#it's a mulder/jersey devil fic

[numinousmysteries]

Devil's Advocate

What if the Jersey Devil didn’t die? Or, the Mulder/Jersey Devil fic no one asked for. With MSR undertones because I’m not a monster. (This started as a joke in this post and then wouldn’t leave my brain.) 

Note: This story contains mentions of non-consensual sex.

[on Ao3] @today-in-fic

Scully glances through the rearview mirror at the detained suspect in the backseat. The woman’s nakedness is concealed by the emergency blanket from the trunk of their car. A pair of handcuffs around her wrists is the only thing stopping her from attacking them. They’ve rolled down the car’s two front windows, but her fetid odor still permeates the air.

The park ranger managed to take her down with two powerful tranquilizer darts as she retreated into the woods. While Scully cuffed her and checked her pulse, Mulder convinced Detective Thompson that the woman belonged in federal custody and that they’d be taking her back to DC.

The tranquilizer wore off after a few miles on the road and they’ve been listening to her growl and struggle against the seatbelt. Mulder called the woman beautiful earlier and now, as she observes her in the mirror, Scully feels inclined to agree. Even with the thick layer of dirt covering her face, Scully can see she has elegant, almost regal features: high cheekbones, plush lips, and strong eyebrows, perfectly shaped without ever having made the acquaintance of a tweezer.

“Dr. Diamond should be back before us, should we take her straight to him?” she asks Mulder, her voice low even though she doubts the woman in the backseat can understand language. “I think he’d want a chance to examine her.”

Mulder nods slowly but hesitates. “Maybe she’d like to get cleaned up first. I can take her to my apartment to shower.”

“Your apartment?” Scully gawks at him. “That would be incredibly dangerous. She already tried to rip a chunk out of you.”

“You can help me, Scully,” he says as casually as if he’s asking her to fill out an expense report.

“I have a tub at my place. That might be easier.” This is partnership, she thinks. I bail you out of jail. I bathe your captive neanderthal.

“Perfect,” Mulder replies, crunching a sunflower seed between his teeth.

***

That’s how the two of them end up on their knees, their clothing soaked through with splashed water, wrestling the Jersey Devil into submission in Scully’s clawfoot bathtub. She’s injected the woman with enough pentobarbital to kill a man three times her size, but it’s only weakened her enough to let them get her into the tub without any fatal wounds.

As the dirt washes off her skin—and collects in a grimy, black film at the bottom of the tub that Scully knows will take a while to scrub out later—she can see the woman’s skin is a rich, tawny color. She’s lean, all sinewy muscle without any extraneous fat. Thick, dark hair cascades midway down her back, and also covers her legs, arms, and pubic area. There’s a primitive, untamed grace to her. Her long limbs move like a dancer’s, even as they kick and swipe at Mulder and Scully.

“Easy now,” Mulder says as he positions her head under the faucet to wash her hair. Scully watches as he tenderly shields her eyes from the water with one hand while running the other through her matted mane.

Even though she’s clearly never taken a bath in her life, and must be completely overwhelmed by the sudden exposure to modern plumbing, the woman softens under Mulder’s touch. Her shoulder blades ease down her back and the muscles of her face relax. Scully’s about to warn him to be gentle with her hair, to avoid pulling at any of the knots, but she can see he’s already slowly working through them without tugging at her scalp.

“I used to have to detangle Sam’s hair after a day at the beach,” he explains, noticing her consternation. “My mom was too rough so she’d never let her do it. But I just plopped her down in front of the TV and took my time. Hers was thick, like this.”

Scully watches in silence as he weaves his fingers through her strands. The Jersey Devil’s fists are clenched as she cautiously surveys her surroundings for threats, but she appears calm otherwise. She even bows her head slightly, giving Mulder better access to the lengths of her hair.

“I think that’s as good as we’re gonna get,” he says finally. “Do you have anything she could wear?”

“She’s much taller than me and her shoulders look a lot broader,” she replies. “But I’ll see what I can find. Are you okay alone in here with her for a moment?”

Mulder nods, pulling at the chain to drain the tub. The sudden movement of the water jerks the woman to alertness, but Mulder calms her down as he helps her to her feet.

When Scully returns with an old nightgown that she thinks originally belonged to Melissa, the Jersey Devil is standing nude in the center of her bathroom and Mulder is toweling her dry. She notices a soft rippling of skin beneath the woman’s navel—diastasis recti—and wonders how her children will survive without her in the woods.

“This should do,” she says, holding up the flannel nightgown for Mulder’s and, she supposes, the woman’s approval.

She helps Mulder pull the nightgown over the woman’s head and thread her arms through the sleeves. The fabric strains across her chest and back, and the hem falls just above her knees, but it’ll work for now. The woman grabs at the foreign material against her torso, more in curiosity than anger.

“Her hair is still wet,” Mulder says, lifting the weight of it off her back to keep the nightgown dry. “I doubt she’ll let us blow dry it.”

“Here,” Scully says, reaching for an elastic tie next to her sink. She twists the woman’s long hair into a low bun at the base of her neck, securing it with the tie. “At least this’ll keep her clothing dry.”

Scully steps back and takes a long look at the woman. With her face clean, and her features visible now that her hair is pulled back, she looks even more beautiful than before. Stunning, actually. Scully looks over at Mulder who’s staring at her, mesmerized.

He slowly takes her by the shoulders, turning her around so she can see herself in the mirror about the sink.

“Look,” he says, pointing in the glass. “That’s you.”

The Jersey Devil takes in her visage with a confused stare. She brings a fingertip to the reflection of her forehead and seems surprised that she touches glass and not flesh. She touches her cheek and watches as her mirror image does the same. Without losing eye contact with her reflection, she reaches out to run her fingertips over the image of Mulder’s face next to hers in the glass. Then she repeats the same gesture on his skin.

“That’s me,” he says quietly. “Mulder.”

The intimacy of the scene brings a blush to Scully’s face. She feels as if she’s watching something she shouldn’t be witness to.

The Jersey Devil’s hand is still on Mulder’s face when a growl erupts from her stomach.

“She must be hungry,” Scully says. “Let me see if I have anything she can eat.”

Stepping out of the bathroom, she lets out a deep exhale and feels the tension loosening in her neck and shoulders. She hadn’t been aware how rigidly she’d been standing until after she walks away. Opening the door to the fridge, she nearly gasps as the cold air hits her skin, still flushed from the hot steam of the bathroom. In the fridge, she finds a package of raw boneless, skinless chicken breasts. These were supposed to last her for a week’s worth of dinner, but the Jersey Devil’s hunger seems more pressing.

She peels off the clear plastic wrapping and places the package on her kitchen table.

“Bring her in here,” she calls out to Mulder. He emerges shortly after, leading the Jersey Devil slowly to the kitchen.

Her nostrils flare when she catches a whiff of the meat. Leaning over the table, she takes a chicken breast in each hand and shoves them into her mouth.

“Can she eat this raw?” Mulder asks.

“She’s been eating raw human flesh,” Scully shrugs. “From an evolutionary standpoint, her teeth are clearly sharper than ours, and she likely has stronger stomach acid for better digestion. Besides, she’s probably been exposed to far more germs and parasites in the wild than we’d ever encounter in commercial meat.”

The Jersey Devil quickly devours all four chicken breasts. She brings the styrofoam packaging, still wet with juice from the meat to her mouth but Mulder pulls her hand away. She growls and lunges to bite his wrist but he’s able to pull back quickly enough to dodge her.

“I think we’re going to need a lot more meat,” he says. “I can pick some up on the way back to my place.”

“What?” Scully snaps, startling the Jersey Devil. “You can’t be seriously thinking about taking her back to your apartment. This woman belongs in some sort of facility. We should take her to Dr. Diamond.”

“Come on, Scully,” he says quietly. “It’s 8 p.m. on a Friday night. Let’s wait until Monday to bother him again.”

She gives him a confused frown. Since when has Mulder cared about not bothering anyone when it comes to the paranormal? Right after their first case, he called her nearly at midnight. He’s called even later since then on more than one occasion and she’s had to convince him the FBI forensics lab wouldn’t appreciate him demanding an analysis of purported ectoplasm at 3 a.m.

“You don’t have a bed, Mulder,” she says, exasperated. “Where is she going to sleep?”

“She can take the couch. I’m sure it’s a lot more comfortable than wherever she typically spends the night. And I can sleep on the floor. I’ll be fine.”

Scully sighs. “I have an air mattress you can borrow.”

***

After helping Mulder secure the Jersey Devil in the backseat of his car and load the air mattress (along with a few more syringes full of sedatives just in case) in the trunk, Scully doesn’t see him until Monday. She calls to check in a few times over the weekend and each time he promises her he’s fine, and that his guest is behaving.

She worries when he isn’t at the office when she arrives on Monday morning. He’s usually there before her, preparing a slideshow or digging through old files. She’s about to call him at home when he staggers in, cradling his right forearm with his left hand.

“Mulder, are you alright? What happened?” she asks, standing to meet him and reaching for his arm.

“It was an accident,” he says.

She helps him out of his suit jacket. There’s blood seeping through the white of his dress shirt just above the wrist. She guides him to his desk chair and unbuttons the cuffs on his sleeve. He winces as she rolls the sleeve over his wound. She removes a layer of blood-soaked gauze pad that he seems to have tried to hold in place with Scotch tape. Underneath, she sees what looks like two rows of teeth marks cut deeply into his skin. Upper and lower incisors.

“She bit you?”

“It was an accident,” he repeats.

“Mulder, this is bad. You need stitches. Antibiotics, probably, and a tetanus shot. Maybe even rabies postexposure prophylaxis.”

“You can do it, right?” he asks. “I can’t exactly waltz into an ER with human teeth marks on my arm.”

“Let me get my kit,” she says. This is partnership, she supposes. I don’t turn you into the authorities when you harbor a prehistoric beast woman. I dress your wounds when she attacks you.

“Besides,” Mulder calls out to her as she assembles her medical supplies from the other side of the office. “She doesn’t have rabies.” He sounds offended that she would suggest such a thing. “She liked her bath, remember?”

Scully rolls her eyes as she returns to him and elevates his arm on the surface of the desk. He winces as she cleans the wound with antiseptic solution.

“I don’t have anything too strong to help with the pain, but this is better than nothing” she says, injecting a local numbing agent into his forearm. “Just give it a second to kick in.”

“How did this happen?” she asks.

“It was—”

“An accident, I know,” she cuts him off. “But what were you doing when she bit you?”

“We were, um, on the air mattress together. It was a…” he trails off, brow furrowed as he searches for the right word. “A moment of passion.”

“Oh no, Mulder,” she sighs. “Please do not tell me you had sex with her.”

“She instigated it,” he says, defensively. “I was sleeping and I thought it was a dream…a very pleasant dream, mind you, but then I woke up and there she was. On top of me. When I tried to maneuver her off, she bit me. So I just kind of…went with it.”

“And I’m assuming you didn’t use protection?” she manages to ask through the shock.

“She didn’t give me much of a chance. Think she’s on the pill?”

Scully shakes her head. “I don’t need to tell you how irresponsible, dangerous, and downright stupid that was.”

She takes this moment to jab a gloved finger into the bite mark, a little more firmly than she might have otherwise. He doesn’t flinch. “Numb?” she asks.

“Mmmhmm,” he nods. “She lost her mate. I guess she thinks I’m her new one. Honestly, I know how strange this is going to sound, but I think we have a connection. A real one.”

The blood drains from Scully’s face. She isn’t sure if she should arrest Mulder or have him committed to a psychiatric hospital. She certainly isn’t going to congratulate him on this new relationship (not that she would ever call it that), which seems to be what he expects as he gives her a dumb grin.

“You can’t be serious,” she says after regaining her composure, keeping her eyes on the sutures she’s threading through his flesh and not his face. “Mulder, she raped you.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he angrily objects. “I’ll admit I was surprised but once I got my bearings, I can assure you I was a very willing participant. It was incredible. Totally animalistic. No self-consciousness, no self-awareness, nothing performative. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

In the short time that they’ve been partnered, Mulder has had his memory wiped at a top secret military base and convinced her to believe in a 100-year-old liver eating monster. He told her his sister was abducted by aliens and insisted that they’d lost nine minutes. And yet this is the first time he’s rendered her completely speechless. She avoids his eyes as she finishes stitching up his arm and dabs away the remaining blood with a cotton ball.

“Come over for dinner sometime,” he says, as he rolls his sleeve back down. “You’ll see, she’s changed a lot. She’s more…evolved, if you will. I haven’t had to use any of the sedatives. Bring someone. It could be a double date.”

“Mulder, are you insane?” she hisses. “I’m not bringing anyone to meet your beast woman.”

He smiles and taps at her hip with the back of his index finger. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Agent Scully?”

“I’ll come,” she says, ignoring his last comment. “By myself. And only to make sure she doesn’t kill you.”

***

She puts off coming over for dinner until later in the week when Mulder finally wears her down. Standing outside his door, she feels nervous but isn’t sure why. She and Mulder have eaten meals together before, although usually at greasy roadside diners and never at one of their apartments. They haven’t spent much time together off the clock. If it weren’t for the presence of the Jersey Devil, she might think this was a date. Well, she reminds herself, it is a date, just not hers. She’s the third wheel in Mulder’s romantic evening with a neanderthal.

“Hey Scully, come on in,” he says, opening the door and taking her coat. “I ordered us a pizza, but she started without us. I hope you don’t mind.”

Scully peers into the kitchen and sees the Jersey Devil gnawing on what looks like a raw T-bone steak. Her hands are stained red with the myoglobin-tinged moisture dripping off the meat. On the table in front of her is a tray of more raw, red meat, piled high.

“I suppose that’s for the best,” Scully says.

“Come sit,” Mulder says, pulling out a chair for her. Before he can sit down himself, the buzzer at the front door rings. “Perfect timing,” he says.

When he leaves to get the pizza, Scully watches the other woman at the table. Mulder has managed to keep her clean and even changed her clothes. Instead of the nightgown she was wearing the last time Scully saw her, she’s dressed in an oversized gray t-shirt and a pair of men’s nylon basketball shorts that sag at the waist. Mulder’s clothes, she realizes.

Mulder returns, sets the pizza box on the table and fetches plates for them. “Help yourself,” he says.

“How’s she doing?” Scully asks. “How have you been?”

“We’re good. We’re figuring it out,” he responds between bites. “Now that she knows I’m not a threat, she’s much less violent. We spend a lot of time together. It’s nice to have a relationship that’s free of all preconceived societal expectations.”

Scully arches her eyebrow.

“Aren’t you the one who implied I should get a life?” He challenges.

“I guess I meant something more conventional, but I shouldn’t be surprised with you. Seriously though, Mulder, how do you see this working long term? Do you plan on introducing her to your parents?”

Mulder laughs. “I actually don’t think she’d be the most objectionable girl I’ve ever brought home.”

He reaches over and gently rubs the Jersey Devil’s back. She looks over at him but doesn’t move to attack. With his hand still resting on her back, she returns her focus to the food in front of her.

“See?” He asks proudly. “She likes me.”

“You bring her food and have sex with her,” Scully says skeptically. “Is that all it takes?”

“I’ve got good meat,” he says, and Scully nearly chokes on her pizza.

“Jeez, Scully, the steak. I’m talking about the steak. Get your mind out of the gutter,” Mulder smirks. “But really, if you think about it, it’s essentially your typical heterosexual dating ritual without any of the window dressing.”

“I think you’re grossly oversimplifying things,” she says. “What about communication? Companionship? The art of conversation? You’re an intelligent, verbose guy, Mulder. I’m having trouble picturing you in a relationship where there isn’t any intellectual discourse.”

“No verbal volleying, debating, or constantly being second-guessed? I get enough of that at work.”

Scully’s about to protest but he winks at her and any offense she felt melts away. She feels heat rising within her and she has to remind herself he’s her colleague and that his girlfriend, who has the capacity to physically rip her apart, is sitting in between them.

“I’m assuming you still don’t have any intention of taking her to Dr. Diamond,” Scully says, trying to change the subject. “Studying her could have major anthropological implications.”

“She’s not a science experiment,” he says. “That’s not the life she deserves.”

“And this is?” Scully asks. Next to her, the Jersey Devil picks pieces of meat out from under her long fingernails.

“I think she’s happy here,” Mulder says. “We’re both happy.” She isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince her or himself.

After dinner, Mulder gently cleans the Jersey Devil’s hands and face with a dampened washcloth. She seems to like the attention, or at least doesn’t resist. Once he’s done, she brings a finger to the corner of his lips, wipes away a spot of pizza grease, and then takes it into her own mouth. It’s somewhere between a sexual gesture and a primate grooming ritual.

Mulder asks Scully if she wants to stay and watch a movie with them, but she politely declines. He gets up to walk her to the door and Scully can feel the Jersey Devil’s eyes on them, as if she’s ready to fight for her mate.

On the drive home, Scully thinks there’s no way this can possibly last.

***

Somehow, though, it does last. For a while, anyway. Mulder jokes about having to pick up a second job to support her carnivorous diet, but he doesn’t show up to work with bite marks again. He spends less time at the office now that he has someone to come home to. Sometimes Scully catches him calling his apartment from the phone on his desk and leaving long-winded messages on his answering machine. “She likes to listen,” he tells her.

He leaves the Jersey Devil in his apartment with a fridge full of raw meat while they investigate a poltergeist in Philadelphia. When they return, she miraculously hasn’t torn his place to shreds.

It’s soon after the Eurisko case that Scully finds Mulder mopey and despondent in the basement office one morning. He’s working on paperwork and barely looks up when she arrives.

“Everything alright?” she asks and only gets a shrug in return.

“I’m sorry about Jerry,” she says. Caught up in solving the killings at Eurisko, she realizes he's barely had any time to mourn his former partner.

“It’s not that,” he replies, still glancing downward. “It’s…her.”

“Her, as in your…girlfriend?” Scully asks, the word like acid on her tongue.

Mulder nods. “She misses her children. I don’t think it’s been fair of me to keep her from them.”

“She told you that?”

“We have our way of communicating,” he says.

“Dating someone with kids can be challenging,” she says as if he’s in a relationship with a divorced working mom and not a nonverbal neanderthal.

“I think it’s time for her to go back to the forest,” he concedes.

***

They drive back to Atlantic City mostly in silence, the same trip they made weeks earlier but in reverse. The Jersey Devil is in the backseat again, free of restraints this time. She’s wearing a dress Scully hasn’t seen before: a short-sleeve, A-line dress made of soft cotton with thin pastel stripes. Mulder must have bought it for her. It's a good choice, she thinks, loose and comfortable without any buttons or zippers to fumble with. She’s surprised how normal the woman looks. Her hair is in a braid down her back which she can only assume is Mulder’s doing. Another thing he must remember from having a sister.

When they near the edge of the woods, the woman eagerly grabs at the child-locked door handle before Mulder even stops the car.

“She knows where we are,” he whispers to Scully. She nods in response.

They both get out of the car. Mulder walks around to open her door and unbuckle her seatbelt. She tentatively steps out of the car and towards the woods. Then she turns around and brings her hand to Mulder’s cheek. It’s like the first day in Scully’s apartment, when the Jersey Devil watched her and Mulder’s reflection in the mirror, only now they’re face to face. He leans in and kisses her.

Scully knows she should look away, but she can’t. When they pull away, they both have tears in their eyes. They nod at each other, and then she turns around and scampers away. Mulder comes to stand next to Scully and they watch until she disappears into the trees.

“Come on,” she says, taking him by the arm and leading him back to the car. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

He turns to her and smiles weakly through the tears. “Thanks, Scully,” he says. “Thanks for understanding.”

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever fully understand what this woman meant to Mulder, or what he possibly could have meant to her. But this, Scully knows for sure now, is partnership. I help you say goodbye. I bear your pain.

[randomfoggytiger]

"I Have a Life"

Had a little snippet I'm too tired to turn into a meta post~.

*****

"Unlike you, I would like to have a life."

But he did-- does. Having lived through the loss of his sister, having achieved academic excellence and favor, having met and dated and tangled his way through Oxford on a scholarship, having left it all behind to chase recruitment Stateside, having trained his budding profiler skills while making friends and trading partners and wearing questionable wedding rings and losing a man to his mistakes and becoming another's novel confidante and standing by a third on his wedding day, and having lost it all, again, to the files....

"I have a life."

*****

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic.

[azure-firecracker]

Fic Rec Roundup!

In honor of my going off to college (my posts will be slowing down), and finishing 3 seasons of TXF, I asked y’all what sort of “special post” you wanted me to make. You voted on a roundup of some of my favorite TXF fics, so here it is! Prepare to watch me gush profusely about the phenomenal writers in this fandom.

This will be in chronological order, so first time watchers like me need not fear spoilers:)

I’m not including my own writing here, but you can find it in my masterpost.

Without further ado, let’s get into the fics!

Season 1:

starstruck by @thursdayinspace (General Audiences, 671 words): Set post-Pilot. The title says it all. This is quite possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever read.

Something Bigger Than Us by Mungo_of_Maundery (General Audiences, 721 words): A nice coda to Deep Throat after Scully rescues Mulder from the air base. Internal monologue is great.

humans in nature by @theswisscheeserag (General Audiences, 2,733 words): Mulder and Scully’s conversations post The Jersey Devil. Philosophy mixed with fluff and some laugh-out-loud humor. Perfectly captures the vibe of early MSR.

Still Feeling My Father Ascend by @cecilysass (Teen and Up, 13,073 words): Mulder and Scully share some tender moments post Beyond the Sea. Both of them have a lot of healing to do, for different reasons. Some of my favorite MSR introspection can be found in this fic, and you can tell how much thought and care this author puts into the characterizations. There’s also several excellent funny moments - a true gem of a fic!

Egit Genius Loci by snow_and_rain (Teen and Up, 21,937 words): Case fic set right after Beyond the Sea. Featuring early-onset MSR, angst, mutual pining, and hurt/comfort. A little whimsical, a little eerie, a little sad.

Between Two Truths by @agent-troi (Teen and Up, 1,621 words): Missing scene from E.B.E after Scully’s speech to Mulder. An excellent internal monologue from Mulder’s POV followed by some top-tier MSR banter.

the progression (and regression) of first names by skuls (Teen and Up, 5,421 words): A series of vignettes exploring Scully and Mulder’s relationship as it evolves throughout Season 1. Pitch-perfect Scully characterization and several moments that really showcase her inner conflict fantastically, but also many wonderfully tender MSR scenes (keep an eye out for the coffee scene - my favorite!)

never learned to read your mind by @swinging-stars-from-satellites (General Audiences, 1,071 words): An alternate version of Season 1 where Scully leaves after Deep Throat. Profound, heartwarming, wistful and a bit sad, this takes an interesting concept and really tugs at your heartstrings.

Season 2:

distractions by @thursdayinspace (General Audiences, 1,181 words): Post-abduction. Mulder does his best to help. Absolutely heart-melting, sweet and tender and a little sad too.

The Safety of Guilt by the_status_clo (Teen and Up, 732 words): Mulder’s guilt post-abduction. Do you like to feel miserable? Do you like to slip into a pit of unwavering guilt and wallow in beautiful words? Read this!

Redial by @theswisscheeserag (Teen and Up, 7,423 words): A frequent reread of mine! Set during Mulder and Scully’s quarantine post-Firewalker and told through a series of phone calls. This fic has everything you could possibly want: introspection, angst, fluff, humor, friendship and romance all mixed into one…it’s just really good in 1000 different ways. Endlessly rereadable.

until it heals by @actual-changeling (Teen and Up, 2,351 words): A post-Irresistible fic that captures all of the poetry, panic, and drama that is Season 2 MSR. Incredibly tender with some stunning inner monologue moments. A perfect coda to my favorite episode.

Authority and Gravity by Xecotcovach (Teen and Up, 2,338 words): Another excellent fic where Scully (with Mulder’s help) tries to deal with some of her season 2 trauma. Their dynamic here is very tender and their banter is just the right amount of sassy and quippy. Set after Fresh Bones.

If You’re Sinking, I Will Jump Right Over by SammyLovesASOIAF (Teen and Up, 1,642 words): An alternate version of End Game where things go…badly-but then Mulder has to confront his emotions!An interesting alternative, angst with a happy ending. Lovely poetic language; I have some lines from this that I remember word-for-word.

Our Town by @leiascully (Teen and Up, 813 words): Scully’s thoughts during and after the climax of Our Town. Very in-character, appropriately intense, really conveys the fear and desperation intertwined with Season 2 MSR.

Season 3:

Light in Dark Places by @agent-troi (Teen and Up, 2,697 words): Set in Season 3 but it’s really about Irresistible and Scully’s insecurities in general. Peak hurt/comfort, this one makes your heart hurt in the best possible way, and then it feels like a warm hug with the resolution.

Got You(r) Back by @shearmouth (Teen and Up, 4,933 words): This is THE injury fic for me. Set post-731. The hurt/comfort levels in here are unmatched. Scully’s internal monologue is perfect. Mulder is an actual puppy and Scully takes care of him and it makes my heart melt in all of the right ways.

stay close, listen by @actual-changeling (Teen and Up, 2,667 words): Post Pusher. Very angsty, but in the best possible way and with an extremely satisfying resolution. This fic definitely wins best-written: it’s essentially poetry, and its uses of metaphor and literary references are stunning. I can’t recommend this enough.

find me defenseless by @impulsive-astrophile (Mature, 7,421 words): Case fic! Do you like Mulder torture? Do you like badass Scully? If so, you will love this fic because it has both in spades (plus-spoilers-a wonderful ending to make up for the pain). Whenever I’m fed up with the show’s kidnapping ratio, I read this: it’s probably my most frequent reread. I will say that it is more violent than anything I’ve written, so be aware.

Unconfirmed timing but spoiler-free:

unravelling by @actual-changeling (General Audiences, 2,208 words): Scully wakes up to a familiar voice theorizing on her television. What follows is as sweet and humorous as it is charged and just a little tragic.

Shakespirited by orphan_account (Teen and Up, 13,670 words): A fic that I’m pretty sure was written specifically for me. Mulder and Scully go undercover in a Shakespeare troupe plagued by strange murders. If you like TXF and are a Shakespeare nerd, you will love this. Definition of a good time (but there’s some angst too-how could there not be?) I think there are some minor spoilers in here, but nothing to really tell you anything as long as you’ve seen up to Anasazi.

Sometimes You Need to Have Fun by @baronessblixen (Teen and Up, 1,192 words): Fluff written by the queen of fluff herself! Mulder and Scully go ice skating. It’s as adorable and sappy as it sounds.

Stupid Cupid by @mulderwearingglasses (General Audiences, 5,325 words): A Valentine’s Day fic! This features jealous Scully (a delight) as well as some excellent humor and fluff. Overall just a lovely time. There may be some minor spoilers in here, but nothing that told me anything.

[wannaliveattheholidayinn]

hello x files fandom.

would anyone happen to know what the title is of a post-revival fic where scully and mulder go out to lunch (brunch?) with scott, who happens to be scully's friend from jersey devil who transitioned later in life? i have been searching for it high and low but cannot find it, and i would like to reread it.

thank you x files fandom.

[baronessblixen]

AU where Mulder and Scully meet on karaoke night at a bar.

The other day I had an idea for a story and thought, don't I have a prompt for this? And I did. This story went in a completely different direction than planned: AU, a touch of magic, fake dating, first kiss, fate (wc: 1,655)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 26: I Saw Your Face In A Dream

He’s nursing a beer, listlessly playing with the edges of the label, tearing it off piece by piece. Neither of his friends notices his mood. Or they do notice it and decide not to comment. If that’s the case, Mulder can’t blame them. It’s been like this for weeks. Okay, maybe even months. A dark cloud follows him around, ready to open its gates and rain down on him.

Frohike would say that he’s full of bullshit and that the only dark cloud he has following him around is Diana Fowley, his girlfriend. His fiancée. He takes the beer bottle between his fingers, relishing the cold of the glass, the realness of it all. What doesn’t feel real is that he’s engaged to Diana. For all he knows, she’s planning their wedding right now, flowers and all. He takes a big gulp, trying to drown the feeling of dread he can’t shake off.

“Dude, stop staring,” Byers says, nudging Frohike. Mulder watches his friends and tries to find out what it’s about. Frohike’s eyes are glued to the stage where people are singing karaoke. That’s the whole reason they picked this bar; Frohike, Byers, and Langly can’t stay away from a karaoke night.

His job is to make sure neither of them gets too drunk and start a fight about which duet to sing before it inevitably ends in a discussion about songs sung by three people. As funny as they can be sometimes, Mulder loves his friends. And they stand by him, no matter what. Even if it means accepting Diana into their midst.

“I can’t. She’s magnificent.” Frohike is in his own world and Mulder can only chuckle. That is until he redirects his gaze to what – or rather who – has him so transfixed. The woman is small and if he weren’t so tall, he’s not sure he’d see her at all on this big stage.

She keeps shaking her head and laughing the cutest laugh in between her notes that she misses one after the other. She might be the worst singer he’s ever heard. He barely recognizes the song she’s singing, but he recognizes something else. A feeling of warmth spreads inside his chest. It’s hitting a home run, coming home after a long journey, and his favorite birthday as a child all rolled up into one.

“Now we’ve got two of them,” Langly laments. Mulder hears his friend, but he cannot look away from the woman on stage. She’s belting now, missing so many notes that it’s a miracle no one has booed her off yet. And yet, it’s his favorite version of Son of a Preacher Man. He takes in her appearance; her short, flaming-red hair, her perfect face, and the roundest eyes he’s ever seen. What color are they? He needs to know. Before this night ends, he needs to find out.

He’s never believed in love at first sight, even though he believes in everything else. Bigfoot? Of course, he exists. The Jersey Devil? Is surely out there. Love at first sight? Think again. That was until he laid eyes on her. There’s something about her that pulls him to her. Like something inside him was screaming, ‘Hey, I know you’. She's so familiar to him. As if they've spent a lifetime together already. She's not someone he's met at work. He'd know if she worked for the FBI. It must be something else. Something more like... destiny.

“I’m in love,” he murmurs, the words bubbling out of him while his eyes never leave her. She’s flinging her arms wildly and something tells him this isn’t like her at all. It makes him smile

“We know you love Diana,” Byers says. "We just don't know why."

“No, not her,” he says, without even thinking what he’s saying. He’s bewitched. Entranced. Completely out of his mind. Diana would hit him over the head if she were here. But she isn’t here. And with that vision in front of him, she slips from his mind quietly, without any fight at all.

“What are you talking about, dude?” Langly asks. “Are you serious right now? That woman can’t carry a tune and you two sit here like dogs.”

“I need to talk to her,” Mulder says. The song is coming to an end, and his heart is racing. He gets up from his chair and it almost tips over.

“I saw her first,” Frohike says, but Mulder barely hears him. One day he will apologize for ignoring him and for seemingly stealing the girl. He’s making his way through the tables, tipping over a bottle somewhere, but he fears that if he takes his eyes off her, she will disappear. Just like in his dream. It’s her. He knows it now. He's seen her in his dream. The dream he’s been having ever since he was a child. The flaming locks that surround him. That scare everyone else away but take him in, warming him, comforting him. He used to think the dream alluded to his own name – Fox. Now he knows better. Her. His heart can’t be wrong.

She’s standing at the bar now, her cheeks pink and flushed. She’s smiling, talking to a friend of hers. He keeps walking until he stops right in front of her. Her eyes, he realizes, are the bluest blue.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hi,” she says, mustering him. “Can I help you?” His eyes wander, taking her all in. Her form-fitting jeans that hug her curves most deliciously, and that shirt. Slightly too big on her, in a faded green, and an alien head prominently featured, sticking out its tongue.

“Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?” he asks.

“Logically, I would have to say no,” she says, her lips twitching.

“But your shirt.”

“Belongs to my sister.” She points at another redhead who is making out with a hot brunette. Mulder quickly tears his eyes away.

“It’s cool.”

“I’ll let her know.”

“Your singing was…” This is why he never does this. And he hasn’t had a chance to even try in a while. Diana seduced him. More than once. No matter how far he ran, or how hard he tried, she always got her claws back into him. Any moment now she’s going to decide he’s not worth it and walk off. His chance will be blown. He’ll never see again and his heart will shatter into a million pieces.

“I can’t carry a tune,” she admits. “I lost a bet. The only reason I’m here if you must know. I was just about to leave actually.”

“No,” he says quickly and she narrows her eyes. “I-I-I thought your singing was great or no I didn’t really but- I don’t know how to say this.”

“With words, I hope. Just say it.”

“I like you,” he blurts out. She huffs at him.

“You don’t even know me.”

“Give me a chance to get to know you. I saw you up there and I- this is going to sound crazy.”

“Everything you’ve said so far has sounded crazy.”

“I feel like I know you.” That gets him an eyebrow. “Not like that. Ugh, you must think I’m the world’s creepiest guy.”

“Maybe not the world’s, but…” She smiles at him, giving him a chance. All he has to do is take it.

“I think maybe our souls know each other.” He waits for her to laugh at him and walk off. She does neither. She regards him with a tilted head, probably trying to figure out what flavor of crazy he is exactly.

“That’s sweet, um, but I need to go home now. I'm starting a new job tomorrow.”

“Please.” It’s all he can say.

“I really-” she looks past him and he doesn’t know what she sees there, but panic flickers in her eyes. “Shit. Look, I don’t know you and this might be the biggest mistake of my life but you’re cute and my ex just walked in and it didn’t end well. I can’t believe I’m asking this but, can you pretend? For just a second that we’re… more than strangers?”

“As in-”

“Hey Dana.” A tall guy, older than her – and Mulder – walks up to them, certain of himself. Mulder stands up tall and feeling brave, loops his arm around the woman whose name he didn’t know until the guy said it.

“Hey Ethan.”

“Who’s this clown?” He stares at Mulder.

“He’s just- he’s-”

“This clown is her boyfriend,” Mulder says, his voice dark. “And if you bother her again, you will be very sorry.”

“Right,” Ethan says, laughing. “Listen, pal, Dana and I have history. We go way back.”

“You can go wherever you came from,” Mulder says. “But alone.”

“Let’s go have a beer, hm, Dana? Let’s talk.” Before Ethan can say another word, or persuade her, Mulder whirls her to him and she gasps when his mouth lands on hers. She melts into his arms, her own going around his neck. She presses against him, her kiss full of passion and questions. And Mulder feels the same. Something is happening. Something cosmic. When they break apart, Ethan is gone. They stare at each other with open mouths.

“Hello again,” Mulder says.

“I feel like… I feel like I’ve done this before. I feel dizzy.”

“Let me help you.” He takes her elbow and takes her to a chair.

“I’m Dana, by the way,” she says. “Dana Scully.”

“Fox Mulder. My friends call me Mulder. I think we were destined to meet,” he says. “Tonight, or any time. I recognized you. Or something in you. Destiny, fate. Call it whatever you want. You still think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“I don’t believe in destiny,” she says, “or fate, but I believe in choice.” She offers him a hand. Without hesitation, he takes it. “And maybe I do want to get to know you, Fox Mulder.”

[phillippadgettwrites]

The First Time, Every Time: The Jersey Devil

Rated X / 2470 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

She asks Rob to drop her off at the Hoover building instead of her apartment, and when he pulls up to the curb she immediately unbuckles her seatbelt and tugs on the door handle to discourage him from getting out of the car. She suspects that he might try to kiss her, and the idea makes her nose wrinkle. She can already hear Ellen asking her what’s wrong with him, why she isn’t interested, and she’s not even sure what her answer will be.

On paper, he’s perfect. He’s the kind of man her father would like to see her dating, save for the fact that he already has one marriage and a child under his belt. Nothing he said or did during their date offended her or gave her reason to think that they might not be a good match, but despite all that she just found the entire evening…painfully boring. She surprised herself when her reaction to Mulder paging her in the middle of their meal was relief rather than annoyance.

She makes her way towards the basement of the Hoover, her heels ticking loudly against the linoleum and bouncing a clatter of sound through the deserted halls. The soft glow of desk lamps illuminate otherwise darkened rooms here and there—other lonely souls avoiding the reality of solitude with work—but for the most part the building is empty. The relative stillness makes her realize that the two glasses of wine she downed to make Rob’s monologue on shared custody more tolerable have left her on the edge of tipsy, which feels like an inappropriate state to be in at her workplace. She feels the distinct flutter of excitement mount as the elevator lowers her into the bowels of the building, and brushes away the nagging worry that Mulder will find her late-night arrival odd.

Her lingering crush on him is inconvenient, mostly because it makes her second guess herself and worry about what he thinks of her more than she’s comfortable with. Missy used to tease her mercilessly about her unrequited fixation on boys who would never like her back: the captain of the football team, the student body president, her chemistry T.A. Being the girl who is smart but not sexy, cute but not pretty, a great friend but not girlfriend material, is a truth she has carried with her into adulthood. And here she is again, ditching a man who is well within her league and actually interested in her in order to spend time with a man who will never see her as anything more than a colleague.

That’s not to say she wants him to, of course—she has already thoroughly learned her lesson regarding mixing work and pleasure. There’s just something primal about wanting a person you are unrelentingly attracted to to see you in the same way, even if you never intend to act on it.

She arrives before his office door, pink-cheeked and inexplicably nervous, and raps three times with her knuckle.

“It’s open,” he calls out, and she pushes the door just wide enough to poke her head through.

Mulder is hunched over his desk, head raised expectantly. When he sees her, his eyes narrow and he glances behind him at the clock on the wall.

“Scully, what are you doing here? What happened to your date?” he asks, and she feels a flush of embarrassment.

“It’s, um—we were finished. I mean, it’s over,” she stammers awkwardly as she steps the rest of the way through the door. “I just thought—I wasn’t sure if you might still be working. If you might need my help. With the case,” she finishes, turning her back to him briefly as she hangs her purse and mouths oh my god to herself at her own lack of eloquence.

When she turns to face him, she finds that he’s now sitting back in his chair, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly agape. His eyes flash down to her feet and then back up her body, and when they land on her face he looks away. Reflexively, Scully looks down at her outfit to see if she spilled something on her shirt, then touches her hair in case it’s fallen out of place. Everything appears to be in order.

Mulder clears his throat and picks up a sheet of paper from the desktop.

“Of course, I could always use your help. Take a look at this drawing based on the description from one of the eyewitnesses,” he says, and Scully walks around the desk to stand beside him.

The drawing is rudimentary, almost childlike, depicting a distinctly female form that resembles an ogre. Scully cracks a smile.

“This is a bit different than your typical fare,” she jokes, then turns to look at him.

She finds that his eyes are already on her, lingering somewhere around her waist. As before, he sees that she’s looking at him and quickly averts his eyes.

“Sorry,” he blurts out, busying himself with organizing the persistent mess on his desk. “You look—sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Scully frowns and looks down at her outfit again. Ellen had helped her pick it out, and she felt comfortable and confident in it all evening, until now.

“Do I look silly?” she asks self-consciously, smoothing her hands over her hips.

“No!” Mulder says, too abruptly, snapping his head back over to look at her. “No, not at all. You look great. You look amazing, actually.”

Scully smiles demurely and looks back to the drawing. “Thank you.”

“Not that you don’t normally look great,” he continues, rambling nervously. “But your work suits are decidedly less…fitted.”

He stops talking and Scully slowly lifts her head to look at him. He’s cringing, the fingers of one hand resting on his temple in an attempt to shield his face. Meanwhile, she can’t keep the smile off hers.

“I made it weird, didn’t I?” he asks, stealing glances at her.

“No, you didn’t make it weird,” she assures him, turning to rest her hip against the edge of the desk, her confidence restored.

Mulder pivots his chair to face her, and while his eyes are on her face she can sense that he is still gawking at her from his periphery. She feels warm and a little scared, but also excited.

“So, how was your date?” he asks, and she pretends to examine the drawing again, using her own peripheral vision to watch him raking his eyes over her body.

“Fine,” she says, disinterested.

“You gonna go out with him again?”

She shrugs, then sets the drawing back down on the desk.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I haven’t decided.”

Mulder stands abruptly and his chair goes skittering across the floor until it knocks up against a metal filing cabinet. Scully flinches, but her reaction is cut short when he steps up behind her, so close she can feel his pectoral muscles pressing into her back.

“See?” he asks, reaching around her to trace his finger along the curved lines indicating breasts on the drawing. “It’s female.”

“Compelling,” she attempts to say dryly, but her voice catches in her throat.

His other hand comes to rest on the front of her hip, and she freezes as her heart begins to race. She should tell him to stop. She should leave. But she doesn’t want to.

Mulder stoops a little, and she feels the heat of his breath near her ear, and then the rush of a deep inhale.

“You smell good,” he says quietly, and she squeezes her thighs together.

“What are you doing?” she asks, just as quietly. Some part of her is still afraid that she’s misreading the situation.

“Do you want me to stop?”

A pause.

“No.”

His arms go around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she feels the firm ridge of his erection press into her lower back. She’s terrified, exhilarated, in utter disbelief. She feels as though she’s outside her own body, watching from above as she covers Mulder’s hand with her own and pushes it down her belly and under the waist of her pants. She would never do this. Never. But somehow she is. Mulder makes a little sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh, then brings his other hand in to undo the clasp on her trousers. They fall to the floor, puddling around her heels, and all that covers her is the lace bodysuit that snaps between her legs. None of her panties were practical to wear beneath it.

“God, look at you,” Mulder mumbles, mostly to himself, as he leans over her shoulder to look down at her body. He leans away for a moment to get a look at the back, and she feels her cheeks warm, remembering that it’s a thong. “You’re gorgeous, Scully.”

She can feel how wet she is, just from the knowledge that he wants her. He palms her breasts, then sends his hands lower. Down and down, following the lace fabric between her legs. He hums, and she knows he feels it too. She startles as she hears three quick pops, and then feels cool air on her vulva as he unsnaps the body suit and exposes her.

“Oh,” he says, feeling her bare skin beneath his fingertips. “I thought you’d be wearing…sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she breathes out, trembling as his fingers follow the seam of her leg and slide past her vulva on one side, and then the other.

“Okay?” he repeats, inching closer to her opening.

She snakes her arm behind her back and rubs him firmly over his slacks.

“Okay,” she says confidently, and from there it unravels at a breakneck pace.

She watches from above as he strips off his belt and pushes his pants and boxers down to the floor. She watches him fold her in half over the side of his desk, then drop to his knees and push his face into the valley of her ass cheeks. She feels his tongue, hot and wet, prodding at everything he can reach, and just when she thinks she might come, he stands up and runs the head of his cock along the same path.

“You’re sure?” he asks through gritted teeth, and she pushes her hips back against him, taking him in halfway.

She would never do this. Not with her partner, not in his office, not with the door half open, not without a condom. She would never, and yet she is. All she can think about his how good it feels to be wanted, to be fucked with so much vigor. She steals a glance over her shoulder to see his face, to see the way he’s looking at her, and she finds him slack-jawed, his dress shirt bunched up under his armpits so he can see the place where he’s slipping in and out of her. He catches her looking and holds her eye, increasing the snap of his hips as he bumps her higher and higher with each slap of his thighs against hers. Her eyes slide closed, and a wash of pleasure spreads through her limbs, gathering in her pelvis and shattering. She bites her lip to stay quiet, and Mulder grunts when he feels her, pulling out soon after and stroking himself until she feels the hot spill of him on her lower back.

She’s panting, still floating in the middle place where she doesn’t have to think about what she’s just done. And then she hears the elevator ding.

They both freeze, waiting. There is the distinct scuff of shoes on linoleum, and Scully stands too quickly. Her head spins and Mulder grabs her elbow as she tries to steady herself on her high heels, only one of which is still on her foot. They each scramble back into their clothes, and she stuffs the tails of the body suit into her pants as Mulder shoves his shirt back into his slacks. By the time the interloper makes it to the office door, she’s already beside the coat rack, swinging her purse over her shoulder.

“You must be agent Scully,” says a friendly voice, and she turns to see an elderly man pushing a custodial cart, his bushy salt and pepper eyebrows lifting to afford him a better view. “You finally hung around late enough for me to meet you.”

The man smiles and Scully does her best to return it, though her stomach is doing adrenaline-fueled backflips.

“Scully, this is Sam,” Mulder says hoarsely, and she nods and offers her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Sam. I was actually just on my way out,” she says somewhat curtly, then hurries down the hall toward the elevator.

By the time she hails a cab and makes her way back to her apartment, there is already a message waiting for her on her answering machine. She knows it’s from him. She undresses right there in the hallway, frowning at the stain on the back of her shirt, as she hits play and listens to messages from her insurance broker and Ellen, asking how her date went.

Hi Dana, it’s Rob. I just wanted to say that I had a great time tonight, and I’d love to take you out again. You have my number, give me a call when you’re ready. Take care.

Delete.

The next message starts with an agonized sigh.

Hey, Scully, it’s me. I, um—fuck. I hope you’re okay. I’ll call you again when I get back to my apartment.

The message ends, and she plays it again, though she’s not entirely sure what she’s listening for. On her third listen, the phone rings, and she snatches it up off the cradle a little too quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

There’s a long pause. Scully looks down at her naked body, and the soiled body suit she still holds in her hand.

“It’s okay, Mulder. I’m fine,” she says, and she hears him let out a relieved sigh. “I think maybe I had a few too many glasses of wine at dinner,” she adds lightheartedly, and he chuckles.

“I think maybe I was staring at that drawing a little too long,” he jokes, and she gives him the courtesy of a laugh in response.

“Maybe just forget it ever happened, huh?” she suggests, wringing the bodysuit in her hands.

“Yeah, probably for the best,” he agrees.

Another long pause.

“Goodnight, Mulder.”

“Night, Scully.”

She’s moving the phone away from her ear when she hears him speak again.

“What was that?” she asks.

“I was just saying—I just wanted you to know. You really did look great tonight. That guy is lucky he got to take you out.”

She feels herself smiling, knowing that Mulder was certainly the lucky one of the two tonight.

“Thank you, Mulder.”

“Goodnight.”

“Bye.”

[enigmaticxbee]

XF Rewatch Series - Fic Recs

When you want to remember how it all was (or series-spanning fics that didn’t fit into my season by season lists):

Episode by Episode Rewatch Series:

TXF: Scenes in Between by @scullywolf - missing scenes for every episode through season 9!

201 Days of X Files by @30xf - through season 4

The FBI’s Most Unwanted by @leiascully - through season 3

All Eyes Lead to the Truth by @admiralty-xfd @fridaysat9 @monikafilefan @gaycrouton - third person perspectives on each episode, WIP currently through season 2

219 by @freckleslikestars - smutty fic for every episode, currently though Jersey Devil, NSFW

First Time, Every Time by @phillippadgettwrites - first time fic for every episode, currently through Conduit, NSFW

Check-In Vignettes:

Birthdays by @syntax6 - birthday fics each season through season 7

if the fates allow by @all-these-ghosts - Christmas with Mulder and Scully, 1993-2016

Movie Night by @i-gaze-at-scully - movie nights throughout the series

Fraternize by @admiralty-xfd @gaycrouton - a series of motel room trysts, NSFW

Inspection by @ingridgradient - for seven years, Mulder and Scully give each other tick checks in motel rooms, NSFW

#45 Hegal Place by @admiralty-xfd DanaScullyMakesMeFeelAutopsyTurvy - There’s never a dull moment when your neighbor is Special Agent Fox Mulder

This Woman's Work by @admiralty-xfd - the series through the eyes of Margaret Scully

Seventeen by @scapegrace74-blog - Explores how Mulder's sexual relationships shaped (and mis-shaped) him as a man. Each chapter represents a different partner. Mulder/Other, ultimately MSR, NSFW

X Files Rewatch Series by skuls - unconnected stories throughout the series, some canon-compliant, some not

if I am hopeful by @all-these-ghosts - Scully ficlet for every season

ever since, ever since, ever since by breakfastsandwich - scully realizes nine times over that mulder may in fact love her

Times Fox Mulder Cried by @frangipanidownunder - every season through the revival

these tornadoes are for you (or times she loved him back) by audries - vignettes throughout the series

5 A.M. by @kateyes224 - Five times Scully found herself awake at 5 a.m., and the one time she wasn’t alone

Kisses by @peacenik0 - two times Scully told Mulder “don’t do that again”, and one time she didn’t

Choose Your Poison by Solia - Five times Scully had too much to drink (and one time she had just the right amount of liquid courage!)

To Satisfy Your Expectant Tongue by @givesmevoice - The power and love of being seen and someone knowing how you take your tea.

Wake-Up Calls by lapsed_scholar - Government-issued cell phones are remarkably identical. (Or, Four times Mulder answered Scully's phone at an incriminating hour, and one time she answered his)

Canon Parallel Stories:

Incrementum by @lepus-arcticus - the progression of their relationship if they started sleeping together in the pilot, NSFW. WIP, currently through season 8

Triptych by @iconicscullyoutfits - married to Diana AU

Nuptiae Sub Rosa by @sisterspooky1013 @xfmaweezy - secret marriage AU

I've got you under my skin by cuits - In a universe where soulmate identifying marks exist and affect a part of the population, would Mulder and Scully's relationship evolve any different? Unfinished but complete through Existence so it still ends in a satisfying place.

Enough by @atths--twice - the progression of their relationship if they started sleeping together when the X-Files are shutdown in season 2, NSFW

He is the Master of His Fate, She is the Captain of Her Soul by @scullylikesscience - the progression of their relationship season 7 through IWTB era

Culmination by @admiralty-xfd - Mulder and Scully's journey of the heart, step by (baby) step.

[deathsbestgirl]

my posts: x files season one

pilot

names + respect

deep throat

history of deep throat

squeeze

on tom colton

full episode + comments

necklace scene

addition to necklace scene

thoughts (twitter edition)

scully's a gossip

conduit

squeeze + pilot mentions

ending scenes

that scene

the jersey devil

full episode (reminiscing)

shadows

full episode

ghost in the machine

on jerry

tag thoughts

ice

scene

full episode

thought + fic rec

fire

phoebe green

full episode/scully+phoebe contrast

beyond the sea

belief/specific scene

full episode

tweets

belief/faith/religion

lazarus

scully's perspective

full episode

final scene script

miracle man

twitter edition

mulder (check notes/follow up pending)

[wanderlustqueen-writes]

Hello Alice 🤎

Sorry to sneak into your ask box but I loved 'The Truth is out there, but so is Love' and I need more X Files LeviHan!

I don't know if you take prompts but if you do I'd like to request a drabble based on this quote : "Mulder Levi, you just keep unfolding like a flower." (The X Files - S1 - Episode 12 "Fire"). Because I (and Hange) want to know more about Agent Ackerman's past!

Feel free to ignore this request of course!

Thank you

🤎🤎

Hi Livia! Thank you so much for your request and for your kind words. It makes me genuinely happy to know you liked this fic 💜💚

I'm sorry it's taken so long to reply to this, I was just having a hard time figuring out what to write. Then, I realized the first anniversary of The Truth Is Out There, But So Is Love was approaching, and everything fell into place. I hope you don't mind that I made your prompt into a celebratory drabble for the fic's anniversary! ________________________________________

Pairing: Levi Ackerman/ Hange Zoë Warnings: None. SFW and Fluff. Additional tags: The X Files AU, She/Her pronouns for Hange Zoë Wordcount: 1,4k

“The fuck is all this?”

Levi asked as he stepped into the basement office. Over the past months, he’d grown used to the crampiness of the space he shared with Agent Zoë who — much to her credit — had been trying to keep things clean, even if chaotic. But what he stared upon right now was a different kind of chaos. Colorful chaos.

The document boxes and cabinets were covered in metallic serpentine coils, which spilled to the ground, painting it red, green, and yellow. The wall of newspaper cutouts had some joyful additions: a picture of an alleged alien head now had a tiny pink birthday hat over it, the severed arm that an article claimed to belong to a victim of the Jersey Devil held a little slice of cake over its hand. Dozens of purple balloons clung to the ceiling, trying to escape the havoc, their curling ribbons hanging so low one of them grazed at Agent Ackerman’s cheek. Levi pushed the strip away, only to have it prickling at his skin a second later.

“Tch. It looks like Party City took a dump in here.”

“I know, right??” The excited voice called from the other side of the room. Agent Zoë sat at her table, face turned to the opposite wall, exactly like the day they met. Her hair was chaotic as always, brown strands moving as she lowered her head to fiddle with something. Levi watched as his partner set aside a small box, and the smell of smoke mixed with something sweet diffused in the air. Hange put on a polka-dotted cone hat before swiftly turning her chair in his direction, smiling from ear to ear.

“Happy birthday, Levi!”

The agent frowned as he inspected the rainbow sprinkle cupcake she held out to him, especially the “1” shaped candle that topped it.

“I’m 32.”

He moved his gaze to her.

“And it’s not my birthday.”

“Well,” Hange started, reaching for his hand to give him the sweet treat “Since I don’t know your birth date, I figured we could celebrate your first year in the X-Files. It’s been exactly 365 days since you walked through that door for the first time.” There was a tinge of genuine warmth in her final words. The same warmth that he felt in his chest.

“The monkey case? It’s been one year already?” Levi asked, sincerely surprised.

“Yes!” Hange said, reaching for a desk calendar that was on one of the cabinets. She pointed at the date that was circled in red “July 26”.

When he was first assigned to work with Agent Zoë, Levi was counting the minutes to be done with the job and move on to the top floors of the J Edgar Hoover Building. Now, a mere year later, still buried in the basement floor, investigating all kinds of weird shit by Hange’s side, he couldn’t imagine himself doing anything else. Time flies in the X Files.

The sound of Hange cleaning her throat pulled him back to reality

“So, when is your birthday, by the way?” she said, feigning casualness

Silence.

“Come on, Levi! At least give me a clue.”

“Fine.”

Hange’s face lit up.

“It happened one time since we met.”

Hange’s smile melted into a hilarious betrayed scowl and Levi had to fight hard to maintain his nonchalant expression.

“Wow,” she said, with an exaggerated wounded look “Levi, you just keep unfolding like a flower.”

He couldn’t fight the urge to smile this time.

“I just don’t celebrate birthdays,” he explained, appeasing his partner “so I refrain from sharing this date with people. But if you’re really so curious, I’m sure you can find that information very easily.

“It wouldn’t feel right” Hange explained, shrugging as if she was ready to drop the subject, but then “That means you never had a birthday party?” she asked, bobbing her head to the side. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to!” she quickly added.

“My mom made me a few when she was alive, but I hardly remember any of them” Levi recounted as faded flashes of his mother lifting him from the ground and holding him above a colorful table to blow his candles invaded his mind. “There was one party my friend threw me. The red-haired friend, from the foster home, I think I told you about her once-”

“The one that was like your little sister.” Hange nodded, eyes fixed on him, waiting for his next words.

“Exactly. She bought us two handfuls of candy, I don’t even know where she got the money, probably beat some kids at marbles or something” Levi chuckled “Then she arranged them on the bed, in the shape of a birthday cake. It was a surprise party too, because it was nowhere near the right date.” He smiled, his heart full of love as he reminisced about his friend, and when he looked up, Hange had the sweetest smile on her face.

“Did you ever contact her?” “I planned to. We promised we would stay in touch. But as it turns out, the adults weren’t very keen on sharing the families’ information with a couple of kids. Over time I even forgot her name, I just have a vague memory of someone saying that it was also a flower”

“What flower??” Hange all but jumped on him to get the answer.

“Jesus! How should I know? I know fuck-all about flowers.”

Hange nodded, but Levi could see in her eyes that her mind was elsewhere.

“How about we just celebrate Christmas?” Levi’s proposition caught his partner's attention.

“I don’t do Christmas” Hange answered, puzzled.

“Me neither. Is the perfect middle ground, don’t you think?”

It really was.

Or so he thought when December 25 came and with it an invite to Hange’s apartment.

Levi dreaded he would find over-the-top decorations or — even worse — a bunch of guests with whom he would have to socialize. So when he crossed her door he was relieved to see that it was just her usual place, mess and all, with just a pizza box and one beer bottle awaiting on the small center table. The other bottle was in Hange’s hand, and she used it to point him to the couch, as she went on to feed her fish.

The movie this time was Hange’s choice, and Levi wasn’t surprised when the opening scene of Alien started playing on TV. He was surprised, however, to know why it was her favorite film.

“I like the fact that the cat survives.” She told him “Ripley goes through all that trouble to save Jonesy as she’s running for her life. Then the creature finds Jonesy in his cage and spares him. I think I like the fact that both the human and the alien had to act in a certain way, opposite of what one would think, and that made it possible for the cat to live. I think it means we’re not so different. Or that everyone is more complex than they appear.”

“Maybe it just means cats are fucking scary.”

She laughed, lightly kicking his foot.

As the final credits rolled, Hange propped herself up from the couch.

“I have something for you.”

When she came back from her room, she was holding something flat and rectangular, wrapped in green paper, with a delicate purple ribbon. Levi opened it to reveal a book.

Botanical World 1: An Illustrated Guide To The Flowers of America

He stared at the gift for a whole minute, knowing what it meant.

“If we don’t find her name in this one, there are four more, for Africa, Asia, Europe, and Oceania.”

Levi gulped, trying to swallow the painful knot that was in his throat.

“We can go through it together.” Hange tried, then added, a few seconds later “Or If you don’t like it I can take it back. Anyway, Merry Christmas, Levi, or Happy non-Christmas, I don’t know” Hange chuckled nervously and stared at him expectantly.

“I think” Levi paused, taking his time to look Hange in the eyes “Happy Birthday is more appropriate.”

Levi patiently waited as his partner peered at him. Then squinted. Tilted her head to the side. Her eyes started to grow wide as realization dawned on her.

Hange gave him the most breathtaking smile, and suddenly Levi wasn’t sure what the best birthday present was.

[california-112]

Hi! For the ask game, W (which season is your favorite and why?) and O (one moment you never stop thinking about?). Thanks! <3

I also wanted to say I love reading your episode reactions, they’re so fun to see cause I’m on season five too!

I crave asks and yet am scared of answering them. A few weeks later, let's begin!

Which season is your favorite and why?

Oooh, a difficult one. Probably S1. We get baby agents, absolute maximum monster of the week episodes, Tooms, and the general vibe of the show is much more chill before the mytharc gets going. Mulder seems more like a conspiracy theorist than an FBI agent in the best possible way, and it's very endearing.

The show doesn't quite take itself seriously yet, and is still establishing both main characters, their back stories, their interests etc.. It does so in a very delightful way, with highs and lows of their lives, and doesn't feel like infodumping- we really do just get to know them as a normal pace. Or, y'know, as normal as ten episodes a day is.

Plus, we get some excellent hurt/comfort moments (Deep Throat, Jersey Devil, Beyond The Sea, Fire, to name a few).

Also, Mulder is very gender (I'll give you that this is not exclusive to S1, but it did hit me hardest in these early episodes).

One moment you never stop thinking about?

Spoilers for S04E23 'Demons'.

During the scene after the credits where Scully is checking Mulder over, asking him about pain, nausea, head injuries, etc., she asks very deliberately "Did you take anything, Mulder?".

It's the first time in this scene that she uses Mulder's name to get his attention, and that adds weight to the question. Whilst we learn later that, yes, he had been drugged, even if he himself didn't know it, the fact that Scully asks him so pointedly, attaching his name to get his attention and let him know that she's serious, makes me think that she's had to ask him a similar question before- and maybe, one time, the answer was yes.

Obviously, we don't see Mulder as a drug user in canon (at least not before S05E18, which is where I'm up to), but to my eyes, his personality and especially his mental state at times would definitely leave him open to the allure of drugs as a method of quieting his mind, making his thoughts and pains go away.

There are lots of moments that I think about frequently, but this one is particularly intriguing. Maybe someday I'll write a fic about it, who knows. Or, if someone else fancies a prompt...

Thank you for your questions! I'm glad as well that you like my liveposting, S5 has been very fun so far and I'm looking forward to continuing my watch :)

[numinousmysteries]

i obviously bleed MSR but don't you think mulder was at least a little in love with the jersey devil? like they totally have a moment when she's straddling him (before she nearly rips his lung out), he says she's beautiful, and is really mad when she gets shot.

also it would've been kind of hilarious (and not completely out of character) if she had survived and mulder insisted on trying to date her for a while. and like he asks scully to go to the mall with her to help her buy clothes since she has no concept of clothing (you know, because she's a neanderthal). and then he wants scully to find some guy so they can go on a double date but that ends poorly when his girlfriend tries to eat everyone.

also imagine him racking up a huge bill at the grocery store buying pounds of raw meat to keep her from taking a bite out of him. but sometimes she forgets and ends up nibbling a little anyway. and then scully has to treat his wounds because he can’t really go to any other doctor covered in human teeth marks. and scully keeps telling him how dangerous this is but he insists it was a mistake and she’s doing a lot better.

and like obviously this "relationship" doesn't last very long before she escapes back into the woods but scully does tease him about it for the rest of their lives.

i am dangerously close to writing this fic.

look at his face when she's on top of him!

[randomfoggytiger]

I know canon ends for you at season 8 but do you think Mulder and Scully would still move into the unremarkable house with William? Or do you think they would live somewhere less isolated? Sorry for the completely random question!

I love random questions! :DDDDD

Huh, hadn't thought of that. Mulder expressed interest in settling down in a life like Home; but at the same time, Scully expressed her disinterest in that dullness (while disguising it under what Mulder would grow bored of.)

I think they'd both want a yard for their son. Enough room for his and her furniture, and his and her pets. (Come to think of it: I don't believe I've read pre-post IWTB fic where Mulder still keeps fish....) I can see them staying in the city, though, until William starts to get a little older. By then, Mulder and Scully would have settled into their new lives-- be it as morgue physicians and consultants, or educators and freelancers, or any of the above as well as Colonization under-the-table-preventers.

So, yes, I can believe it-- Scully and Mulder have changed over the course of seven years, and no longer fit into typical American suburbia (never really sought it, despite Scully's romanticized view in The Jersey Devil, Dreamland I, and Arcadia.) I can even see them enjoying the seclusion more as they get older: away from prying eyes, so starkly different to their years under surveillance.

Or... maybe they didn't mind the surveillance, as long as they could live in the city. Maybe they'd move for William's growing up years, then gravitate back to the concrete jungle once he's out of the house.

What say you, anon? ...I need to make a poll.

[cinemaocd]

the internet as we know it at least as far as fandom spaces are concerned, was invented FOR doing just this talking about the X-files. Speculating about the Conversation on the Rock or if Scully would ever consider doing Jersey Devil Role Play for Mulder; posting long, speculative conspiracy ramblings about the over-arching alien plot and then going back to mooning over David Duchovny's ass or Gillian's tits. We really could not get enough x-files talk in our normal IRL so had to go onto message boards with total strangers.

The term "shipper" comes from X-files message boards, so does "OTP" and the sadly, now under-used "UST." When the online star wars fandom was still trading ASCII pics of darth vader via email, the X-files fandom was writing fic on message boards.

most people watch the x files because they either want to see aliens or watch mulder and scully kiss. coincidentally the x files is a show that is well known for avoiding showing us aliens at all costs and also not letting mulder and scully kiss.

[leiascully]

Fic: ascent (MSR, T)

5000ish words; T for drinking and sharing a sleeping bag; previously published but now released as a box set - the end of the Cabin in the Woods fics, written on the back of a postcard that says “I met the Montana Mountain Woman”

She can feel that they'll be leaving soon. Something in the water, maybe, or a tension in the air.

"Mulder," she says as she lies in his arms.

"Mm," he says. The shorthand of a thousand hotel rooms as they nodded over case files.

"There was a footprint," she says. "In the woods."

"Good place for it," he mumbles against her bare shoulder.

"An unidentifiable footprint," she says.

His stillness behind her is the frozen tableau of a hunting dog. How well she knows the feeling. Mulder, ready to slip his leash. Mulder, howling at the moon.

"Unidentifiable how?"

"As in, it couldn't be identified as any native species," she says. "Not according to my book."

"Your book would know," he says. His body idles behind her, rumbling with possibility.

"I thought you might want to know," she says. "Since you were a Guide."

"I was," he says. "We identified a lot of footprints. At least six."

"I know it's no Jersey Devil," she says.

"Hold that thought until we see the footprint," he says.

"The Jersey Devil is a human woman," Scully argues. "I can identify a human footprint, Mulder."

"The Mothmen didn't have normal human footprints," he bickers back. There must be some kind of record for a twenty-five year volley.

"I'll take you to it tomorrow," she says. "The weather report said it should be warm enough to camp if we need to. Can you pitch a tent, Mulder?"

"In so many senses," he tells her, nuzzling her neck. "I can't wait to monster mash with you again, Scully."

She makes her own version of the "mm", bespoke indifference, but she smiles into the dark and curls closer to him.

+ + + +

She shows him the footprint. It's cuneiform, a message only Mulder can read. She has deciphered forgeries scrawled in ancient Greek and alien script etched into an alien ship, but she will never see the world quite the way he does.

"It could be nothing," he says.

"It could be," she agrees.

He traces the outlines of the print with one fingertip without touching it.

"It might be something," he says at last.

"It might be," she agrees.

He looks up at her with jack o' lantern light in his eyes. The last few years have hollowed him out, but the flame still burns, diminished but bright.

"You already got me a birthday present, Scully."

She spreads her hands in feigned innocence. "I found a strange footprint. I thought you should know about it."

He straightens from his crouch, a reliquary unfolding. He winces as his knee creaks. They are older now, but there are still miracles inside them. He still has unfathomable depths.  She catches the glint of his thoughts like coins scattered on the sea floor.

"One last monster mash?" he says wryly. One last nice trip to the forest. One last ride before they saddle up the SUV and ride out of town.

"I thought you'd never ask," she says.

+ + + +

There are climbing packs at the cabin, and in the basement, they find an elaborate tent.

"It'll be cold up there, Scully," Mulder says.

"It won't be as cold as Antarctica," she tells him. "And I heard a hot tip about sharing sleeping bags to keep warm."

He grins, and for a moment, she glimpses the man she met in the basement, all mischief and melancholy.

It is difficult even for her to encompass the whole of their history. There are moments that seem mythical or unreal: the bonewhite cold of Antarctica where they almost froze to death, entwined like two ancient lovers; the depths of the forests where they've found Mothmen and luminous doom; the rusty red of the desert where he almost died and was reborn among boughs of cedar; the etched skylines of cities that sheltered monstrous secrets.

Maybe one day they'll write a memoir. The Rise and Fall of the X-Files or Curious True Tales of the Weird or A Field Guide to North American Cryptids. They would all be multivolume affairs, too bulky to pack along on a trip like this one.

They pack as lightly as they can, but Scully refuses to be less than thorough. They have wet gear, dry clothes sealed in plastic, matches in a waterproof container, a water filter, a kerosene lantern and a battery-powered one. There are sleeping bags and pads for them. She rolls the sat phone into a scarf, just in case. They have more than enough food. Mulder, somewhere along the way, bought camping rations. She packs them now: freeze-dried pasta, powdered stew, something that claims to be breakfast. Scully makes sure there's instant coffee, the best she can do unless she wants to boil it in the tiny saucepan. There are sandwiches for lunch, as if this were a picnic instead of a quest. Mulder carries the tent. She sees his spine straighten as he shoulders his pack.

One last monster mash. One last chance to be Mulder and Scully, seekers of truth and unravelers of mysteries.

She has seen so much that she cannot name, even now.

They hike past the familiar landmarks. She must have walked the fence twenty times now - not every day, but most days. It's easy to walk in the woods now. She steps with an accustomed wariness, a low-level skepticism of her footing and her surroundings. Mulder crunches along beside her. They negotiate the wires of the fence, passing the bags over and contorting themselves through, and then they're in new territory, beyond the boundary and breaking trail. For a while, they follow the faint ruts of what serves as a road. She doesn't know who made it or how often they travel this way, but there are two paths worn away through the woods, tire-wide and truck-spaced. Mulder pauses once in a while to look at the ground or at some foliage. He must have been an excellent Guide: a serious boy, noticing every detail, cross-referencing it in that incredible mind of his.

Up and up they go. She's breathing fast, but not struggling, though the air is thinner than she's used to. The pack is strapped tight to her body. She feels as if she could walk for weeks this way. They could walk off the map today, hike north until their resources and bodies are exhausted. This journey has tried to end her often enough. At least this would be on their terms.

The sun is high and they eat sandwiches: turkey with cranberry mustard that was in the fridge when they arrived. She wonders if she would like the person whose home they're borrowing. Something about it reminds her of the Lone Gunmen. For a moment, she mourns them all over again, gazing into the trees without seeing them. A wordless prayer stirs the leaves. When they begin again, her footsteps count off her own ersatz rosary: faith, hope, and sacrifice. Blessed are the ghosts that drift in their wake. Blessed are the lost and the found.

They stop as the day dims to evening. They left the road behind hours ago. She let Mulder pick their path through the woods; she trusts his instincts. In a clearing cobbled with rocks, they pitch the tent, clearing a space and assembling it together, staking the corners down tight. Scully builds a pit for the fire out of the rocks as Mulder finds wood, and together they bank the branches and kindle the flame. There's a stream. Scully fills the filter pouch with water and brings it back to boil at the edge of the fire.

"Haute cuisine," Mulder says when the food is reconstituted.

She pretends to misunderstand him and blows exaggeratedly on her food. "Very haute," she says solemnly, and he laughs.

She would put that laugh in her Field Guide to Fox Mulder. The particular timbre of this chuckle is close to a guffaw: genuine amusement and relaxation.

"Think we're going to find anything?" she asks at last, belly full of something that was chewier than stew ought to be.

He stirs the fire with a stick. "That's the mystery, isn't it?"

Sparks crackle up, becoming stars. The world is full of wonders not yet discovered and some part of her is restored. She didn't know she needed there to be unknowns until Mulder, that she wanted to live on a map that said "here be monsters". She didn't know how much she craved the inexplicable.

Somewhere, out in the woods, a creature picks its own path, or maybe it's only the idea of the creature, some smudged shadow, some half-seen flicker of movement. The world is wider than she knows and that, somehow, is a comfort.

Mulder slips his arm around her and says nothing, but she hears. Together they gaze up at the sky, animate stardust calling out to the cosmos.

+ + + +

She boils more water, makes one hot toddy with the flask of whiskey and lemon that she packed. They pass it back and forth, half-reclined on the largest, flattest rock. Her body is loose, warm, brimming with the weary satisfaction of having done good work.

"Do you think we'll find something?" she asks, gazing into the fire. Mulder passes her the mug and she takes it without looking.

"I don't know," he muses. "I hear there's sasquatch in these woods."

"A reliable source tell you?" she asks, passing the toddy back.

"Something like that." He sips.

"The Jersey Devil," Scully says. "I wonder what happened to her."

"Maybe she's the Montana Mountain Woman now," he says. "Twenty years is enough time for an odyssey."

"Theoretically," she says, "twenty years should be enough for all of us to make it home."

"She might be happier here than in Atlantic City," he says. "I mean, look at this." He waves his hand to encompass all of it: the stars, the trees, the crisp night air, the crackling sense of wonder that suffuses all of it. That is the thing she has never been able to explain. Around Mulder, she sees the world from a different angle, obliquely, with some sort of second sight. The things that they glimpse are not always wonderful, but they are almost always marvelous. Every horror and mutant is some proof of more in heaven and earth than she dreamt of before, in her philosophy.

Even if they find nothing out of the ordinary, she has found this. How extraordinary to be on an adventure again with this man. They have sought, fruitfully and fruitlessly, for so much in their lives. What a miracle that they might find something. What a miracle that they are still seeking, after all these years, another marvel, proof positive.

She wants the Jersey Devil to have become the Montana Mountain Woman. She wants something wild and free to have thrived in the interim while she and Mulder were fighting for survival.

Under the dome of the heavens they sit and drink and talk and think and love each other, a little bit wild, a little bit free.

+ + + +

They go to sleep whiskeywarm and satisfied. Mulder has brought one of the battery-powered cameras like the ones on the fence. He clips it to the top of the tent before he crawls inside and zips the flap shut. They have banked the fire, but the scent of woodsmoke lingers on their skin. Scully strips down to her long underwear, stuffing her clothes into the foot of the sleeping bag, and watches Mulder peel away his own layers. They have always been getting to the heart of each other. It's nice to see a less metaphorical representation of every skin they've shed in their metamorphosis into this Mulder, this Scully, this partnership, this vigilante love.

They zip the sleeping bags together and lie in each other's arms. Despite their best efforts, the ground is still too lumpy to be comfortable, but they caress each other and murmur back and forth, half-formed thoughts about wild things, cryptid research and rumor, how a Jersey Devil or a Bigfoot might survive in this environment, the potential for isolation, and the resources that the mountains produce.

They have been further from civilization, but she has never felt so much on the edge of things. There is an exultation in relying on their own wits, their own strength. Despite the borrowed equipment, she feels liberated. For all the oddities of Mulder's network of contacts, she has always found them generous almost to a fault, freely sharing the information they've gleaned and the stores they've prepared.

Something rustles in the middle of the night, but she's too deep in Mulder's embrace to do more than blink, sigh, and nestle back against his chest, breathing in the warmth of him as her eyelashes catch on the weave of his thermal shirt.

When they wake and dress and stretch to the extent the tent allows, frowsy with sleep and disheveled and staticky, she looks at him and feels a pang of pure, unadulterated happiness, the joy that cuts like a knife. After everything, she can still be happy, if mostly in moments like sudden beams of light on a cloudy day, Jacob's ladders set against a backdrop of storms. She smiles at him and he beams back and unzips the tent flap. Cold air spills in, eddying around her feet and ankles, and she hastens to put on her boots.

Outside the tent there are footprints.

+ + + +

He steps out of the tent, balancing on one lanky leg like a heron to avoid disturbing the footprints. Scully watches, holding her breath. Mulder leans down, deciphering a code as enigmatic to her as Navajo once was. He bites at his lip and then slowly looks up at her.

The light in his eyes pulls her toward him, but it's the same tug that hauls the water out of a harbor before a tidal wave. After an endless pilgrimage, Mohammed endlessly striving toward a mountain no one else could see, the mountain has come, in the form of an actual mountain morse-coded with strange prints of strange paws.

"Scully," he says, and his voice almost cracks. "Scully, look at this."

She almost wishes she could say that she did this: found a suitable image, cast a mold, and slipped out of the sleeping bag in the middle of the night to stop around with an ersatz pair of feet. It would have been worth it for the joy that it's brought him. But this is better. The truth is always a fine and precious thing: that's been their code all along. Obediently she gazes into the shallow depressions. They're roughly foot-shaped, not outside the range of ordinary, if large, foot size. There is a matted tuft of hair pressed into one of the toe marks. The prints patter here and there, a dashed line interrupted by the rocky ground.

Whatever it was left their food alone in its tree and didn't disturb the fire, although there are deeper prints in front of the pit, as if it crouched and warmed itself over the embers.

"This has to be real," he says. She runs through the litany of possibilities in her mind as he reels them off. "Who could have followed us up here? Nobody even knows we're here, and nobody else lives within 50 miles in this direction. It's protected land. There's nothing living in this woods that could perpetrate a hoax like this. They had to have been made while we were asleep, because they cross our tracks and we would have noticed."

"Mulder," she says, "this is incredible."

"She found us," he says. He beams, and it warms her like sunlight. "She found us."

Automatically, Scully looks for the camera that was clipped to the tent. With their luck, it will be gone, and it is, but she sees it a moment later on the ground next to the tent. It has slipped off the slick nylon. She picks it up, turns it over in her hand. It appears undamaged. She offers it to Mulder, who takes it as reverently as if it were some saintly relic, a fragment of bone to pray over.

"This is it," he says.

"You were right," she says. "There was something out here."

"Or someone," he corrects.

"I don't even have an argument," she says. "That footprint looks humanoid to me."

He throws his arms out, the ecstasy of discovery overwhelming the both of them and crashing through the clearing. She's astounded that the shock of it doesn't disturb the ground or shake the trees.

"God, I needed this," he says as if it's a prayer, and she surprises herself by agreeing.

Making coffee seems such a mundane act after such a revelation, but Scully goes to the creek for water anyway. That's the part that Mulder has never been expert at: life going on. When she comes back and stirs the fire back to life, Mulder is stepping back and forth across the tracks, filming with the tiny camera. He follows the trail across the clearing, recreating the movements of whatever it was. He collects the hair in one of the plastic bags from yesterday's sandwiches. Scully says nothing about contamination. Surely any test they manage to run can control for turkey and mustard. Surely there are no wheat-based monsters in the wilds of Montana.

By the time the coffee is ready, Mulder has finished gathering his evidence. He tucks the camera carefully into his pocket and joins Scully, sharing the coffee mug back and forth. She makes a second cup as he sorts through the freeze-dried food for breakfast-appropriate options. The existence of powdered eggs is in its way, no less stunning than the apparent existence of some sort of wood-dwelling humanoid, but much less exciting.

The world looks new, and it isn't just the glinting edges of frost on the trees. There is something fresh in the air beyond the cold. Their journey toward the truth has no destination, but she feels they have reached some long-rumored waystation, some haven.

"Bigfoot is real," she murmurs to herself.

"We'll print postcards," he says. "Someday."

"Welcome to Montana," she says. "Home of the Mountain Woman."

"I saw the Montana Mountain Woman," he counters.

"I walked a mile in the Montana Mountain Woman's tracks," she offers.

"There it is," he says. "We'll alert the press when we leave. Maybe they'll rename the high school mascot after her."

"Now that's a legacy we can be proud of," she says, and leans against him as the sun deglazes the forest.

+ + + +

The morning is sliding into afternoon before they're done cataloguing the footprints, taking images from various angles, measuring as best they can with what they've got. The shadows of the trees are already deepening into mystery when Scully looks up.

"I think we should stay another night," she says.

Mulder checks the batteries on the camera. "Scully, that might be the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

She smiles. "I doubt we'd get far enough down the mountain before it gets dark. We've still got food."

He taps his temple. "See? Latent psychic ability."

"Mulder, there's no reason latent psychic ability would manifest at your age."

"Maybe it's a symptom of my rebirth," he says, and for a moment the pain in his eyes is deeper than the darkness under the trees. But only for a moment.

They spend the afternoon casting in circles around their campsite, but the Mountain Woman or the Jersey Devil or whatever has visited them moves through the forest without leaving much trace. Mulder tries to follow the track and winds up back at the campground.

"I guess it's just as well," he says. "I don't want to get lost in the woods tonight."

"Maybe she'd escort you back," Scully teases. "Everyone knows the forest is no place for a guy like you."

"If I did go wild, it would be in a place like this," he muses, setting down his pack. "Would you go wild with me, Scully?"

"According to the Bureau, we're already feral," she points out.

"I prefer untamable," Mulder says. "I can't be broken."

She just smiles at the absurdity of a statement so fractured it reads a different way from every angle and pushes twigs into the fire pit.  They fetch water and heat it, build up the fire, make lunch and then dinner in pouches. There's still a nip of whiskey to share.

She crawls alone into their double sleeping bag. Mulder sits at the tent flap, still wearing his jacket.

"Don't stay up all night," she says. "You'll scare her off."

"She'll come," he says with confidence.

She wakes up again in the middle of the night to a rustling noise, but it's Mulder sliding in next to her, cool and warm in patches so that she murmurs a protest.

"Did you see her?"

"I think you were right," he says. "I think she won't come until we're asleep."

"Oh," she says, and is drifting again, and she hears nothing else.

+ + + +

Scully wakes up in the early morning. The tent glows like she's underwater, rays of sunlight dissipating through the blue nylon. She eases the stiffness out of her muscles and slips out of the sleeping back into the cold. She can smell woodsmoke in her hair and the faint aroma of her own sweat on her skin as she dresses in the clothes from two days ago. It's oddly comforting. The fabric sits against her skin now like she's always worn these things. She folds the roll of toilet paper into her jacket pocket and goes to find a convenient tree. She unzips the flap of the tent and clambers out, sealing Mulder back into the seawater belly of it.

When she looks out across the clearing there's a mane of tangled hair in the trees. She thinks it's a shrub at first, or some thicket of bramble, but then it blinks, and she sees that the pale oval is a face, not a sunbeam falling in just the right way through the leaves, and that the shadows delineate arms, legs, the long span of a back.

As soon as she takes in all of this, the creature - the mountain woman, the sasquatch, whatever she is - is gone.

"Mulder," she says faintly, but it isn't worth waking him. Besides, some part of her wants this moment to herself. He has been the sole witness to so many of these incidents or phenomena or tall tales. She holds this one inside her, cupped like a robin's egg, fragile and beautiful. She has endured many miracles, but this - this is some other magic. And she was witness to it.

She takes care of the things she needs to do behind a tree and washes her hands in the creek before she gets water and boils it for coffee. These mundane things, the ordinary tasks of percolating and stirring, seem both special and frustratingly quotidian. No wonder Mulder always fumed and bubbled over after a case.

There have been other moments like this in her life, but never one that was only hers, as clear as this, as lovely as this. This morning, she wasn't in peril. She didn't fear the mountain woman or whoever that was under the thicket of hair, in the cover of the trees. They shared something, she and the mountain woman. She has rarely communicated with any of Mulder's unlikely beasts in any way she's cared to remember. She'll remember this one: the light, the shape of her, the stillness, the sudden recognition.

Behind her is the noise of a zipper and Mulder stumbles out of the tent, a rangy hound scenting for coffee. She pushes the toilet paper into his hand and he crunches away into the underbrush. When he comes back, he accepts the mug of coffee and gazes around the clearing.

"Nothing new?" he says, and it's only half a question.

"Nothing around the tent," she says.

"Huh," he says, casting about.

"Mulder," she says slowly, "I saw her."

"What?"

"I saw her," she says. "The mountain woman." She points. "She was there, just under the trees."

"That's amazing," he says, already moving toward the spot. She watches him cast back and forth, but he doesn't seem to find what he's looking for. Scully sips at the weak coffee and lets the sunlight play over her skin.

"She knows how to hide herself," he says, coming back to her. "A couple of broken twigs, a few crushed leaves. You'd never know she was here."

"But she was," Scully says simply.

"I believe you," he says.

They disassemble the campsite after breakfast, soaking the ashes of the campfire and packing all the bits of equipment away in their neat packages. It's easier going down the mountain. They make good time, skidding down the occasional slope and slipping easily through the fence. The cabin is a welcome sight. She's ready for a shower and a meal that isn't reconstituted.

The next morning she makes coffee in a machine, toasts bread in the oven. She can feel herself pacing the same grooves of her routine, making her circuit of the kitchen and the living room. Mulder comes in yawning and makes eggs for himself. She sits at the table with her coffee and her toast and her local butter and jam, watching him perform his part of their version of domesticity. Winter is coming and they should move on. She knows it's dangerous to stay too long in one place. Even as off the grid as they are, they might be found. Still, as they begins to sort through the chaff they've acquired, paring back down to essentials, she thinks of the mountain woman. She has felt at home here, and somehow the mountain woman is part of that, a running thread that ties her to their former life.

She sees the woman again in her mind's eye: wild, free, perfectly suited to her environment in a way Scully may never be again, or maybe never was. But in that moment, they were one thing, part of the same thing, the weft and warp of a universe woven through with glittering threads of possibility, of potentiality and perfection.

Despite the odds, she has been happy in this cabin. Despite the odds, she will be happy elsewhere, with Mulder, in a world where a beastwoman and her son can exist somewhere outside of Scully's normal range of perception. The poem from days ago comes back to her: they will float on in their dark habits, keeping their difficult balance, and the unknown will sustain her as it has for years.

"I love you," she says to Mulder's back.

"I love you too," he says into his pan of eggs. "What prompted this spontaneous declaration?"

"I thought I'd put one more mystery in your life," she says and picks up a book that isn't worth keeping.

[choralmeres]

Particularly Tall and Probably Hot

msr. au take on season 7. pg-13/m. 1084 words.

First Diana. And now this. 

Fox Mulder did not consider himself as a jealous person. When Phoebe cheated on him a dozen times, even when Diana left him and came back and left him again- he never felt jealous; never wondered how whoever they cheated on him with was better than him. 

He was hurt, yes, but never jealous. There was a big difference. 

But now this guy comes into Scully’s life who, by her actions and facial expressions, he could clearly tell- this was one of her exes. 

His name was Ethan Minette. And well, he was as bland and normal as one could be. But he was clearly gazing at Scully; yes, gazing. As if he still liked her and desperately wanted her back. Hell, even Phoebe didn’t look like that last time he saw her six years ago. Then again, she never was that good of an actress- neither was he. 

Maybe he was being paranoid. Or maybe, it was payback for what happened with Diana barely a month ago. He wouldn’t put it past her. Women could be cruel; that was something from both Diana and Phoebe, but Scully wasn’t like any of them, was she?

Of course, he never actually expected Scully to tell him all her exes; he didn’t either- and she had gone to the Lone Gunmen to find out that he was once married to Diana. He only knew about Jack Willis and some guy that she indirectly mentioned named Daniel. 

Mulder wondered if he should also go to the Lone Gunmen and find out more about this Ethan Minette character. Would Scully think he was nosy? 

He turned to look back at Ethan and Scully again. He couldn’t see her face, as it was turned to the side, but he could very clearly see him laughing. To anyone else, it would probably be cute. Adorable even. But he could clearly see that Ethan was laughing too hard at whatever she was talking about for it to be true. Against his better judgment, he walked away- to the Lone Gunmen office.

“Oh hey, Mulder how are you-” Byers said as he opened the door.

“Can you find out who Ethan Minette is?” He said, interrupting Byers. 

The Lone Gunmen exchanged worried glances. Mulder was never like that- not even that time when he was working on an urgent case. And also he was acting odd. Like the time Scully asked them to find out who Diana Fowley was.

“Where’s your partner- Scully?” Frohike asked. 

“I don’t know.” He lied. “So is that a yes or a no for finding the information?” 

Byers raised his eyebrow- or attempted to and ended up raising both of them, and began searching computer files as Mulder became more and more impatient. A good forty-five minutes later, Langly made a ‘whoop’.

“What?” Mulder asked.

“So, why do you want to know about one of Scully’s ex boyfriends?” 

Mulder inhaled a sharp breath. So he was right. Ethan Minette was indeed one of Scully’s exes and right now he was probably gazing once more at her. And maybe asking her on a date or something like that guy that Scully was seeing when he was trying to catch the Jersey Devil. Wait- but if she went on a date with a different guy when he was searching for the Jersey Devil, did that mean-?

“Wait, wait, wait- when did they break up?” 

“A little while after she started working with the X Files. Apparently according to him, she left him for her job. And maybe a particularly tall and probably hot guy.” Byers said, leaning over Frohike to stare at the computer screen. “What piqued your interest in this guy, Mulder?”

“How do you know exactly what he said?” Mulder asked again, trying to dodge the Lone Gunmen’s suspicious looks and questions. 

“Because there’s this recording from a restaurant in D.C., and we hacked into the security camera feed. You still haven’t answered my question, by the way!”

“Yeah, uh, sorry, I have to go, Skinman’s waiting.” He said, rushing out of the office. 

“Who do you think the particularly tall and probably hot guy is?” Mulder heard Frohike ask- but he could care less.

This guy- that guy that he had left Scully with at that restaurant that they were in before he came waltzing in- was Scully’s ex. And he had confirmation. Of course, he knew that he probably was before he went to the Lone Gunmen, but it was different from actually knowing. 

He had just barely kissed Scully before a terrible bee stung her; how could he hold a fucking candle to someone who probably kissed her a million times- even slept with her?

Mulder sighed, feeling defeated. Maybe he could go back into his messy apartment, collapse on the old, worn couch- and watch some of those tapes that he had brought back from the office. And then he’d probably feel even more defeated than before. 

However, when he came back to his apartment, he did not expect to find a very rumpled looking Scully sitting on the couch. When he got closer, he could see that there was his spare key lying on the table. 

“Scully, what are you doing here?”

“You left early.” 

Mulder had no good response to this. 

“You seemed like you were enjoying the company of Mr. What’s-His-Name.” He said as she raised her eyebrow. 

“You know, he tried to ask me out again.” 

“Of course he did.”

He knew he sounded like a jealous lover. But he couldn’t control himself- he could not, would not let her go back to Ethan. He just wouldn’t. 

Scully seemed to have noticed it too, because she said, “Mulder, are you jealous?”

And then for reasons he could not explain- reasons that he’d never be able to explain, he kissed her. Hard. And she, apparently, started kissing back.

He felt like he was floating- like he couldn’t even tell what was happening. He didn’t even know what he was doing. But somehow, at the same time, he did. 

When he carried her into his room a long while later; both looking a bit more in love, Scully nuzzled her face into his neck.

“You know, I told him that I had already fallen in love with a particularly tall and probably hot guy.”

Mulder smiled, remembering what the Lone Gunmen said.

“Good. Because this particularly tall and probably hot guy refuses to share you.”

-

tagging @today-in-fic thanks!

[freckleslikestars]

Ice Worms

Dana Scully introspective thoughts during Ice

Rated T, MSR-ish

@xfilesbingo prompt Dana Scully

577 words, read here on AO3

Ice worms. Obviously. What else could it be? Dana Scully huffed a sigh and pulled the borrowed blankets around her in the unfamiliar bed, trying not to think too hard about the previous occupier, laying wrapped in plastic down the corridor. Fucking ice worms.

She had never aspired to be a field agent. Thought about it, maybe. Fantasised about toting a badge and gun and chasing down hardened criminals – putting those months of gruelling training to use – during long days in the morgue. But it had never actually been in her five-year plan – nor her ten-year plan: truth be told, the possibility hadn’t even been on her radar, really, until three months before.

When she’d been recruited out of med school it was on the understanding that, after the standard five months of training at the Academy, she’d continue on at Quantico, working in the morgue and teaching the next intake of trainees. Her father had been disappointed at that: ‘throwing away a perfectly respectable career, Starbuck – your choice of specialism in world-renowned hospitals’ he’d repeated over numerous dinners, so often she’d become accustomed to tuning it out.

But then she’d been approached by Blevins and her whole world had flipped on its head. Within a week she’d gotten re-certified at the shooting range and had passed each of the physical assessments required for fieldwork. A briefing, a slightly sour taste filling her mouth as she read into the words she was being told, the undertones of the conversation, words like spy creeping around the edges of her conscience, shading it in grey as her morals warred within her.

She buried herself further into the depths of the blankets, rubbing her feet together to try and bring back feeling into them.

Being a field agent hadn’t been what she’d been expecting. No, not at all. Normal agents dealt with drug busts and terrorists and serial killers. She dealt with liver-eating mutants and psycho-AI systems and Jersey Devils. And fucking ice worms.

Alien ice worms, if her crackpot partner was to be believed. And whilst she resisted the idea so vehemently, she had also, in those two short months they’d been working together, swallowed down any guilt she felt as she carefully edited her reports to Blevins, made her 2D, paper-confined Mulder sound slightly less crazy than he did when he crowed about his theories in the privacy of their office.

Her teeth chattered, and she clenched her jaw tight to try and stop the shudders that wracked through her body: the heating system that had been overworking itself only hours ago had definitely given up the ghost, the cold wind howling about the station whistling through any fault and crack it could.

Another huffed sigh. She wasn’t going to be getting any sleep with how cold she was now. And certainly not with her infuriating partner on her mind. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind, but it was no good: she was too cold. It felt like her teeth were going shake right out of her jaw if she kept shivering this way, and without even thinking about it she swung her legs from the bed and – keeping her blankets bundled around her – tiptoed across the cold floor and tugged the desk away from the door, squeezed out and shuffled into the corridor. Three steps, two knocks and he was there, peering out at her.

‘Scully?’

‘Mulder, I’m cold.’

tagging @today-in-fic