on top are missing. She finds herself drawn to begin reading when she goes to reprint. She pulls out her chair with blind arms, sitting down absently.

She doesn’t realize how long she’s been gone until she sees Mulder enter. “I was starting to think you’d fallen in,” he jokes.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. He brushes off her apology with a wave of his hand, rounding the desk to brace his hand on the back of her chair.

“What are you reading?” he asks.

Case 43-2009. 8-year-old with Brain Scan Abnormalities Presents Potentially Unseen Neurological Disorder.

She breaks her gaze at the screen to bring her eyes up to Mulder.

“We need to find our son.”

[admiralty-xfd]

Here’s a prompt for you: Mulder (or Scully) hiding an injury/an illness/a secret, from the other person, which causes tension between them. Take your time, and thank you!

Sorry this took so long (will be my mantra for soooo many prompts that are coming). Hope you enjoy it!

The road is long, leading only one direction: West. And there is only one destination: the truth.

He already knows the truth. He simultaneously believes it and will not accept it.

December 22nd, 2012. The end of all life on earth as we know it.

Here he is, still, running towards the truth. He is the proverbial dog and “the truth” is the proverbial car. He’s always wondered what it would feel like when he finally caught it and now he wishes he hadn’t.

Scully hasn’t brought it up since the jail cell; this secret he’s refused to divulge. And he hasn’t decided what to do yet, if he can even do anything. He can’t tell her, he can’t. His only option is to stop it somehow. His only option is to give her her life back.

He still owes her everything. He will always owe Scully everything.

He’s reminded of the way he felt the last time the world had a shelf life. She was dying of cancer and he could see the end of her world, the end of his world. He’d held a gun to his own head, sobbing. Five billion other lives would continue when she was gone but his wouldn’t and he’d known it, even then.

He grips the steering wheel and drives, the hum of the engine and the smell of the desert and the twinkle of a vast expanse of stars above him his only company. Scully is asleep in the passenger seat, has been for seven hours. The fifteen before that were spent in near silence, almost as if the two of them have so much to say the words crumple inwards upon themselves and fall out onto the road behind them, moving faster and faster, further and further away until they are gone completely.

He stares straight ahead, fighting sleep. He’s been down I-40 once before, travelled this same route last time in a beaten-up Toyota Corolla he’d abandoned after crossing the border into New Mexico. He isn’t even sure how exactly he’d found Gibson Praise; something inside had called to him, showed him the way. It was the same thing he’d felt when he’d found Scully and William in Democrat Hot Springs without coordinates.

His gut has never steered him wrong but that wasn’t what it had been; it was something inside him, something foreign and unfamiliar.

Something alien.

He’d known there was something alien about William, too, even before he left. He’d felt it. He couldn’t explain it to Scully, and when he’d tried to it had only upset her. She wanted something normal so badly, something untainted by the X-Files, and she was determined to believe she’d found it in William.

He’d wished he could have given that to her.

He still wishes it.

And then she had to give up William. His heart is bursting, aching with regret. The only light and joy he’d left behind and she’d given him up to strangers. He can barely process what that must have been like for her, how dangerous her situation must have gotten to even consider it. How impossible that decision would have been.

How it must have been absolutely, most assuredly, one hundred percent his fault.

Why is she even in this car with him? Out of obligation or desire? Does she blame him for having to give her baby away?

Does she blame him for having to give her life away?

His eyelids are getting heavy as the road continues in a straight line, stretching out into oblivion before him. His bladder is about to burst. He needs fresh air.

Pulling the car to the side of the road and putting it into park, he pauses for a moment to gaze at her. She looks so peaceful right now, and he can’t help but lean over to gently kiss her cheek.

After he relieves himself he’s confronted with yet another terrible piece of news. As if the past few days haven’t been hellish enough.

He gets back into the car, starts driving. Scully is awake now, staring straight ahead. He doesn’t want the car to fall into an oppressive silence again, he can’t bear it.

“Byers, Langly, Frohike… are they… dead, Scully?”

He hears her inhale sharply. She turns towards the window and lays her face against it. “Yes,” she answers him softly.

“How?”

She tells him, at least as much as she knows, and he shakes his head. They died honorably. It isn’t a comfort but it’s true.

She lets the terrible news sit with him for a minute, then speaks again. “If you won’t tell me why we aren’t leaving the country, will you at least tell me where we’re going, exactly?”

“New Mexico, where I’ve been this whole time.”

“Okay… and then what? Where do we go after that, Mulder?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

She shifts in her seat a bit. After a few minutes she looks at her watch. “Well, anything outside of North America is officially off our option list now. I’m sure our pictures have been sent to every airport in the country.” She looks over at him. “I really hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Me too,” he says under his breath. He stares straight ahead but can sense her head turn, feel her glare. She turns back to look out the window. She’s pissed off and has a right to be. He wonders if she’s staying silent not because she agrees with any of his decisions but because he’s literally all she has left and she doesn’t want to fight with him.

“I’m sorry this is happening, Scully, all of it. You don’t deserve any of this.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she says, much to his surprise. “I wish I’d listened to you, Mulder,” she says quietly. “I wish things had been different. I wish I’d let you stay.”

He isn’t sure what to say. “I think it goes without saying that I wish I’d stayed, too.”

He’s suddenly aware it might come across like he’s blaming her for making him go, maybe even blaming her about William. He doesn’t want her to feel guilty about anything, nothing. He wishes he could absolve her of everything right here and right now but that would entail actually talking about difficult things. They don’t do that.

“You were right, Scully.” He still believes it, even now. “With the information we had…” so much has happened since, and the danger is more real now than ever. Agent Crane was right there, in the FBI; it was him all along. Had Mulder stayed, he would most certainly be dead, and Scully and William right along with him. He shudders to think of it.

“And… I know it may not mean much right now, but I missed you more than I can say,” he says.

You and William, is what he means. But he cannot speak it. He cannot say their son’s name, not now. Not when things are so uncertain, so unsettled. She will talk about it when she’s ready.

“I missed you too, Mulder,” she replies. She reaches across the console to take his hand. He squeezes hers back. “Hey, can I drive for a while? You look tired.”

It’s the third time she’s asked, and the third time he will say no. They’ve almost arrived, anyway. Instead, he squeezes her hand again and doesn’t let go until they arrive at their destination.

She is his lifeline, and will be until their lives are over. Whenever that will be.

December 22nd, 2012.

He shivers, and not from the desert chill still lingering inside the car.

[scullydubois]

thoughts on The Truth (9x19/20)

Written by Chris Carter     Directed by Kim Manners

WOOHOO LETS GO

Gasp...Mulder

Where they at

Up to his old clowny ways again

Do you think Scully emailed him and was like, yeah, so I put the baby up for adoption

Krycek? I thought you were dead boy

Nice one

Dun dun dun

“About my son...and his mother” looks like that email went to spam

He’s a guilty man….he failed in every respect

Ladies...ladies…

Who dafuq are Dana and Walter, who’s he talking to

This is some A+ brainwashing

Krycek wyd

Is Kersh actually being helpful

I’m having some thoughts…

UM

Is that allowed?

That went on for like...a long time

It IS a party, Mulder’s right

They got Knowle’s body? WTF

Alright so...I’m not actually mentally capable for handling this

Gillian is doing some A+ acting

This whole ‘our son’ thing...detrimental to my health

Let it be known that I’m having a straight up bad time

Her laugh after he said he was out looking for the truth...please kill me

“I can’t tell you” you’re really gonna do this...now..GTFO

“That doesn’t make sense” correct

They needed to give Skinner a reasonable part in the ep so he’s gonna be Mulder’s lawyer...I have to laugh

Mulder’s gonna lose…

They’re really throwing flashbacks in here...I don’t know if I like that or not

Hey Spender

Lol...so it’s not that Mulder isn’t guilty, it’s that a government conspiracy justifies his actions

The sheer amount of summarizing here makes me uncomfortable...I know it was probably good for those who watched the show over a span of 9 years, but I watched all of this in the past 6 months...I know

GIBSON COME THROUGH

Scully’s snapping on Mulder...thank you god

“I’d rather die, Scully” you’re literally dumb, Mulder

TBH it seems like Mulder as a character grew out of his whole “the truth before everything” mindset seasons ago, why are we reverting him back to it

This is actually infuriating

“It’s you and me, that’s what I’m fighting for, Mulder. You and me.” Deadass!

His face...he knows he done fucked up

Thanks, I hate it (it being that scene)

Mr. X???

How did this Native American kid get Doggett’s address

I mean...good but

Marita however you spell her last name?? Where the fuck did she go after season 7

I feel like she’s one of the most irrelevant recurring characters

Mulder! Stop being dumb!

This isn’t even clowny anymore...this is just straight up dumbass

Gibson is spilling the tea! He literally pointed to this guy and called him out for being a super soldier...zero fucks! He’s never let me down!

Mulder is fired up!

If a boy who could read minds couldn’t help, how are Doggett and Reyes?

Alright Reyes is going off...I love her

GOD...all of this would be solved if William hadn’t been put up for adoption...they literally COULD have a demonstration...he is their physical proof of the truth they’ve been searching for!! In more ways than one!!!!

So far in this episode...Reyes>>>Mulder

Lucky break that Doggett got the corpse sent to Quantico

Literally zero way of physically identifying that as Knowle!

Skinner’s like…’so this case is irrelevant because the victim isn’t dead, so jot that down’

Sorry but...I can’t take Scully seriously here...I wish I could...but he went “You’re in contempt” and she did that kid argument thing of going “No, YOU”RE in contempt!”

This is the saddest excuse of a trial I have ever seen

Verdict time!!

Guilty of first degree murder...imagine watching the pilot episode and finding out that Mulder gets convicted of murder in the final episode..WTF

This is such an L...for everyone involved (both fictionally and in reality)

Mulder’s really making a speech after being convicted for murder...PLEASE

His crime is in daring to believe!

Did y’all know that the truth is out there

This is so dramatic LMAO

Scully’s about to pick up the phone and they’re gonna be like ‘death penalty!’

OH MY FUCKING GOD THAT WAS A JOKE WHAT IN THE ACTUAL HELL

This is so fucking terrible but I’m actually laughing hysterically because I did not expect that, I was literally joking

They waited until there was a verdict to break him out, when they actually could have just done it the whole time

Like...if y’all were just gonna break him out the whole time, why did I have to watch the stupid summing up of the show via the trial

Alright...maybe Kersh has some rights

Canada sounds like a good idea

Or not, do whatever the fuck you want I guess, you’re already on the run for murder

BITCH why am I seeing an empty X-Files office...not allowed in any circumstances

Super soldier guy, fuck off

The Lone Gunmen deserved better

You already know I love a desert episode

Sometimes i wish Mulder would just chill

Doggett and Reyes are really out here in a helicopter

THIS IS LITERALLY THE FUNNIEST THING EVER I-

I’m sorry but I cannot take this seriously...I cannot cannot

Mulder just spill it

“You’re afraid to speak the truth.” You know what? CSM is right and he should say it

Always about magnetite

Welp, there’s Knowle 

She wants to hear it Mulder!!

THE TRUTH IS THAT ALIENS ARE GOING TO INVADE IN 2012????? LMAOOOOOOO

No wonder I actually didn’t have this part spoiled for me ahead of time

This did not age well, not one bit

We got multiple helicopters out here now

And magnetite takes care of another one

Run run run

How exactly did the helicopters lose them

BYE

What kind of dramatic ass shot...that’s the worse thing I’ve ever seen

Hold on...I’m shifting into tenderness mode

The parallel with the pilot...please excuse me while I shed some tears

I have zero fucking clue what they’re talking about though

“Chasing after monsters with a butterfly net”...I have to cry

Okay but what the hell was Mulder gonna do?? Not tell her that aliens are invading for the next decade??

This shit’s kinda breathtaking though

Truly unfortunate that she would do it all over again though...I wouldn't

“Then we believe the same thing” WE WON LADIES

You really had to just grab onto that fucking cross huh...okay

Oh yeah????

Alright I can die now

Jk there’s still another movie and 16 more episodes

Consensus: Kinda a hot mess. Definitely didn’t need to be as long as it was. Had some interesting parts and some extremely laughable parts. I’m glad there’s more now.

3.5 out of 5 stars

[greekowl87]

Fic: Under New Mexico Skies

Tagging @viceversawrites and @today-in-fic. AO3 link to the fic. The New Mexico Entry for the 50 States Collection done by @viceversawrites

A/N:  I've never been to New Mexico and I took some liberties as I did with this fic. But I used this image and these sounds for inspiration in trying to create the setting. I imagined this as a missing scene for ‘The Truth’ before Mulder and Scully end up in the motel room where they spend an extra night in the desert trying to lay low. Thanks to @clover-covered-hills for being an extra set of eyes. Hope it turned out okay. 

Mulder stoked the fire he had somehow built on the desert floor thanks in part to the survival supplies found in Knowle Rohrer’s black SUV. The dead super soldier wasn’t going to be using the SUV anymore. But being on the run again was nothing new Mulder and Scully, especially when it was them against the world. But this was somehow different for them. There was a sense of isolation and loneliness that seemed suffocating to them. Mulder hadn’t said anything, yet, to her but there was a growing sense of guilt twisted with anger growing inside of him. They should have never taken that first step in the natural evolution of their relationship. Maybe he never should have agreed to be Scully’s sperm donor. What about William then? The idea made his stomach twist into knots. Maybe he shouldn’t have left.

“I’m thinking we should maybe go north after a few days, Mulder. Wait and see what happens,” Scully said.

She opened up the back of the SUV to roll out some old blankets and sleep back to make themselves a makeshift bed. Mulder another some old newspaper balled it up and stoked the fire. Kneeling down, he watched the orange flames dance. “I think I saw some food in the SUV.”

“Just like camping,” Scully smirked. She dug through the bags and produced a half-open MRE. “With the exception of some Tabasco missing and coco mix, we have a meal to share. Seems particular, doesn’t it? But we got chili and mac and cheese to go along with some granola mix. That sounds disgusting actually. Chili in mac and cheese.”

“Did you say something, Scully?”

He saw her sigh and shake her head. “I think there’s enough here for both us.”

“I’m not hungry, Scully.”

“You need to eat something, Mulder. You’ve barely eaten anything in three days much less slept. Neither have I. We need to make sure we take care of ourselves.”

“You aren’t my mother, Scully.”

He pushed himself off his knees and stalked around the fire. He glanced at his partner and saw her pained look before it quickly disappeared between a neutral wall. “Well, you need to eat something.”

“I’m going to take a leak. I’ll be back.”

As Mulder stalked off some distance away, Scully read the MRE instructions quickly and set to preparing their food. She propped the cooking MRE up against the wheel and sat on the tailgate of the SUV. She leaned back and tried to imagine the brilliant night sky light like those stock photos they sold on calendars. It looked like someone had taken a handful of glitter and tossed it across the night sky; she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen so many stars. Her eyes could trace on the outlines of the Milky Way cut through the sea of stars. In the distance, the half moon cast enough light to see the rock formations in the distance in a cool blue glow. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the warm orange of the ancient formations splashed with light from the fire.

Scully tried to rake her mind and recollect the last time they had been in New Mexico? Maybe after Area 51 when she had found that penny and dime merged together in her bullpen desk. She had that weird coin thing stashed in a box that also contained William’s things and memories of their previous life. What were they now? What was going to happen to them?

She grew distracted by the crickets. Their chirping in mass created a low hum that seemed indistinguishable. Scully became lost in the symphony until she heard Mulder’s heavy footsteps coming back. They eyes met. “You okay, Scully?”

“Fine, Mulder. Just fine.”

“You’re always fine,” he grumbled. He picked up the MRE that had been cooking and offered it to Scully. “Your dinner is ready.”

“Our dinner,” she corrected. She took it and stirred the bag with the plastic spoon. “You treat me as if I am a plague victim.”

“No. I’m not.”

She focused on stirring the MRE as anger began to smolder in her veins. “Then what else do you call it?”

He remained and went back to needlessly focus on the campfire. “What do you want from me, Scully?”

“What are you talking about, Mulder?”

He suddenly stood up and kicked the sandy floor. A wave of dust swirled around him. “To say everything is fine? To go back to how things were?”

“How things were?” she asked exasperated.

“Before I left. Before William.” She winced. There it was.

“Back to when things were…”

Scully’s voice died in her chest just like any hope she had of them reconciling. She had gone off and done the unthinkable by putting their son up for adoption. She remembered the joy he had holding William for the first time. That brief 72 hour period where everything had come to be everything that they had hoped for. They had a family. There were no government mysterious or black op organizations chasing them. They had fought their battles, survived, and were rewarded for all the hardships they had endured with the child they had dreamed of. Until Kerch came and shattered that dream like a hammer to a mirror.

“Until what, Scully? Say it.”

“Until I gave up William. I couldn’t keep him safe, Mulder so I did the only thing I thought I could do.”

“Send him away from us?” He hissed venomously.

“Yes! Yes, that is exactly what I did. I didn’t know what else to do, Mulder! I had to kill a murderer in my son’s room with him inches away. My mother was physically assaulted trying to protect her grandson. I had no way to get a hold of you. What was I supposed to do, Mulder? What else could I do?”

“You could’ve held on a bit longer! I would have come!”

He kicked the ground in anger and cloud of red rose between them. “Would you? I gave up hope, Mulder,” she shouted at him. Tears were streaming down her face. In the firelight, Scully looked like a dying saint. “I gave up hope! And you? Why won’t you open up to me? Is this punishment for what I did? What did that smoking bastard mean?”

“It’s best you don’t know, Scully.” The distance between them seemed as wide as the Grand Canyon. She tried to choke back her sobs. The MRE contents fell off the tailgate of the SUV onto the desert floor. Mulder cleared his+ throat,  put his hands on his waist, and focused into the fire. “Maybe I should’ve let you long ago. Maybe we should have never gone down this road. I can’t bear to see you in pain, Scully. If I could heal you, I would. If I could spare you from having cancer, losing Emily, Melissa...your life…I would.”

“Don’t you dare say that!” She raised her hand and slapped him hard across the face. “Don’t you ever say that.”

Her tear streaked cheeks reflected the light from the fire. His cheek stung and he closed his eyes, savoring it. Mulder deserved it. He deserved her punishment. He deserved to be hated by her. He deserved her wraith. He closed his eyes and awaited her to strike him again.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” Scully asked, pain raw in her voice. “Aren’t you doing to do something?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Be here now. Mulder, I made you a promise long ago. I will always follow you, no matter how dark the path gets. Don’t leave me behind. Please.”

“I’m a plague to you, a cancer.” He scoffed bitterly. “Let’s not forget I gave you cancer.”

“And you were also the only one who fought for me and gave me the cure against all odds. Don’t forget that! You showed me things I could only dream of, Mulder. You made me believe. You gave me the courage to believe, hope, and dream of something more than myself. I love you! Don’t you ever, ever think that you are a burden to me!”

She took a few hesitant steps towards him and ran her fingers lightly up his forearm. The springy hairs were soft and reminded her of a particularly intimated rainy night on the leather couch of his Alexandria apartment. He closed his eyes as her hand grew bolder and began to caress her cheek. “What do you do to me, Scully?” He whispered.

“I want you to remember. And forgive me. I want us to know we still have each other.”

His eyes opened and he breathed deeply. For the longest moment, they watched each other, entranced. The firelight danced across his small smile as he leaned his head back and watched the fingers of Milky Way dance across the purple ink sky. “Heaven,” he whispered thoughtfully.

“What?” Scully arched an eyebrow.

“Anywhere with you is heaven,” he clarified. “I forgot that. These endless months, being trapped in the Arizona desert without you...it killed me, Scully. It was killing me inside.”

“Well, I’m here now,” she told him determinedly. Her hand shook as she rested it over his heart. “And I’m not leaving. You can try all you want. I’m not leaving you.”

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against here's. “Do you remember the last time we were in New Mexico?”

The intimacy enclosed around them and she found herself wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. “Yes,” she whispered.

A coyote howled somewhere off in the distance and the crickets and insects intensified in their humming. Mulder wrapped his own arms around her waist, pulling her litter figure close. It had been so long since he had simply held her and could enjoy the moment. “The UFO. Area 51. I had memories of a leopard print bed.”

“I wish you’d have kept that mirror,” she smiled into his neck.

“You know,” he suggested huskily. “We never tried under a starry night with a campfire. We’ve made ourselves a comfy bed in the back of that SUV.”

“Keep that fire burning and I don’t want either of us driving through the night. We’re both spent.”

It had been too long since she had felt him against her. Mulder nipped at her collar bone. “I want you, Scully, worse than ever. I want to make you sing my name forever,” he continued. His hand curved around her buttock, squeezing it with all his strength. Scully clenched and surged forward. “I missed you.”

She let a trembling sigh escape and looked down between them. How long had it been since she had seen him so inflamed for her? She rubbed up against him. “It’s been too long, Mulder. I don’t know if I have much patience left.”

He walked her backward to the tailgate of the truck until she slid onto easily onto the nest of polyester sleeping bags. His fingers pressed into her firm thighs and he sighed in remembrance of them coiled around his waist with her heels riding him on. “You’re still the strongest person that I know, Scully.”

“I doubt that,” she choked. She forced a smile but as his hazel eyes remained locked with hers. “Mulder.”

“You know I am telling you the truth. Would I lie to you about something like that?”

“No,” she whispered.

Scully leaned back and spread her legs wider. He came closer and simply held her. The desert night was alive around them with the humming of insects. A coyote howled somewhere off in the distance. “Why did you come with me?”

Spotted owls answered somewhere off in the distance.

“I can’t lose you again. When you were first taken, I remember standing there in the desert, staring up into the sky.” Her nose caressed his collarbone as she nodded to the starry sky. “I felt you, Mulder. I knew I was so close but so far. I never felt such emptiness, even while I was carrying William. When you left…”

“I shouldn’t have,” he interrupted. He started to undo the buttons on her blouse. “That way at least you wouldn’t have given up William. We still could be a family. You would still have your son.”

“Our son,” she corrected softly. “Even you had stayed with the same dangers…” Scully took a deep breath. “I would make the same decision and I hope you would have too. I want him to be safe, Mulder.”

He felt that jagged glass caressing his heart and the rage that he was trying to temper. “I know,” he managed.

He started at the windshield of the SUV, past Scully and tried to imagine where William was now. “Mulder?”

“I’m fine.” He distanced himself from Scully’s embrace and leaned heavily next to her against the tailgate. “Maybe I should check the perimeter.”

“The perimeter is fine, Mulder.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him back. “We’re fine out here. Mulder, is it me?”

“No. No.” He gave her a fake smile. “We’re okay.”

“No. We aren’t.” She slid back into a makeshift bed and slowly undid the buttons on her blouse. “Come here, Mulder.”

He felt the longing for her soothe away the frustrations. “Just for a moment, we can forget.”

“And reclaim what is ours,” she finished.

He stoked up the fire first a bit more with the dry wood before sliding back into the SUV. The polyester silk of the sleeping bags was smooth against his hand as he tried to find grip while sliding back into their bed. He caught the amused sparkle in her blue eyes and he shook his head. “Stop laughing, Scully.”

“I haven’t said anything, Mulder.” She moved to fix her shirt but Mulder’s commanding gaze kept her in place. “Do you want this? Do you want us?”

“I want everything about you, Scully.”

He scuttled closer until their thighs were touching. “It’s pretty cramped, huh?” She smirked.

“We’ve been creative before.”

Mulder caressed her cheek trying to remember the last time they had a moment where it was just between them. She kissed him soundly on his lips and pulled away slightly. It had been so long since either of them had tasted one another. Scully lounged against the SUV as Mulder moved closer. He wrapped his arm around her neck to pull her closer and to give her some cushion against the vehicle. “Imagine that fire in here.”

“I don’t fancy a vehicle fire, Mulder.”

“But the warmth,” he whispered hypnotically. “Do you remember the night we did it in front of your old fireplace?”

She closed her eyes as the surge of memory threatened to drown her. Her old fireplace. Did Georgetown suddenly become her old apartment? Was everything she...they had nothing but a distant memory now? She hesitated and Mulder sensed her changed demeanor. “Scully?”

She shivered suddenly as the cool desert air became noticeable. His calloused fingertips traced up and down her back as the last of her shirt fell away. “It’s nothing,” she whispered. “I just realized how distant...final things are. Kind of like realizing things after they’ve been done. Like…” Her voice faded and shook her head. “Nothing. Forget I said anything, Mulder.”

“Tell me,” he whispered.

“It’s not important.”

She shook her head. She could not allow herself to feel or to linger in the past. Suddenly, she was being swallowed and she felt like she was falling into a black cold sea that was slowly becoming suffocating. Falling, falling, falling. No one could catch her. No one could save her. William was gone. Mulder was gone. She was prepared to lose everything. No. Strike that, she had already lost everything. In that moment, she had disappeared.

“Scully? Scully.” Mulder was gently shaking her. She started to unconsciously shake her head as if willing it to disappear. He cupped her cheek desperately whispering her name. “Scully. It’s me. I’m right here. Open your eyes. I’m right here.”

Scully opened her eyes on command. She blinked trying to clear the vision but the nightmare seemed to persist. The orange firelight made the shadows of the back of the SUV and makeshift bed dance. “I’m in hell,” she murmured.

“Scully!”

His voice pulled at her again and she nodded blindly, resting her forehead against the crook of his neck. She breathed heavily as her hands clawed at the back of his black t-shirt. The memories of months alone without him, trying to protect their son, come out like a title wave. She cried his name against the stillness of the crickets. The spotted owl hooted in solidarity. Mulder closed his own eyes, remembering his own nights alone, and simply held her. “I should have never asked you to leave,” she whispered hoarsely. “I wanted to keep William safe. I wanted to give him a normal life. I didn’t know what else to do, Mulder. What was I supposed to do? Did I do the right thing for him? For us?”

Mulder pressed his forehead against her. The cold dry desert air stirred around them. “You did what you had to, Scully,” he whispered. He pressed a heated kiss to a brow, trying to will back his own shame and regret. “You’re keeping our son safe.”

“We did what we had to. Both of us,” she murmured. “We’re not perfect, Mulder.”

“Far from it.” He laughed cynically. “But I’m glad, no, eternally grateful and blessed you have been with me every step of the way, Scully.”

Something changed between them as she surged forward, tightening her arms around him like a web. She kissed him as if she didn’t, she would die. Mulder rocked with her, trying to gain a rhythm. “I missed you,” she gasped. “Every. Single. Fucking. Day.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“We’re here together. Now. I don’t care.” She pushed him onto his back, somehow ripping off the t-shirt in the process. Fresh bruises were scattered across his left ribs. Her deft hands caressed them lovingly as she straddled them. “I wish I could heal them, Mulder.”

“You are,” he whispered.

He lifted his left hand and gently brushed off the open blouse. The sweat-soaked silk bra vanished underneath his hand. Scully’s breath hitched as the cold air hit with new force and goosebumps up her arms and back. She leaned over him, dry humping slowly and enticingly. It had been too long since either of them had felt the warmth or love of each other. Scully squeezed him with her thighs. “It’s been too long,” she told him. “And I can’t wait.”

Mulder’s mind danced with previous encounters. He loved to worship her, mind, body, and soul. He wanted to make it clear in the beginning that it was about her. But tonight was different. Under the Milky Way, the stars to bear witness, and by the light of their poor campfire, he wanted to take her in one draught. With experience, he flipped them effortlessly. The crickets clapped with admiration.

“Cold,” she murmured, shutting her eyes tight.

The polyester sleeping bags were cool and Mulder ran his fingers down her side. Her breath hitched as she felt his calloused fingertips grace the puckered bullet wound against her stomach. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She shook her head and took off his own shirt. She breathed deeply as her cool skin touched his own warm abdomen. That was something else about him, she thought. She entertained a thought that she had not crossed her mind in years before they begin this first foray into each other’s personal space. He was always so warm and alive and it would curl her toes every single time they made love. This time was no different.

“No. It’s fine.”

Scully had imagined this reunion differently complete with a sleeping child in the next room and they would stifle their moans in laughter in a weak attempt to prevent waking a sleeping William. But now that fantasy was gone. Mulder stopped, sensing amiss. “What is it?”

“I just imagined things differently,” she whispered sadly.

They crawled beneath the covers, expertly removing the remains of their clothes, and pulling each other closer. “What did you imagine?”

“A happy ending.”

“Scully,” he started but found himself silenced as she started to kiss him again. Mulder could not remember a time where she was so calculating in each movement as if she was trying to prolong the inevitable despite the fact they wouldn’t lose each other again. “It’s okay. We’re okay. I’m not going to leave you again, never again. It was my fault…”

“No. It wasn’t,” she whispered. “It’s mine.”

“Stop it.” Mulder cradled her. He took a second to admire her long hair and imagine it between his fingers. “Scully, we did what we had to do. Both of us. We need to forgive each other.”

This seemed more deranged than any confessional but never had anything meant anything more. Forgive me, Father for I have sinned, passed silently on Scully’s lips as Mulder pressed his forehead against hers. She could not imagine a life without him. She had tried once and failed. William’s adoption was proof of that.

“Forgive me,” she whispered.

“Only if you forgive me.”

“On the count of three.”

“This seems ridiculous.”

“Trust me. One.”

“I love you.”

“Me too. Two.”

“More than anything.”

“I know. Me as well. If words could express how I truly feel.”

“You’re here. With me. That is all that matters.”

“Three.”

The moment seemed frozen. The firelight danced in the back of their make-shift SUV bed. The moon shone brightly with Milky Way’s fingerprints tracing against the starry sky. The crickets sang with approval, growing louder near them. Somewhere, an owl and coyote joined in together. For years, Mulder amused himself with the untested theory that he and Scully could speak together on an unconscious level, either through body language or psychic phenomena based on how well they worked together. Even now, he counted his blessings.

“Forgiven,” they both breathed in sharing a reverent breath.

Scully was the first to laugh as the tension ebbed away from them. Mulder hadn’t heard that laugh since they went to the moving showing in L.A. “To the moon and back,” Mulder whispered.

“Whatever comes,” Scully answered.

Her fingers raked across his back with her nails leaving marks, claiming him once and for all. Mulder wouldn’t run again. He vowed to never abandon Scully again, no matter what, as long he still drew breath. Even then, if he could from beyond to make sure she was alright, he would. “Never again.”

“Moments like this,” she whispered playing with his long hair, “I wish I could remember forever.”

“I’ll remember for both of us.”

Mulder drew in a deep breath and tried to kiss her as resistant as she was. “Scully,” he whispered, “tell me. I’m here now. I am not going to disappear. I promise.”

The exclusion of their clothes brought familiar memories and sensations, better than any drug or drink that had ever been conceived. He pressed against her and she hissed in sensation. “It’s been too long, Mulder.”

With the ease of old lovers, he rubbed himself up against her before she guided him homewards. She closed her eyes and let the sensations take her. Words escaped her and she could only speak nonsensically. “Like a glove. No. Riding a bike...no. Mulder, help me.”

“Just stop talking,” he whispered. Mulder kissed her, ending the debate. “Just feel. I have dreamed of this, Scully. It’s been so long.”

“Almost a year.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I missed you. I missed this. Most of all, I missed us.”

Mulder bit gently into her shoulder as he began his slow, painful movements. The first wave came suddenly, taking both of them by surprise. But as it ebbed, she crossed her legs around his waist as the roomy sleeping bags. This isn’t what she had imagined as their reunion. Happier thoughts were gone but now, they had the present. Mulder kissed her again, eager to try to give her life, anything to keep her with him. “I’m not leaving,” she promised. “I won’t let you leave again either.”

There was something more magical about this movement. Her eyes rolled backward, ignoring the gray interior of the SUV and tried to focus all her senses on the moment. She saw glimpses of the moon beyond the tinted windows. The Milky Way was cloudy. But the warmth of the fire at her feet, Mulder on top of her moving oh so deliciously, and those damn crickets who seemed to have the best spot in the state of New Mexico. This is where she wanted to be. This was happiness. This was an eternity.

“Promise me, Mulder.”

She clenched, digging her heels into his buttocks, his muscles clenching, and they both held on for as long as they could. Seconds become minutes. Minutes become hours, hours into days, days into months, and months into years. Years at this point were dismissible. This moment was an eternity. They were forever. Nothing that could change their mind about that. Mulder grew in intensity, each stroke becoming more poignant. A crescendo of owls and crickets. announced the oncoming pinnacle of their unity.

“What?”

“Promise me that we won’t stand divided again,” she murmured.

“Not really the best time.”

“Just promise me, Mulder.” She forced him to look at her. “We can’t change the past. We can only move forward.”

He nodded wordlessly and he felt tears. Mulder did not know if it was his own or Scully’s. “Promise. I promise, Scully.”

A few more strokes were all it took before they screamed into the New Mexican desert air. A momentary silence surrounded them before the chorus started again. Mulder rolled away slightly and pulled Scully against him. She squeezed her slick thighs in memory before their legs and arms entangled. Mulder closed her eyes, kissing the little spot behind her ear. “Think we should shut the trunk?” She whispered.

“Then my feet wouldn’t hang out,” he replied. “Don’t worry, the fire isn’t going to die out. We’ve spent the night in worse places.”

“This has got to be one of the more creative places we’ve done” she smirked.

Scully felt satisfaction, a relief that she had not felt in a long time. “We better get used to it I guess,” he murmured. There it was again. That guilt. “I’m so sorry, Scully for putting you into this situation.”

“Mulder,” she whispered, twisting to face him, “haven’t you learned yet? I would follow you regardless. I do what I want and what I want is you. Nine years and I don’t regret a single moment. I know there are things that you refuse to tell me, Mulder. I understand that but we won’t be able to do this ourselves if we don’t communicate.”

He nodded wordlessly.

“We only have each other now.”

“I know,” he whispered.

Scully searched his hazel in the dying fire. She pressed herself against him and wrapped her arms around him tightly. “We’re going to be okay, Mulder, even if you don’t believe it, we’re going to be okay.”

“Is that your faith in God talking?”

“Faith in you, in us.”

Mulder nodded with closed eyes. He opened them again. “I’ll show you a second time if you are up for it.”

She nodded with a weak smile. “Careful, we still have to drive into Roswell tomorrow.”

“I’m in no rush,” he whispered. “We got all the time in the world. We’ll rent a little motel room and figure out what to do, where to run.”

“We’ll be okay, Mulder,” she whispered. “I know we’ll be.”

“I hope so.” He kissed the fiery locks of her hair. “I really hope so.”

[fabulouspatsystone]

It’s a date

Something I blurted out for the @xfficchallenges challenge: fic is medice (3) ‘Mulder tries to convince Scully to go on a date’

It’s ringing.„Scully“.

His heart is pounding in his chest and he can hear the blood rushing through his veins. He’s done this a millions times in the last seven years…calling her, hearing her answer the phone, always a little annoyed by the vespertine disturbance.

“Hey Scully, it’s me”. This is different, this is new, this is not just a ‘let’s talk about a case, the day, literally anything…’ kind of call.

“Hey, what’s up?”. There is no real reason for him to call her on a Saturday night with no open case and no open intend to ‘hang out’ as they were doing the last few months.

“What are you doing tonight?”. He shouldn’t have led with that question…that’s the booty call question and a booty call is not what he is looking for. Damn…

“Not much, I was just doing my laundry. You wanna come over?” No, this is not the direction he was going for. “If you bring take-out and a GOOD movie, I may let you in.” He can picture her smirk over the phone. Tempting, but he is a man on a mission and not ready to abandon said mission.

“Let’s go on date!”. It’s out, he released the unthinkable proposal into the void between Alexandria and Georgetown. Silence…

“Why?”. Of course, she’s questioning him. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, he overstepped her comfort zone, stretching the silent rules of their agreement on partnership and after-work-activities.

“Because I don’t want take-out, I want to take you out. To dinner!”. His confidence is an airplane on the verge of crashing into a mountain. He wants to knock his head on a wall, disappear, rewind to two minutes ago and stop himself from making the call. He blew it.

“Ok”. What? “That sounds nice.” Straightening himself and trying to get back on track, he clears his throat. “Cool.” Cool? What the hell? “I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

So, this is new. They’ve been eating out together a lot over the years but not like this. Not with the label of ‘date’ on it. She’s standing there for a few minutes by the phone, wondering. He wants something. Something big. Something she wouldn’t be willing to do unless he’s charming her into it. But he usually doesn’t make that big of an effort to convince her. So what is going on? She muses while taking her closet apart for something to wear. It’s a warm summer night with 80 degrees outside so she decides to wear the black dress, the one from the opening night of Wayne Federman’s insufferable movie a few weeks ago, with black heels. Maybe he is just being nice, trying to make her feel more appreciated on the path of their relationship from professional to personal. Or maybe he just wants something…

It’s knocking.

“Hi”. “Hi”. Ok, that went well. She looks amazing. And that dress…he remembers peeling that from her body only a few weeks ago. They only used the privilege of an FBI credit card for room service and the rest of the night went down in a haze of champagne and scattered clothes.

“Where are we going?”. “I made reservations in that little French place three blocks down you were talking about the other day.” He made that reservation weeks ago but didn’t have the guts to ask her out until it was nearly too late. Bold move, but he’s here now and she’s there and they are going on an actual date. “Oh, alright. I’ve always wanted to try this place.” Solid start. 

It’s agony.

They can’t seem to find themselves. The place is horribly stiff, the food is good but comes in a million small courses. It feels like time has stopped moving and not in a good way. Why can’t they lose nine minutes or even better, ninety minutes and be done with it? How could they have passed hours and hours driving in no time and not find a single thing to talk about now? She never believed this was possible but she’s having the worst date of her life…with Mulder. As the waitress asks if they wanted to have a look at the deserts, they nearly screamed “No, thank you!” in unison. Ok, at least they are on the same page. When they are finally leaving he looks nervous and sad, his eyes mirror his disappointment and unfulfilled expectations.

“Let’s walk for bit.” She cannot leave it like that, she cannot let this evening end drowned in awkwardness. After a few minutes walking side by side silently, she either has to throw herself in front of the next car passing them or…”What the fuck was that?” She used the f-word. She never uses the f-word but desperate time call for desperate measures.  He releases a breath he’s been holding for what felt like eternity. “I don’t know, Scully. But I sure as hell do not wanna do this ever again…”. “Charming”. “No, I didn’t…I mean that didn’t come out right. What I was trying to say…”. “It’s alright, Mulder. I get it.”

It’s surprising.

She just stops and points to an Irish Pub across the street. “Let’s go in, can’t be worse than the French place, right?” Oh this rare Scully smile partnered with one raised eyebrow asking ‘Are we gonna do this or what?’…he is physically and emotionally unable to resist. “You really wanna go in there?” He’s still a little startled by her course of action, he thought she just wanted to go home. Boy, was he wrong. “Listen Mulder, I’m not going home without a decent drink and a conversation that doesn’t want to make me pull my hair out.” Nice! “Come on!” She pulls him towards the tiny brown door and into the room. It’s loud, crowded and dark. They enter into the depth of people, Irish music and the smell of spilled beer and manage to secure two seats at the rear part of the bar. “How’s it goin’ there?” the barkeeper yells over the noise. “Better soon. Two Bushmills 10 years and two beers please.” “Coming up, lady.” Steve, as they will learn later, smiles and starts fixing their drinks. Alright, she is not kidding around, he thinks to himself. “So honoring your heritage tonight, are you?” She grins and picks up her whisky. “Sláinte!”

It’s fun again.

They’re talking, really talking. About anything. They tell each other stories from their past, they reminisce about old movies and tv shows, they create the perfect hangover snacks (for later use), they fight about whether female or male vampires have the best chance of survival through adaption (how they got there? No one of them would be able to recall the next day). She feels light and happy. It’s pure joy to be around him like this, no imminent danger except for maybe falling of the stool, no sad late night in a greasy diner in the middle of nowhere, no twisted case with too many lose ends, just two people having a fun night out. She missed this and she is so glad to have it with him right here in this shady old Irish pub.

A good amount of whisky and an infinite number of beers later, they sit quiet for a second as Mulder slurs: “Scully…(break for emphasis or finding words)…I’m kinda glad I didn’t go to college with you, I wouldn’t have survived.” She chuckles. “What do you think would have happened if we never met?” “You would probably be dead by now anyway, Mulder.” She giggles as he’s making a face. “And I would have a lot less irritating memories to process…and a lot less good ones to remember.” She’s is genuinely glad they met each other and she wants him to know.

“Guys, I’m really glad you two met too because you are adorable but I’m afraid I’m gonna have to close down now. Sorry.” She pouts as she’s turning to face the barkeeper. “Steve, you’re breaking my heart. What time is it?” “It’s two ma’am.” “Oh fuck, you’re so right to throw us out, Steve!”

She hops down her stool in a less than graceful way and feels her legs wobble underneath her as they are finding their way out of the bar.

It’s home.

Walking a few steps, she knows she’s not going to and does not want to make it home in those heels. She peels her shoes off her feet and nearly throws them at him. “Here, hold that for me.” As she walks on barefoot he stands there for a second, mumbling a confused “ok…” into the night.

Their walk home, it’s really only a few blocks, takes forever since they are slow as hell, stopping to laugh or to argue. At about half of the way she stops a group of young man and asks for a cigarette. He watches her smoke with pleasure. “Uh Scullly, I didn’t know you still smoked.” “I don’t! Just once in a decade…” That’s a lie but who cares…

Their journey ends in front of her building. “Thank you, Mulder.” She takes his face into her hands and kisses him.

[lokisgame]

Just As Friends

He pretended it was about chasing away the cold, like mulled wine in Aspen, when he was a kid, on holiday with his parents. But it was not, it was bourbon on rocks and the trees only just started to change colors.

His buddy Jack was good company; didn’t talk much, listened well and gradually let his mind go blank. That was the best part, because above else, Mulder wanted the images erased from his mind, at least for a while. Phoebe perched on the edge of the desk, with her skirt hiked up and a man on his knees between her thighs.

“You’re a good man, Jack,” he murmured, looking at the amber colored liquid, “or at least you father was. Can’t say that about mine.”

There were moments, when Mulder stopped long enough, to look into the depths of his life’s fucked-up-ness, wondering, what went wrong, but tonight, a sharp knock broke the bitter spiral.

“You expect someone?” He asked the glass and hauled his ass off the floor, zeroing in on the source of the pounding.

“Coming!” He yelled, letting the booze run a bypass around his patience. “If you lost your key again, Marcus,” he began, twisting the locks to reveal a little redhead, livid, waiting on his doorstep. “Hey Scully.”

“Mulder,” she pushed past him, going straight for the living room, clearly, not there for him.

“Marcus’s out,” he said, closing the doors.

“From the state you’re in, I think you suspect where.” He sank into the couch, the ice in the tumbler almost gone. “If not know it already.”

"Don't analyze me, just tell me," she hissed, crossing arms over her chest, classic defensive posture.

"He's with Phoebe." Mulder sighed and let alcohol wash the words away.

Quality of tension changed. He looked up to see Scully's shoulders sag, her expression changed from angry to horrified. She knew that Marcus was with someone, but not exactly who that someone was.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "I shouldn't barge in like that."

"It's okay," Mulder smiled and saluted her with his drink, "I'm sorry too."

"I came to tell him it's over," she said out of the blue, looking around sheepishly, hands hidden in the pockets of her jeans. He wouldn't mind watching Marcus get his ass chewed out, and besides, he always liked her.

"You can wait if you want." He got up and headed for the kitchen, "have a drink with me."

"I really shouldn't," she said, but didn't move from her spot.

Smiling when their eyes met again, he guided her to the couch, gentle hand on the small of her back. "C'mon, take a mental health day."

"Okay, one drink, but to what?"

"To our poor romantic choices?" He suggested, placing a tumbler in her hands.

"Faulty radars."

"Yes!" He laughed, raising his glass, "to faulty radars."

They clinked glasses and tossed back their drinks. Scully's face twisted and she coughed, but reached out, silently demanding a refill.

"That bad?" He asked, pouring, meaning the drink as much as her state of mind.

"Don't try to shrink me," she warned.

"Why would I, you're a perfect 8."

"Four!" She bristled, slapping his shoulder and making him laugh.

"No, you're an eight," he grinned, seeing her catch on, "trust me on that."

"You and your faulty radar?" She sipped her drink, slower this time, finally smiling back.

"Touche." Mulder toasted her again, and added, "you got somewhere to be?" Scully shook her head, watching the bourbon whirl around tumbler.

"Hang around for a bit," her arched eyebrow looked cute, or maybe it was the drink, "I wouldn't mind some like-minded company."

Setting down the glass, she shrugged out of her jacket, folding it over the armrest. "This isn't some half-assed attempt at payback, is it?"

He gave her his most non-threatening smile. "Definitely not."

"So my brothers are in the army and my sister is somewhere," she made a vague gesture in the air, "California, maybe, and you?"

"My sister was abducted when I was 12, no word, no note, she just disappeared," he played with his glass, feeling the mood sink as he spoke, "parents got divorced not long after, I lived with my mom on the Vineyard for a while, then moved to DC. Dad wanted me to go to Georgetown, I went my own way." Heavy silence followed. "I'm a mood killer, aren't I."

He glanced at her, ready to counter anything from ridicule to pity, but not sincere compassion he saw in her features. Their eyes locked for a long moment, until Scully looked away, her turn to look for words at the bottom of a glass.

"I should stop asking you questions," she said wryly.

"I don't exactly broadcast these things, you couldn't have known." He nudged her a little. "It's okay, really. You wanna talk something else? I heard that they found six dead cows in a small town, 30 miles west from here, completely drained of blood."

The idea, however preposterous, earned him a bewildered smile. "How?"

"Through two small puncture wounds in the jugular." She rolled her eyes, he laughed.

"A prank." She declared, making herself more comfortable.

"Right, have you seen a 900-pound Holstein? Not to mention 6 of them? That's a lot of steaks and hamburgers. Oh, and did I mention two human victims?" He left the best part for last, but she refused to be impressed.

"If not, then what is it?" Scully challenged, finishing her slice of pizza.

"C'mon Scully," Mulder smirked, pouring the next round, "it's classic vampirism."

"Please," she mumbled, washing down dinner with coke, "there's like a hundred other things it could be."

"Well, doctor Scully, and what might those be."

"First of all..."

She lunged into a lecture about psychological fixations and genetic afflictions, and Mulder was positive, he never had that much fun in his life.

Two hours later, he was contemplating her small feet, stretched out and resting next to his on the coffee table.

"Can we just throw his stuff out the window? So we'd never have to see him again?" Scully mumbled, leaning against his side sleepily.

"No," he sighed, though quite down with this plan, "he paid for three months upfront."

His voice came slow, as if finding it's way through haze of alcohol, only to be met with comfortable silence.

"Anyone ever told you, you got cute feet?" He asked, apropos of nothing, just as her head touched down on his shoulder.

Ever since she sat down on the couch, he never thought about Phoebe, or Marcus for that matter. Now it was 2am and he couldn't bare to kick her out. So, very gently, freeing himself from her warm weight, he eased her down, resting her head on one of the pillows and draping a blanket over her. Relaxed in sleep, her features became innocent and sweet, cupids's bow above slightly pasted lips, a beauty mark to one side, slightly flushed cheeks from the bottle of bourbon they almost killed.

He dropped the other pillow on the floor and settled beside her, like a sentinel, in case Marcus came back and got ideas about giving her grief or something. Last thing he remembered, was a gentle snore, coming from somewhere above him.

The next morning, Mulder woke up stiff, but not freezing. Half of the blanket fell to the floor or rather over him, right with Scully's hand, now lightly rubbing at his chest.

"Hey," she smiled sleepily, hanging from the edge.

"Hi," he patted her hand and sat up, pushing the blanket back over her.

"Why did you sleep on the floor?"

"So I could watch the show," he chuckled, rubbing his face, "or kick Marcus's ass, or whatever. How are you feeling?"

"I think the pizza saved me," she sat up, straightening her hair and clothes, "but I wouldn't say no to coffee."

His eyebrows went up, but the snarky reply died quickly, killed by her small smile. What was a little coffee and straight-forwardness between friends.

"Milk, sugar?" He asked, getting up.

"No sugar."

"Okay, the bathroom is yours."

Gathering mugs and plates, kitchen smelling of breakfast, they bantered over the last issue of The Lone Gunman.

"Mulder, the technology doesn't exist." Scully argued, wiping the last of egg with crust from her toast. Mulder grinned.

"Easy there, you want mine too?"

"Sorry, it's just so good."

"Right, just don't let me catch you loving my cooking again, or..."

"Dana?" Marcus appeared in the doorway, making them both look around. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, hi," she smiled, unfazed, but it faded quickly, "wait, what time is it?"

"Almost 9:30," Mulder said, glancing at the clock behind her.

"Shit," she jumped, as if burned, scrambling for her things, "I've got a study group in an hour!"

"Jacket on the chair, shoes by the couch." He offered and she slowed down, long enough to peck him on the cheek.

"Thanks."

Leaving Mulder grinning like a kid, she rushed out only to have her way blocked by Marcus. Barefoot, she stood almost a foot shorter, but it didn't stop her from staring him down in that moment. "You and me, we're done." She said coldly and stepped past him.

The two men stared at each other, waiting for hurricane Scully to pass, and with a yelled, "Later Mulder!" the doors slammed shut. Campus radio filled the heavy silence.

"So, you're nailing my leftovers now?" Marcus finally spoke, hiding behind false bravado.

Mulder snorted, and went back to doing dishes. "You're clueless man."

"Yeah? How?"

"Scully is no leftovers, she's a whole three course meal, and desert." And you just made, the greatest mistake of your life. He thought, hiding a smile as he washed and rinsed the mugs, stacking them in the drier.

[enigmaticxbee]

S8 Rewatch - Dialog

Voiceovers: Only a couple classic voiceovers this season with Scully’s intro VO in 8x02 Without and Mulder’s intro VO in 8x20 Essence. The others are mostly narration or discussions in voiceover with Scully narrating her theory in 8x01 Within, Scully and Doggett discussing the cases in 8x08 Surekill and 8x08 Salvage, and Doggett narrating in 8x11 The Gift. Martin Wells, the murder suspect in 8x06 Redrum, has a closing VO in that episode.

Catch Phrases: The only use of a catch phrase this season is “trust no one” by Doggett in 8x18 Vienen, translating the Spanish of one of the workers on the oil rig. As usual though they still talk a LOT about “truth” and “trust” and “belief”.

I’m Fine: The return of “I’m Fine”s this season from pregnant Scully - twice to Doggett in 8x07 Via Negativa (and a third time via Skinner) when she’s in the hospital with unspecified pregnancy complications; in 8x13 Per Manum to Knowle Rohrer; to Doggett in response to a good morning inquiry in 8x15 Deadalive; and reassuring Mulder that she and William are ok at the end of 8x21 Existence. Mulder at least doesn’t pretend that he’s fine after returning from the dead.

It’s Me: Unsurprisingly very little “it’s me”ing this season - none from Scully and only once from Mulder, in 8x20 Essence. They have phone conversations in just 3 episodes - 8x18 Vienen (joking about going down swinging 3 episodes after returning from the dead is NOT ok Mulder!), 8x19 Alone and 8x20 Essence. Scully has phone conversations with Doggett in 5 episodes, and Mulder with Doggett in 1 episode as well.

Scuuullllaaaaayy! Muullllderrrr!: They each yell for each other in 6 episodes this season. Scully yells for him at her apartment in 8x01 Within when the super tells her someone looking like Mulder was there; they heartbreakingly yell for each other in the Arizona desert in 8x02 Without; Mulder has a flashback of screaming for Scully in 8x16 Three Words; Mulder runs to her when she doubles over in pain at the beginning of 8x17 Empedocles; Scully yells at him when he hangs up the phone suddenly in 8x19 Alone; and Mulder yells for Scully when he lands the helicopter looking for her at the end of 8x21 Existence.

Memorable Lines:

- Scully: I came by to feed Mulder’s fish. Doggett: And then you got tired and decided to take a nap. (8x01 Within)

- Scully: I can’t take the chance that I’m never going to see him again. (8x02 Without)

- Scully: I never had a desk in here, Agent Doggett but I’ll see that you get one. (8x03 Patience)

- Scully: Him?! That thing in my back is a him?! (8x04 Roadrunners)

- Scully: Because it’s what the boy saw. And in an instant I realized that it’s what Mulder would have seen or understood. Because that’s just how he came at things... without judgement and without prejudice and with an open mind that I am just not capable of. (8x10 Badlaa)

- Mulder: ... the answer is yes. (8x13 Per Manum)

- Scully: It was my last chance. Mulder: Never give up on a miracle. (8x13 Per Manum)

- Scully: I once had a talk with Mulder about starlight. How it’s billions of years old. Stars that are now long dead whose light is still traveling through time. It won’t die, that light. Maybe it’s the only thing that never does. He said that’s where souls reside. I hope he’s right. (8x14 This Is Not Happening)

- Scully: I saw him. I saw something. (8x14 This Is Not Happening)

- Mulder: Who are you? Scully: Oh, my god. Don’t do that to me... Do you know? Do you have any idea what you’ve been through? Mulder: Only what I see in your face... Anybody miss me? (8x15 Deadalive)

- Mulder: I’m happy for you. I think I know... how much that means to you. Scully: Mulder... Mulder: I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be cold or grateful. I just... I have no idea where I fit in. Right now. I just, uh... I’m having a little trouble... processing... everything. (8x16 Three Words)

- Doggett: You never believed in any of this stuff. The paranormal or whatever you call it. So, what changed your mind? Scully: I realized that it was me. That I was afraid, afraid to believe... Scully: But then that’s the other gift that you gave me, Mulder. Courage... to believe. And I hope that’s a gift I can pass on. (8x17 Empedocles)

- Doggett: I got to believe that I did everything I could to save him, to get him back safe, to not let him down. I got to believe that I did everything humanly possible ‘cause if I can’t believe that then these other possibilities that you talk about, that Mulder talks about, that Agent Scully talks about... if they’re real... if they’re real, then... that’s something else I could have done to save my son. (8x17 Empedocles)

- Mulder: When he’s old enough tell the kid I went down swinging! (8x18 Vienen)

- Mulder: You saw the spaceship. Scully: Mulder, no, no, no, no. Then you were frozen and I remember I hugged you until you were not frozen anymore... (8x19 Alone)

- Scully: Look, Mulder, look, I can’t take this! I can’t live like this - as the object of some unending X-File. Mulder: This isn’t about the X-Files, Scully. It is only about you. Now, you are going to have this baby and I’m going to do everything I can to protect it. (8x20 Essence)

- Scully: William, after your father. (8x21 Existence)

- Mulder: I think what we feared were the possibilities. The truth we both know. (8x21 Existence)

[frangipanidownunder]

Returning the Past: part 4

Mulder and Scully are honeymooning in Far North Queensland. Much to Scully’s chagrin, Mulder has delved headlong into a mysterious case of strange lights, Tasmanian tiger sightings and abductions. It’s not long, before they run into trouble…

Read part 1, part 2 and part 3 

Of all the bizarre things they had seen over the years – or that she had just missed seeing, she rated this one right up there. And it wasn’t even a mutant or an alien. At least she didn’t think so. The Tasmanian Tiger had been hunted out of existence in the mid 1930s. The last remaining animal, Benjamin, was left to die in the Beaumaris Zoo in Hobart, Tasmania after authorities decided that a female, albeit the zookeeper’s daughter, had no business looking after the beast. Blind sexism and outrageous shortsightedness had led to its demise. Yet now, they were face to face with a very living and very breathing specimen. It shouldn’t be here. Especially not north of Cairns, 2000 miles away from its island habitat. The creature held its ground, exhibiting both feline grace and canine ferocity.

              “It’s frightened,” Mulder whispered.

              “So am I,” she said. “We don’t have weapons. We don’t have a plan. We don’t have any fucking clue what we’re doing here.”

              He tensed and the pressure of his hand increased on her fingers. “Maintain eye contact. It might slink away.”

              She went to laugh but the noise caught in her throat as the thylacine raked its tongue over its teeth, uttered a high-pitched keening sound and turned around. It padded out of the room into the darkness of the passageway between leaving just the smell of fear behind.

 The road to the forest was windier than Scully remembered and she was already tight in the shoulders from the encounter. The constant twisting and turning made the ride doubly uncomfortable. Mulder hadn’t said a word. The radio dropped in an out and she expected him to quip about interference and lost time but he pulled into the parking area silently. Steph’s car was still there. Mulder managed to open the boot and climbed through, opening the passenger door. A search revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

              “We know she keeps too much loose change, goes through breath mints and has an unhealthy obsession with The Veronicas,” she said, leaning against the door and puffing her fringe out of her face.

              Mulder walked round to her and shoved a paper in her hand. “And we know she exists. Look at that, Scully. It’s a car registration form with her name and address on it.”

              “It’s three years old and there’s no photo ID. And the only resident at Karinya Drive, Diamond Hills was a thylacine.”

              “But it means Officer Galea was lying,” Mulder said, heading into the forest.

              Her back groaned as she struggled to keep up. “Where are you going?”

              “Steph’s out here somewhere, Scully. We’ve got to find her.”

              “She could be anywhere. This park is 460 square miles. It’s insane to go back in so unprepared. Those men meant business.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. “Please, Mulder. Let’s just think about this.”

              He shrugged her off. “Did you think about it when you went looking for me? I know I didn’t when you were taken. I couldn’t think it through. I just had to go with it.”

              Thunder ripped through the sky, causing her to gasp with the sheer sound of it. “If that isn’t a warning, Mulder, I don’t know what is. Let’s come back tomorrow. Prepared.”

The villa offered white coolness. Even in the dusk it seemed bright inside. She made a plate of crackers and cheese and found the relish Mulder seemed to like so much. She poured them each a glass of white wine and slipped off her shoes, sinking into the couch. Mulder sat too, chewing on his lip.

              “I did search for you, Mulder. I followed every lead, I walked into the desert and yelled at the sky. I used my fear to drive me at first, but then I used my head and the resources available. But this isn’t about you or me. This is a woman you don’t know anything about. She might even be a part of whatever this Tasmanian tiger thing is. Mulder, this isn’t an X-File, it’s our honeymoon. Please don’t forget that.”

              He turned to her and leant his forehead against hers. The sharp tang of pinot grigio on his breath. He echoed a kiss against her lips and sighed away, head against the back of the chair. “I heard you.”

              “What do you mean?” She sipped her wine and watched pain cross his face.

              “When you yelled into the desert sky. I heard you.”

              “You never told me,” she said, reaching out to stroke his arm. “You never told me much of anything back then.”

              He chuffed out a bitter laugh. “I thought I could forget. I wanted to forget. But…”

              “You remember it every day. Oh, Mulder. I wish you would have talked more.”

              He did laugh then. “Do you have any idea what that sounds like coming from you?”

              The sun was low on the horizon, spreading fire over the ocean. It rippled and waved, hypnotising her. She swallowed the rest of her wine, letting Mulder gently knead her gristly neck. He lowered himself to pepper kisses around the sides of her neck, lifting back her hair and nuzzling until her nipples peaked.

              “That feels so good, Mulder.”

              “Mmm, tastes good too,” he said, moving closer so he was pressed against her. One hand snaked around her waist and pushed up through her top, seeking her breast. He continued to kiss her neck, holding her hair away. He stopped. “Scully?”

              “Mmm?”

              “Your neck.”

              “What?” she pulled away, turning, running a hand to where he was looking.

              “It’s bright red, raised. Your scar. Where the chip is.”

 The itch was incessant. Like a seed had started to sprout under her skin. Mulder paced, he was worried she was going to be summoned.

              “It doesn’t feel like that, Mulder. I don’t feel any compelling call. It’s not resonating within me like it did before. It’s just really itchy. I think it might just be heat rash. My hair was stuck to my head, it’s so humid. And seeing that animal in the house heightened my adrenaline levels which in turn caused my body to break out in a cold sweat. My skin has been working overtime.” She kissed his pouty lips and he sank back into the couch, pulling her with him. “I’m fine, Mulder. I’m not going anywhere.”

              A slow smile spread across his face. “Maybe a cold shower would help?”

              She eyed his lap and chuckled. “Help me or you?”

 The sound of tapping computer keys woke her and she watched Mulder hunched over his laptop for a while. The grey dawn outside made him even richer in depth and colour, even more angled. She pushed herself up and he turned to her.

              “Morning, Scully.”

              “Did you sleep at all, Mulder?”

              “Not after you did that thing with your tongue,” he grinned.

              She threw a bundle of clothes at him and padded to the kitchen. “I presume you’re feeling better, Mulder?”

              “A bit of a lingering head ache, I think the swelling of my bruise has gone down, and you sure know how to heal a man, Scully.” He typed a little more then closed the cover. “Did you know that a woman in Townsville, here in Far North Queensland, was being treated for chronic low back pain, was told that she would end up in a wheelchair, on morphine for the rest of her life. She had a levitating experience and the pain disappeared. She could walk again. When she underwent hypnosis she described pale blue lights and flashing bright white lights, a flash. She was on a craft. She gave detailed descriptions of what it looked like, of the beings that helped her. She used words in a language that nobody could translate. There are cases like this all over Australia. Tasmania, Victoria, the Northern Territory. The same thing. There seems to be some kind of hotspot here, Scully.”

              “Mulder, none of that helps explain what happened to Steph Callow or how that thylacine ended up in her house. Steph didn’t suddenly recover from an incurable condition. She didn’t describe a craft or beings.” She sipped her coffee. “I still think we should have alerted the authorities about the tiger.”

              “The authorities deny the existence of a woman we both met. A woman whose car is still parked in the forest where she disappeared. A woman who claims to have been abducted multiple times. Does any of this sound at all familiar to you?”

              “So, what’s the plan now? Back into the rain forest? Searching for a woman whose existence can’t be verified. Trying to film a secretive enclave of extinct creatures?”

              “Sounds like an X-File, Scully. Which means you should be searching for the science, the evidence to prove the possibles in this forest of impossibles.”

              She walked out to the balcony, rubbed the back of her neck. The heat at the chip site was palpable. She too had woken with a lingering pain in her temples but this had hardly been the honeymoon of her dreams and science would suggest that stress could cause all manner of physical ailments. Besides, she had a lingering feeling that there was something more sinister to this case than a missing person and the re-emergence of a long-dead creature. And in her experience, sinister usually meant human involvement.

              He joined her and they took a moment to enjoy the view. “I did do some research, while you were recovering from that thing I did with my tongue,” she said, leaning into his welcoming shoulder. “I found a research project to resurrect the thylacine using captured DNA from Benjamin, the last specimen in captivity. It was a legitimate project, funded by the Australian federal government, that closed down due to lack of progress. And the lead scientist is now based in a small settlement just south of here. That could be a place to start.”

              “Coincidence much, Scully?”

              “Or a fortunate turn of events, Mulder?”

[poeticsandaliens]

In Dreams

Rating: Mature

Genre: Set post MS IV, but really an introspective fic.

Summary: The life of Dana Scully as described by her dreams. Some are smutty, some of horrifying, some are beautifully mundane. Many of them are of Mulder. This is another of my Barns-Courtney-album based fics (really, that album is inspiring), set to Golden Dandelions. 

Consider this another one of my late night ramblings, as I procrastinate multiple papers. Apologies to Jess Mabe who I do not know for referencing her fic but I couldn’t help it. It was too good a chance to pass up.

Tagging @today-in-fic.

As a child, Scully dreams novels—legendary things, epics worthy of the ancient Greeks, brimming with pixie dust. She dreams a cherry tree with a different woman’s face on each blossom, a plethora of talking dragons, web-footed fey creatures that catch flies on their tongues. She dreams the looming sorcerer of her nightmares, with three fingers on each hand and a scarlet cape. The names of knights spill over her tiny lips, and when she wakes up, she’s sorry if she can’t recall them.

She hardly remembers the dreams of her adolescence. Maybe she’s too tired; maybe she can’t distinguish them from reality. Her teenage years are a blur of spiked jackets and Marlboros, making out with Larry Monsoon on the roof of her parents’ house and Missy taking credit for the condoms Ahab finds in the car. There are at least a hundred dreams of tests, more anxiety-inducing than the exams themselves. Sex dreams a plenty, probably more pleasurable than the sex she’s having at the time. Every once in awhile, a puff of mysticism, to counteract the strict diet of rebellion and heart-guarding rationality she keeps to in her waking hours.

More memorable and certainly more nagging are her dreams of Mulder. The wet dreams, the wild fantasies from their earlier days of working together. Restraining herself at work, she goes home to a ten-dollar vibrator and errant thoughts of her partner. When she dreams, it is sensual and extravagant; it is of parts of him. Taut pectorals, ripe lower lip, hazel eyes that never stop seeking. Hands before hips. Hips before hands. Once, after she watches Mission: Impossible, she dreams that he walks into their office in that red speedo, abdominals glistening, leans in to kiss her—and then whips off his Mulder-mask to reveal Assistant Director Skinner. After the Eddie van Blundht incident, she shoves that dream to the back of her mind.

However wild her sub-conscious fantasies become, they never measure up to the real thing. It’s worth noting that after they finally cave, when she smashes her mouth to his in the front seat of a shitty rental car, when they fuck in some dingy middle-of-nowhere motel, she dreams of him markedly less often. No. That’s not true. She still dreams of him, but her dreams settle comfortably in the mundane. She dreams of him popping a giant gum bubble and its pink splatter getting on her paperwork. She dreams Skinner calls them onto a case in the middle of a tropical vacation, and the hassle of catching a flight home wakes her. She dreams of facing him at the altar, wearing emerald green, and then running away before she can give her vows. She dreams that he forgives her, and they drive off into a desert sunset and live happily ever after in unwed sin. Sometimes, in the ever-changing narrative of her dream-life, Mulder dies of cancer, but sometimes it’s Scully in the coffin, watching him grieve for her and seeking the words to describe him like an omniscient narrator. She hates being the mournful storyteller more than anything.

When she’s pregnant with William, sleep is a reprieve. Going through the motions at work, she yearns to cast herself onto Mulder’s vacant couch, palm pressed against her growing son, and retreat into the world her brain creates for her. Scully has always been confident in her mind’s ability to provide what she needs to survive, so she pretends her dreams aren’t making things worse. Her dream world, once a land of magic and heroes, restricts itself to a green, loose-shingled house on the edge of an empty planet. There, the leaves are always blotted auburn and muted yellow; the wheatgrass is always dry and rustling in an autumn breeze. The dragonflies are always overgrown, swarming in clouds of violent blue and indigo, the sheen on their backs so bright she almost has to avert her eyes. A worn swing-set rocks gently in the front yard. A gangly, red-haired boy in a plaid shirt chases beetles the size of rats. Mulder is there, some nights a wise face etched into the only oak tree, dispensing loving words to his family, some nights tossing a baseball to his son, on the best nights turning dust into fireflies with a touch of his palms. Scully watches them from the rickety porch—always the porch—and marvels at the setting sun. The sun is always setting. The sun never sets.

On the run, she dreams of the fountain of youth spilling liquid gold, and Spender emerging from it with a lit cigarette between his fingers. She dreams of monsters, always monsters, babies with the black eyes of aliens and her own dry skin shedding into copper scales. She is surprised these dreams never caught her earlier, while she was neck deep in the X Files and her rational reality chipped away. Mulder’s arms sooth the assault of distorted creatures, but she still dreams of horns sprouting from William’s soft baby-skull and a dragon’s muzzle from his snout. She still sometimes imagines Mulder’s arm around her shoulders wrinkled and rotted and turned to dust in a matter of minutes, then turns in the mirror to find her own body reduced to a bonesack with a head of red hair and a cross dangling into her ribcage.

When she leaves him, it’s all sex dreams again. The wacky ones from her youth, intermixed with something more tender and mature. There’s more stroking in these fantasies, greater exploration and less hammering into the headboard. Somewhere, filed in the recesses of her brain, is a pegging dream that still makes her blush, but it’s the one where he fucks her in an empty airport Chili’s until she cries out his name that jolts her awake with an orgasm she isn’t prepared for. That’s the one that leaves her wet and aching for him, after all their time apart. She’ll never admit it, but that’s the one that makes her cry.

She stops dreaming when she sees him again. Except for one night, when a picture of their home in the dead of winter appears clearer than if she were actually seeing it. Inside, she is reading the newspaper; he is smoking a curved pipe. A deerstalker hat sits on their kitchen table. She turns to him and asks, with all sincerity, “do you mind if I practice my violin?” It doesn’t matter that she’s never played the violin in her life. It is an urgent matter. Outside, she hears the scuff of a horse and carriage in the snow. She tells him later, and he tries to convince her that no, he’s the Sherlock Holmes in their partnership more than she is, since she’s a medical doctor and keeps his feet grounded in reality. Scully calls bullshit. She is always Holmes, and Mulder will never be one hundred percent grounded in reality. It’s one of the reasons she fell in love with him.

She has a hazy summer, rosy and heavily pregnant with their daughter. The August heat is unbearable; her tank tops are too small, so she fans herself all day and in the evening lets their baby feel Virginia sunlight. Her shoulders are tan. Her belly is smooth as a skipping stone. She lies on their sky-blue adirondack chair for hours on end in a sort-of half-conscious state, listening to the hum of dragonflies. If her eyes close for a few seconds, she dreams of rivers and wildflowers. The murky Potomac, a slender brook, a roaring mountain cascade with her mother’s face etched into the current. Where she sits, facing the setting sun, fey creatures rustle in the untamed grass—little girls with freckles, Mulder’s eyes, and butterfly-wings, wearing skirts sewn of autumn leaves and carrying thumbtack swords in their hands. She dreams of weatherbeaten horses the color of ripe buckeyes galloping towards her. Fox Mulder rides to her in a suit of armor, shaggy and noble, his stubble greying but beautiful as it ever was. He takes off his gloves and presses his cheek against her rounded abdomen. He tucks a dying dandelion behind her ear. On the other horse is her son, a ranger-boy—a wiry, green-caped adolescent Jackson who hasn’t yet solidified his place in the world. Elfish ears stick up through his hair. She notices—from both their backs sprout the wings of crows, for they have died and lived to tell the tale. She embraces them.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

reconsideration

s6 vignette: the beginning, triangle, dreamland, the rain king, tithonus, one son, arcadia, milagro, the unnatural, field trip. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files

summary: Times Mulder and Scully reconsidered the status of their relationship.

note: I realize this is, like, the thinnest premise ever, but season 6 UST is some of the best UST. This story most directly links up to Flights and Renegade (and leads into Auld Acquaintance), but it does contain part of the Tithonus scene from The Fountain. (It is not necessary to read any of these works to understand this story, as they can all technically stand alone.)

i.

She’s been wondering about the kiss.

In the days between their mad escape from Antarctica and their flight back to DC from Australia, she’d been considering the encounter in the hallway. The things she said, the things he said. How close they came to kissing. Some culmination five years deep. The sudden pain in her neck, the way she’d dodged it even though she hadn’t meant to. And then everything that had happened after, blurring together into a horrifying montage. The paramedics, the gunshot. The pain and the cold, the freezing cold. Mulder’s mouth on hers, breathing life into her. He came to Antarctica for her. Antarctica. To the ends of the fucking earth.

Scully is having some trouble wrapping her head around it all, but that doesn’t change what happened. That he saved her, that he said she saved him, made him a whole person. That he tried to kiss her—even if it was only to make her stay, he still wanted to kiss her. Wants to kiss her. And she wanted to kiss him, she has realized. She wants to kiss him back.

She hugs him in the hospital when he gives her the cross back and she leans against his shoulder in the airport like it’s effortless. She faces down the Office of Professional Review back in DC for him, for their X-Files. She meets him at the reflecting pool, tries to reassure him that they can bring down the people who did this, and he tries to push her away in return. He tells her that she was right to want to leave, that he is not going to watch her die. Almost the opposite of what he said in the hallway. He tried to make her stay because he cares about her, and now he is pushing her away because he cares about her. Because he is scared.

She doesn’t know how she would’ve reacted if he’d said these things when she wanted to quit, but she knows how she will react now. He pushes and she pushes back. He was right before, about wanting to quit with a clear conscience, but she can’t do that, there’s too much left to fight for. She takes his hand and repeats his earlier words back to him: “If I quit now, they win.” It’s some sort of reassurance—reassuring him that she isn’t leaving, or maybe reassuring herself that she wouldn’t have left in the first place. She squeezes his hand. She thinks that maybe something can happen between them now. She thinks maybe it’s time.

And then everything goes to hell.

She can’t find what Mulder wants her to find, what he wanted to show OPR. Or rather, what she finds is not what he wanted to hear. They really should have discussed everything before the meeting itself. Mulder is clearly upset with her, and things only escalate when they don’t get the X-Files back. Instead, Jeffrey Spender and Diana Fowley are assigned to it. Scully doesn’t even have time to process it, to maybe have a bit of contempt for the woman who is apparently Mulder’s ex swooping in and taking their jobs from them, because Mulder is too busy feeling betrayed himself. Skinner has led him to a file, some attack in Arizona, and by some paradox, he manages to convince her to go. She doesn’t know what she’s thinking—maybe that they can find more proof, more reason to go back on the X-Files. But Mulder’s theories at the crime scene don’t make sense, even if the evidence doesn’t fit with the crime report.

He is upset with her, at the scene, angry that she is doing exactly what he said has kept him honest, has saved him, and she doesn’t understand it. She tries to understand, takes his hand and repeats his earlier words back to him. “You told me that my science kept you honest. That it made you question your assumptions. That by it, I’d made you a whole person,” she says, trying to remind him. What he’d said was why she’d stayed. “If I change now… it wouldn’t be right, or honest.”

He doesn’t listen. He waxes some poetic bullshit about extraterrestrial life, says, “I’m sorry, Scully, but this time your science is wrong,” before he walks away from her, leaving her blinking in astonishment. Maybe a little hurt. She stayed because he said he needed her. But this is one of the times that she thinks he would like it better if she just wasn’t here to debunk his theories. In this brief moment of chest-stinging hurt, everything Mulder said in that hallway feels like a taunt.

It gets worse. It actually gets worse. They find Gibson half-dead in their car. She convinces Mulder that they need to protect him, but the next thing she knows, Diana Fowley is popping up and dragging Mulder off to chase some lead, leaving her behind to protect the boy. Which she can’t do, apparently; Gibson disappears from the hospital she takes him to. Supposedly, he shows up at wherever Mulder and Fowley went off to, locked in a room with what Mulder claims killed those people in Arizona. He doesn’t reappear.

After it’s all over, Mulder is still unwilling to forgive and forget. He says some biting things that cut her to the core, credits Fowley over her, makes some allusions to Diana not refusing to believe things because of science.

Scully clenches her jaw and plunges on, although she’s not entirely sure why. She reminds him that she doesn’t doubt him, that it comes down to a matter of trust. She asks him to trust her. He has said before that she is the only one he trusts. Maybe she wants that faith back. Maybe she wants him to acknowledge how much he claims to need her. One in five billion, making him a whole person. What else is she supposed to think?

If he is willing to forget what happened in that hallway, then she can forget it, too.

ii.

He is in love with Dana Scully, and he wants to tell her how he feels.

He might be an official time traveler who’s high off his ass on painkillers, but goddamnit, he is in love with her. He has been in love with her for months, years. He wanted to tell her over the summer but he was scared; he thought that if he pushed her away, she would leave and be safe from the X-Files forever. And then he’d been an asshole to her, really fucked it up. But it’s been good since then. Good. They do background checks and manure checks, drive the country like they always have and Mulder books them haunted hotels, passes her glossy brochures over the center console of the car that announce urban legends he can sometimes convince her to chase off hours. They eat together in diners, eat lunch in the break room or go out sometimes in a cliquish way that makes the other bullpen agents whisper. They see each other on the weekend, sometimes, when Mulder isn’t chasing ghosts or ghouls. They spent Halloween looking for demons in a cornfield, and Scully had nearly bent in half laughing at him when it turned out to be kids in crudely-made masks. God, he loves her. He loves her and he wants to tell her.

He can find her anywhere, he proved that today. He found her in 1939. She was beautiful in that wine-colored dress, her hair all curled and her eyes icy the way they get when she is absolutely done with his nonsense. It wasn’t really her, but she was brave and confident and faced down Nazis like it was nothing. She saved the world and he kissed her because he thought he’d never see her again. He deserved that punch. But he is in love with his partner—his partner who is right here beside him. He loves her and he wants to tell her.

“Hey, Scully?” he says as she starts to walk away, rising up on one elbow.

She comes back, standing close so that they are almost nose to nose. “Yes?” she says, very serious.

He looks deeply into her eyes, trying to tell her everything he wants to tell her without even having to speak. When she’s this close, he could kiss her again. Or for the first time. “I love you,” he says, very sincere. He wants her to know.

She rolls her eyes, mutters, “Oh, brother,” and stalks off. And that is the end of that.

Still, he isn’t sorry that he told her. The side of his face stings when he puts it down on the pillow, from where 1939 Scully socked him, and he smiles dopily to himself. She knows, and he will tell her as many times as it takes to make her understand how he feels. How much he cares about her.

He grins at the ceiling. He is in love with his partner. He is in love.

iii.

They fly to Nevada against orders, to investigate some lead an informant gave Mulder. The airport is a couple hours out from their destination, so they rent a car and drive together into the desert. In Area 51, the only thing that is waiting for them is a slew of Men in Black or whatever, who stop them in the middle of the road. There is a confrontation. A light passes over them, and Scully is left blinking, her mind foggy. How much time has passed? She is holding Mulder’s hand.

“Come on, Mulder,” she says, unnerved. “Let’s go.”

—

They don’t talk a lot as they drive away, stirring up red dust behind them. Scully rests her head on the window pane, his fingers tapping the dashboard​. Mulder is quiet, his jaw working back and forth as he stares out at the road ahead. “What happened out there, Scully?” he asks finally.

It was a brief, meaningless​ encounter, completely unmemorable, but it feels like something more and she can’t explain it. She shrugs. “We got stopped. Found nothing,” she says. “What else is new?”

Mulder nods, chewing his lower lip. They pass a diner, the lights startlingly blue. “You hungry?” he offers.

The diner is packed to the brim, something Scully isn’t entirely used to; they usually frequent half-empty shitty places in the middle of the night. There is a family sitting across from them, three kids jammed in one booth, shoving at each other. Scully remembers that she said something about raising families, having something approaching a normal life, on the drive up. It seems like something she said days ago for some reason; she blinks in sleepy confusion. Mulder smudges fingerprints on the glossy menu, waving it at her. He orders her drink for her, exactly the way she likes it. She thinks that sometimes they may be able to read each other’s minds.

“Sorry I dragged you out here for nothing, Scully,” Mulder says after the waiter takes their meal orders and leaves.

Scully pokes at the sugar holder. A baby squeals somewhere across the diner, a couple argues at the counter. The Nevada sky has so much more stars than back in DC. “That’s okay,” she says, more agreeable than she would’ve expected of herself. “Better than background checks.”

Mulder smiles, his teeth too white under the fluorescent lights. She has some faint memory of saying goodbye to him, of sunflower seeds slipping into her palm and through her fingers, clammy from Mulder’s hand, but she has no idea where it came from, because she knows that never happen. Maybe it’s because Mulder has been eating them since the airport. She wonders if his fingers would taste like salt, and then blushes on instinct.

“It’s too bad that lead never panned out, though,” says Mulder, a little regretful, maybe a little bitter, leaving starburst fingerprints in the condensation on the side of his glass. “This was a waste of time.” He snorts out a bitter laugh. “An entire day’s waste of time.”

Scully shrugs, her coat loose around her shoulders. She is unusually jovial, happy to be with him. “It’s like you said, Mulder. This is a normal life.”

Mulder smiles again, almost involuntary. She smiles, too. She steals fries off of his plate when their food comes and he makes a gremlin face at her and she giggles. She has an odd feeling of longing that she can’t explain, and she doesn’t bother to try. They’re in a diner in Nevada, off the clock. Who the hell cares?

Mulder takes a shift driving after they eat, and Scully curls into a ball in her seat and falls asleep. She has some strange dream of standing opposite Mulder in the desert. There are seeds, like the one in that strange non-memory in the diner, and she tells him, I’d kiss you if you weren’t so damn ugly. Well, she notes when she wakes up, the sentiment isn’t entirely off. But still. What the hell is that about?

iv.

They’ve slept in the same bed before, but never quite like this.

Scully can tick off every time they’ve shared a bed. The awkward time in the first year of their partnership where she’d set a token pillow between them and slept on the edge of the mattress (but Mulder sprawls in his sleep, so he’d ended up drooling on her shoulder in the morning, the pillow stuck under his belly). The case in ‘96 where her feet had snuck over on his side every single night. The times she’d fallen asleep in Mulder’s hotel room or he’d fallen asleep in hers. But every time had been different then this somehow, she thinks.

She’d woken up this morning with Mulder’s face half-buried in her neck, an arm thrown over her ribcage, his fingers hot against her side where her shirt had ridden up. His stubble rubbing her neck as he muttered things in his sleep. She had counted to ten in her head. Twenty. And rolled away. His hand had slid over her stomach in a long trail; he snorted and buried his face in the pillow. Scully had shivered, curling into herself on the edge of the bed. And now they are in bed again. He is asleep and she is not and he’s jammed up against her in bed, nose against her upper arm and knees pressing into her leg. Their fingers tangled together on the mattress. Scully stares at the ceiling, ignoring the tickling sensation of Mulder’s breath against her skin. Or trying to.

Sheila was surprised that she isn’t with Mulder. Which apparently the entire town of Kroner can join her in. The missus. Boyfriend. Holman had bid Mulder farewell by saying, “You should try it sometime,” looking at the two of them like he expected something out of them. She supposes her big “relationships-spurning-from-friendship” speech to Sheila didn’t help their Kroner reputation. She doesn’t know why she cares.

Mulder is too warm, jammed up against her with his raspy breathing and the blankets tangled around them. She should move away. She doesn’t know why she doesn’t move away. She told herself that she wasn’t going to do this last summer, after everything with Diana Fowley, after he tried to kiss her and never brought it up. For a little while last fall, in Nevada, she thought she might, but she’d relegated herself, insisted that they are friends and friends only. And despite whatever lover’s pacts some ghosts tried to force them into, despite her falling asleep on his couch at six a.m. on Christmas morning, she has been able to push back the thoughts in her mind of taking their relationship a step further. But now…

Mulder mumbles something in his sleep—something that sounds like the lyrics to Islands in the Stream, which played on repeat at the reunion when one of the speakers glitched—and presses his nose harder against her shoulder. Scully shivers. We are just friends, she tells herself sternly. He’s my best friend. That’s it. That’s all. But Mulder tugs at her hand in his sleep, rolling over so that he lands almost on top of her, and she almost loses her resolve, shivers. She didn’t know it was so cold in Kansas. Or that her partner is a furnace. She shifts in her sleep, cold feet brushing against his feet and trying to wiggle out from under him a bit. Mulder stirs, lifting his head from her shoulder and blinking groggily. “Scully?” he mutters, tugging at her hand before he realizes that he’s holding it and lets it drop. “Oh, jeez, I’m on top of you,” he says, scooting backwards so he’s on the other side of the mattress. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says quietly. She hasn’t moved.

Mulder flops over on his stomach, still half-asleep. “We’ll be home tomorrow,” he mumbles into his pillow.

“Yeah,” says Scully. His hair is sticking up on one side; she resists the urge to pet it down. She turns on her side and closes her eyes, determined to get some sleep tonight. But her words to Sheila are still bouncing around in her head. You know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before, she’d said. And the person who was just a friend is… suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with.

She wakes up in the morning with her face pressed up against Mulder’s shoulder. She tells herself sternly that it means nothing. She knows she is lying.

v.

When she wakes up in the hospital, Mulder is there. He’s leaning over her hospital bed with his hands in his head. He looks tired, haggard, as if he’s been there for days. Scully has a groggy, overwhelming affection for him, and though she cannot speak, she reaches for him. He looks up, sees her hand moving, and his entire face lights up. “Scully,” he says, engulfing her hand in both of his. “You’re awake.”

She looks up at him, tiredly tries to tell him everything that she is thinking with only her eyes.

Mulder laughs a little, squeezing her fingers. He is practically grinning with relief. “I-I’ll go get your doctor,” he says, standing from his spot next to the bed. Before he puts her hand down, he leans over and kisses her knuckles, and she feels it from head to toe. “You’re gonna be okay,” he says before he leaves. Scully smiles a little to herself. She can’t believe he’s here.

Mulder is there when she wakes up and Mulder continues to be there, through every awkward moment with her mother and brother (both of whom Scully is incredibly relieved to see), through every talk with the doctor, through nearly every moment Scully is conscious for the next two days. She is immensely grateful. She’d missed him. She loves him, she thinks rebelliously to herself one day. She loves him and is so incredibly happy to still be here to tell him so. All those doubts flickering in her mind, leftover from last summer, are gone now. She is ready.

There is a brief moment where she is uncertain, wondering whether or not Fellig was right about immortality, right about love not lasting forever, but she talks herself out of it. She is being ridiculous. People don’t live forever. Life is too short, actually, and she has plenty of proof of that right before her.

Mulder thumb-wrestles her over the blankets tucked around her body, kisses her cheek in farewell every time he leaves. He flies back down to DC with her when she is finally discharged, cracking peanuts between his teeth like makeshift sunflower seeds and trying to distract her with in-flight movies. He visits her frequently in the evenings while she is on medical leave, calls in the middle of the day to complain about Kersh and background checks and the embarrassment of being stuck in the bullpen. He is her best friend and she is in love with him; there was more truth to the things she told Sheila than she thought. She keeps looking for moments to tell him, but keeps coming up short. She doesn’t know how to say it. (They’re both awful at expressing their feelings; is she just supposed to sit him down and say, “Mulder, almost dying has made me realize I’m in love with you?” What about, “So, about that one time you almost kissed me and we never talked about it…?” All utterly ridiculous.) But the time will come. She is confident that the time will come. These things have a way of happening with them.

Later, after the entire ordeal at El Rico Air Force Base, she will attribute the entire thing to what Fellig told her in his apartment. Fear of eternity staring her in the face, loneliness. Vulnerability after almost dying. But she cannot really be in love with him, she tells herself. She cannot.

vi.

He can’t explain why trusting Diana is so important to him.

He is not in love with her. Not anymore. And when he was, it was never as house-on-fire fierce as the way he cares for Scully. But something in him cannot let go of their relationship. Their years together. She remains the only woman he has ever proposed to. The longest relationship he’s ever had. She was there when he discovered the files. He cannot let that go, for some reason. He just can’t.

He doesn’t know why he is so stingingly hurt when Scully is sharp to her in quarantine, because he is done with her romantically and has been for years. She broke his heart. But something in his stomach curdles in annoyance when Scully keeps snapping at her, acts like she’s the enemy. He chides her a little when she gets petty towards Diana, because a part of him is protesting, She isn’t working against me, Scully. She knows how important this is. She left me because the work is important. And he doesn’t know that Scully would go that far for him, for the work. It’s a horrible comparison to make, but it’s true.

The Gunmen turn against her, too. Scully calls him to their apartment, just so she can present all the reasons why Diana is untrustworthy, and Mulder’s annoyance continues to grow. You wouldn’t be saying this if you knew everything she’s done for me, he wants to say to her. What she meant to me, once.

He tells her she is reaching. He tells her she has given him no reason not to trust Diana. He tells her that she is making things personal, and he senses he has gone too far. It’s been personal since Day One, with them. He’d like to take it back almost as soon as he says it, but Scully storms out and Mulder is too annoyed with her to follow her. But Frohike’s glare and the way Byers and Langly avoid his eyes speak volumes.

Embarrassed and maybe a little guilty, he slinks off to find out the truth about Diana, just to prove that he is right. He finds the smoker at her apartment, who offers him a way out. A way to save himself from what’s coming. Himself, he thinks, and Scully, and maybe even Diana. If they can really avoid death on Earth, he and Scully, then it would be wrong to leave behind the woman who is partially the reason he has gotten this far.

Diana comes home and reaffirms her loyalty to him. He tells her how they need to survive and she kisses him. It is a brief kiss, and his mind is buzzing too much to process it all, but he wraps his arms around her on instinct.

—

After it’s all over, he’s overwhelmed with guilt.

He doesn’t go to the air force base because he is chasing a lead with Scully, and he is relieved that they don’t because the entire thing goes up in flames. Diana doesn’t reappear in the immediate days after. Jeffrey Spender gets them back on the X-Files, and then his blood is found staining their office. Scully won’t return his calls.

The guilt is thick in his stomach over the possibility of Diana’s death, the encounter in her apartment. What he perceived as a betrayal of Scully. They may not be together, but he is in love with her. He told her he loves her and he meant it with everything in him. And now, and now. He has hurt her to the point of nearly no communication between them. He has kissed another woman he is not in love with. He has ruined it all.

Diana calls a few days after the entire ordeal, reassuring him that she is alive, and he is relieved. Truly relieved. Maybe some feelings do linger for her, but not in the sense of wanting to actually be with her. It’s mostly nostalgia from his old relationship, mostly loyalty. He’s happy she’s alive. But he’s in love with Scully and he’s pushed her too far away.

He wishes he knew how to make this right.

vii.

She almost resigns after it’s all over.

She gets drunk one night, furious and raving against Mulder, and types up a resignation letter, prints it out and even signs it. She leaves it on the dinner table, determined to give it to Skinner in the morning. She is done with the FBI, the way they’ve scorned her and thrown her out. She is done with the X-Files, tired of the way they beat her up and leave her frustrated and embarrassed when she is proven wrong. She is done with Mulder.

In the morning, she chickens out. It seems ridiculous in the daylight, with the sun shining unevenly across her pillow and her pounding hangover headache. She did hang on this long to resign. Personal interest is all she has, and she can’t give up for her sister or her daughter or herself. And even Mulder. She still cares for Mulder by instinct, knee-jerk reaction.

But there is not going to be a relationship between them now. Not a chance.

In the process of rebuilding their office, reorganizing everything, Scully works quietly, talks as little as possible. The resignation letter stays on her table, like a glaring spotlight. Reminding her of the way she felt when she thought she was leaving. She goes back and forth on it a few times in the weeks following El Rico. She almost changes her mind the day after Diana drops by the office to congratulate Mulder on getting the X-Files back. Mulder almost dies twice. The second time, she is haunted by nightmares of him dying in her arms, gunshot wound to the chest. It breaks her. She can’t resign, she can’t leave him anymore than she could last summer. She has tried, and it doesn’t work. She has not hung on this long, through dead family members and abductions and cancer, to quit because Mulder hurt her feelings. She cares about him, and it is more than a knee-jerk reaction. She isn’t going to resign. She throws the letter out.

But her stance on a relationship between them stays the same. He is her partner, her friend, but nothing more.

xiii.

The Petries has a nice ring to it. Mulder picked the name because of all the Dick Van Dyke Show reruns they’d watched together while Scully was recovering from her gunshot wound. Scully rolled her eyes and smiled a little at the floor when he told her, but sobered up quick. Told him that they had to pronounce it like the dish.

There has been a definite distance between them lately. A distance that only comes down after one of them almost dies. He wishes he knew how to fix this.

Being able to call Scully his wife, though. Being able to put his arm around her and ham it up in front of all the citizens of Arcadia Falls. He kind of likes it—which is unexpected, because he never associated Scully and marriage in his mind until now. He hasn’t been very keen on marriage ever since Diana mailed his ring back, broke off their engagement that had crumbled to nothing at that point. But he could get used to this, coexisting with Scully in a house, their house, sharing a bedroom and eating dinner together. (Maybe without the dorky planned community, though.)

They end up cooking dinner together because neither of them can agree on who should be the one to cook. They’re both terrible at it. Scully rolls up the sleeves of her cute little soccer mom sweater and huffs angrily when she burns the chicken. Mulder abandons the potatoes and pulls out one of the salad kits that Scully had insisted the Bureau buy them. (They’d made a grocery list together, for God’s sake; he loves this case.)

“You liking married life, Scully?” he asks her at the dinner table, after they manage to construct a decent salad.

She snorts a little, stabbing lettuce with her fork. The windows are open, to air out the kitchen from where the chicken was burned, and they are speaking quietly in an attempt not to blow their cover. “Truly blissful, Mulder,” she says dryly. “The honeymoon never ends.”

Mulder chuckles, a little awkwardly, looking down at his plate. “Did you ever daydream about your wedding as a kid, Scully?” he asks.

“Oh, sure, when I was younger.” She drums her finger against the table. “But the daydreams kind of faded in high school, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” says Mulder knowingly.

Scully is still staring at her plate. “I thought I’d get married in my twenties, actually,” she says in a stilted rush, almost like she had to talk herself into saying it.

Mulder’s fork drops from his hand; he was not expecting that. “Really?” he asks in a neutral tone. “What happened?”

Scully shrugs. “I joined the FBI. Broke it off when I saw the full implications of the relationship. I was young, and I thought I was in love. But it would have been a mistake.”

He’d never known that about her. He nods. Scully scrapes her fork through the salad dressing, lifts her chin to meet his eyes. “What about you, Mulder?” she says, and her voice is very serious, like she understands what the answer will be. “Any previous run-ins with marriage?”

He swallows uncertainly. “Diana and I were engaged,” he says carefully. “She broke it off.”

Scully nods, her face neutral. She says just as carefully, “She must have meant a lot to you.”

“She did,” Mulder says. “At one point, she did.”

She holds his gaze for a moment before looking away. Mulder lifts a glass of water to his mouth and gulps a mouthful. It’s too cool sliding down his throat.

He wants to fix this more than anything. He wants Scully to understand why he did what he did, what she means to him. He just wishes he knew how.

ix.

Agent Scully is already in love, Padgett had said, looking straight at him as if he was supposed to have any idea at all what he was talking about. Who Scully could be in love with. If Padgett is even right at all, if he even knows her. Mulder knows that he doesn’t, that he couldn’t possibly know anything about her.

It is stupid to be jealous of him, this creepy little man who has been stalking her for years now. He is not jealous as much as he is furious, wants to shout at him, tear him apart for what he has done to Scully. Padgett does not know her, not the way he does. He is presumptuous, a little voyeuristic shit who thinks he knows and loves a woman because he’s followed her around for a while. He doesn’t know Scully and he is likely a murderer and Mulder wants him gone, wants to make sure he never gets near Scully again.

Agent Scully is already in love. It can’t be true, because Padgett does not know her. Not like he does, not at all. And Mulder doesn’t know who it is that she could possibly be in love with. How he could have missed it. Or if it’s the yearning possibility, the off chance that she might be in love with him…

No. Padgett does not know her. He is lying, playing some new angle. Mulder throws himself into the case, into trying to catch Padgett. It isn’t true, he tells himself. Scully isn’t in love with him. Believing that weasel is the most egotistical thing he could do.

It isn’t until Scully is clinging to him as she sobs hysterically, blood smeared up and down her front, fingers digging desperately into his shoulders, that he considers that it might be true.

x.

His breath on the back of her neck, his nose in her hair, and his arms wrapped all the way around her as they move together, the bat whooshing through the air. Scully giggles helplessly, more delighted than she’s been in months. She feels like she’s in high school again, her heart racing to the point where she’s sure Mulder can hear how nervous she is. How excited.

It’s spring, not very cold at all, but Mulder’s arms are warm around her, the length of her spine pressed to his chest and stomach. Her shoes that are not at all suited for baseball scuff the red dirt. Her feet almost slip out from under her with one swing of the bat, and Mulder’s arms tighten around her, lifting her almost off of her feet as he tries to keep her from falling. Scully belly-laughs, leaning her head back as the bat wavers in her hands. Mulder stumbles backwards under her weight, lowering her to the ground. “I got you,” he huffs, exhausted from holding her up.

Scully lets the bat droop, tapping the dirty ground with its edge. “Yeah,” she says, breathless. She thinks of the latest, unhappy time he had his arms around her like this, while she fell apart on his floor. She thinks of the first moment of arriving at the park, realizing what he meant when he’d said, “Get over here, Scully.” The shivery feeling she’d gotten when he pressed up against her. His lips brush the back of her neck—whether it is on accident or on purpose, she can’t tell, but it makes her think his mouth against hers. The possibilities.

She smiles, leaning back into his chest. “Yeah, you got me.”

xi.

Things are better between them, he thinks. They have been, they are. Less steely silences, less tense conversations. Scully smiles at him now, even bursts into laughter on occasion the way she did on that one golden Saturday. “We should work on the weekend more often,” he’d said the Monday after, a little suggestively, and Scully had smirked back at him just as suggestively. Surprised him so much it almost bowled him over. He loves it.

Things are better between them, their partnership starting to get back to normal, and Mulder is starting to consider the possibility of their friendship finally starting to shift into new territory. (Hey, it only took them a year.) He doesn’t know when or if it will ever happen (although the suggestiveness between them both would suggest that it will), but either way, he’s just grateful to have Scully back. Her friendship, her partnership.

They fuck it up, of course. There is a case in North Carolina, and he presents his theory of UFOs, and she dismisses it, maybe even jokes a little bit about it. And it annoys him, for some reason. “Sounds like crap when you say it,” he says, working his jaw back and forth, wondering why she can never believe him, just once. “I’m just wondering if there’s a connection, Scully,” he adds, defending the theory. “I mean, the conditions of these bodies are reminiscent of certain southwestern cattle mutilations. Those are cases where there’s no physical evidence and they’ve long been associated with UFO activity.”

She replies like she doesn’t know him at all, “Mulder, can’t you just for once, just… for the novelty of it come up with the simplest explanation, the most logical one, instead of automatically jumping to UFOs or Bigfoot or…?”

Irritated, he stands and says, “Scully, in six years, how… how often have I been wrong?” She scoffs. He says, “No, seriously.  I mean, every time I bring you a case we go through this perfunctory dance. You tell me I’m not being scientifically rigorous and that I’m off my nut, and then in the end who turns out to be right like 98.9% of the time?” She looks a little hurt now. She says nothing. “I just think I’ve… earned the benefit of the doubt here,” he says, and walks away before either of them can say anything else, because he doesn’t know why this is bothering him this much. He doesn’t know what else he expected.

— As difficult and as frustrating as it’s been sometimes, your goddamned strict rationalism and science have saved me a thousand times over, he’d said in that hallway. Maybe it’s stupid to keep referencing back to something he said a year ago, something he said to manipulate her into staying. But the sincerely behind it had felt real. Everything that has happened between them lately has felt sincere. And once again, Scully doesn’t know what to think

xii.

He knows it isn’t real as soon as she admits that she is wrong. She knows it isn’t real when everyone tells her she is right, again and again. She never really believed she’d lost him anyway.

Their minds meld together through the mushroom hallucinatory haze. They come together, just like always. That is what they do.

Skinner pulls them out of the ground and puts them in the ambulance together. They reach for each other at the same time, Scully searching blindly. She opens her eyes to look at him when he takes her hand. She doesn’t take her eyes off him. They keep looking at each other until they’re unloaded at the hospital.  

She misses him at the hospital, through the haze of drugs and pain. She sleeps on and off for a few days, bandages scratchy against her skin, dreams strange and vivid. She’s cold. She is tired of doubting this—their partnership, how well they work together, whether or not they can never be in a relationship. The only reason they survived was because they’d realized what was happening. That something was wrong. The way that they balance each other out, it’s unmistakable. She misses him.

A few nights after the whole ordeal is over with, she slips out of bed and pads down the hall to his room. He’s awake, staring out the window absently when she steps inside. He turns towards her, startled, and his eyes soften at the sight of her. “You okay?” he rasps.

She nods, stepping closer to the bed. “Couldn’t sleep,” she rasps.

He scoots closer to the inside of the bed, shoulder pressed to the wall. She climbs in beside him, their arms pressed together. He tucks the blankets around them both, brushes some hair off of her face before settling back against the pillow. She takes his hand.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” he rasps.

She shakes her head, intending to tell him to save his voice, but he keeps going. “I shouldn’t have… acted like you were being unreasonable. You… I need you. I need your science, and I need you.”

He squeezes her fingers. She closes her eyes, snuggling into the blankets, reminds herself that he is not dead. She is tired of doubting, of lying to herself. They’re both high off their asses on painkillers, but this time, she believes him. “I need you, too,” she whispers, letting her head fall on his shoulder. “I do. I do.”

He kisses the top of her head. She hums raspily, letting her eyes slip closed.She does need him, she knows now. They need each other.