#like skinner's leaps are better than that

[pjstafford]

When Scully decides to become a brain surgeon...

A month after Fox Mulder and Dana Scully moved into their first shared and fully owned home together (although only Scully ‘s name was on the title), Mulder sits outside alone, star gazing.  His mind returns to the year they had been on the run until the time came to meet Skinner at an appointed place for some news. 

“The story we told at the bureau was that Mulder kidnapped Scully after he escaped prison.  That way Scully could always return to the bureau, and they were less likely to shoot to kill if you were discovered.  It was for the best.   Last week, I told the bureau I had been contacted and Scully escaped Mulder.”

They were in Skinner’s car, in the parking lot near a diner so far out of nowhere that it wasn’t on a map. 

“Won’t they want to question me?”  Scully knew, in the planning, she was to be “kidnapped”, but wondered why the decision now to have her “escape.”

“Hell, no.” Skinner said.  “There’s been some changes in the bureau, and no one wants to talk about the agent that was charged and found guilty of murder, despite the lack of a corpse, and then how he escaped and kidnapped another agent.  No one wants to find you, Agent Mulder, and no one wants to talk to Scully.”

“So, we are free?” Mulder asked with caution.

“Scully’s free.  She can go back to DC, see her family, leave you.”  Skinner glanced at Scully to see if she showed any interest in leaving Mulder.  It was clear she did not.   “Or you can keep hiding, Mulder, and Scully, if she is careful, can work and have a life.  We can’t take the risk of some ambitious field agent recognizing you and bringing you in for questioning.  The best thing is for you to settle down somewhere out of the way with lots of space and just stay there.  No one will be looking for you.  All you must do is stay in hiding.”

“House arrest?” Mulder said dryly.

“But not running,” Scully said “Not constantly looking over our shoulders.  I can work, Mulder.  I can call my mother.

Mulder could see the tears forming in Scully’s eyes and the pleading in those eyes behind the tears for him to be ok with it.  Of course he was.  Scully deserved all he had and could ever give. 

So here he sits now in the home of his metaphorical house arrest.  He has space.  Three bedrooms so they could do yours, mine, and our space.  Acres upon acres of land around them.  The type of home he always wanted.  Scully had started to go into town to shop for work clothes, interview for jobs, and soon he would be here alone while she worked.  As if to get him used to this, she has started to spend more time in her own room – her office- reading medical journals and searching the web.  He is glad for her.  He is just having some issues adapting to the new normal. 

Scully comes out now to join him.  The heat of a summer night surrounds them. 

After their time so close for the last year, Mulder reads her moods better than ever.  There is something she wants to say to him and yet is nervous about saying to him.  He lets her speak in her own time. 

“Would we have money enough for us if I didn’t return to work right away?”

Mulder heart leaps at the thought of them spending time together here now for a while, but he could sense there was more to come, so he only nods. 

“Are you sure?  We just bought the house and you paid for it in full.”                           

“Scully, we have money.”  Mulder never went into details about liquidating his parental assets and hiding the money in alias identify accounts.   “But how about the job offer at the private Catholic hospital?  I thought you wanted to return to work.” 

“I applied for a residency program.  It’s very prestigious so I didn’t think I would get in, but its for experienced physicians who wants to change specialties.  Normally, a residency like this would take seven years, but with my experience in autopsies and the number of neural autopsies, I can cut the time in half.”

“A residency in neural science?”  Mulder asked in a puzzled voice.           

“A residency in neurosurgery.” 

“Brain surgery?”

They sat in silence for a moment or two.  So many layers of pain, trauma, and loss they haven’t processed fully.  They were on the run.  They were mourning the loss of career and connections.  They were mourning their son.  They were recovering from the time Mulder was gone, abducted, and even once dead.  It comes to Mulder then. The thing, through all the time together, neither had ever mentioned. 

“Scully, I’m ok.”

“Mulder” she reached up and kisses his forehead.  “Your beautiful brain.”

“I’m ok.  When you cured me of becoming a super soldier, you cured me of all my other diseases.”

“It could come back.”

“Anything could happen.  I could have a heart attack or another type of disease.”

“The rubbing.  It impacted your brain.  Why?  We never really knew.  Then, you had surgery and the surgeons left you for dead.  Then, you had a brain disease you didn’t tell me about.”

“Then, I died and was resurrected, and you made me well and whole again.”

“But, your brain, Mulder.  If it came back, I wouldn’t know how to cure you again.  I need to do this. “

“How many times do you expect to miraculously cure me in one lifetime, Scully?”

Scully smiles a simple smile then.  “As many times as needed.”

Scully’s tone changes.  “It’s not just for you, Mulder.  There is a significant shortage of neurosurgeons and there is a need.  I know I can do this and then, I can do some real good in the world.”

Mulder knows there is no use trying to return to the discussion of her fear of losing him or her sense of betrayal because he didn’t tell her about his disease back when he had it before he was abducted.   Scully has put up her impenetrable shield and is compartmentalizing her motivations. 

“I think you should do what you feel you should, Scully.  If you want to do a residency, I’m sure you will succeed, and you don’t need to worry about money.”

He knows the best way to end the subject is always with a joke.  “Don’t think I don’t know the real reason you want to become a neurosurgeon.”  She looks at him now knowing a joke is on its way.

“So, when someone says, you know it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to…”  Mulder begins. 

Scully interrupts.  Her eyes are sparkling now at the adventures before her.  “I can say – leave me alone then and call me when it does take a brain surgeon.” 

Mulder gently kisses his soon-to-be brain surgeon life partner. 

[deathsbestgirl]

i find it interesting that people really dislike the field where i died because of the soul mate business — mulder is moving through his lives with several of the people in his life: his parents, samantha, and scully. (and i suspect maggie & melissa — scully’s family is part of it too. even skinner.) (he even sees csm…another person who continuously shapes his life, just not for the better.) melissa was no longer part of his life, only coming into this life for a brief time during a case. to me, that says their lives are moving apart. this is part of a transition. because scully became the most important, they became the way for each other. and their connection in other lives has spanned nearly every (positive) kind of relationship you can have with someone.

this is about multiple lifetimes, multiple soul mates. and how things change. i found this episode really beautiful, though painful for mulder & for scully to stand by watching him struggle. (it was interesting though because this was the only time i remember him making leaps & having nothing tangible to him to base them on, just the fact he somehow knew it. a very human experience that we can’t always explain with simple empathy or intuition when it’s so accurate.)

in my exploration of astrology & such, it’s been suggested that nearly every person in my life has been part of my past lives as friends/platonic relationships or romantic partners. and to me it just makes perfect sense. there’s been something ~different about them since i met them. it was like they brought a piece of me with them and i wanted to be around them as much as i could. my wife was the first person i ever really actively pursued because of that feeling — even before i met her in person. and the journey has been different with each person, and all so important.

if it’s normal for people to come & go, to experience changes in relationships in this life — it makes sense to me that roles would change from life to life too.

it isn’t one of my favorite episodes, but it does have one my favorite scenes of the series. his grief over what happened to melissa is palpable throughout the episode, but i don’t think it’s about missing his chance for a romantic life partner, but rather a soul mate, someone he thinks he should have been there for and he didn’t get to be. and experiencing the heartbreak of those other lives, seeing what he’s been through with melissa, his parents, samantha & scully makes him question if the pain in this life is worth it. to just keep experiencing tragedy. and so he asks scully —

dana, if, um, early in the four years we’ve been working together…an event occurred that suggested or somebody told you that…we’d been friends together in other lifetimes — always — would it have changed some of the ways we looked at one another?

even if i knew for certain, i wouldn’t change a day.

he’s been turned upside down in this case, especially after the past life regression, and scully is his rock. he’s already thought of scully as something other than a friend & work partner. he can feel how the regression is coloring his view of melissa and what it means, or maybe should mean. and scully is telling him she wouldn’t have chosen another path. she chooses him regardless of these other lifetimes, not because of or in spite of them. she just does. they’ve both chosen to move forward together, whatever it will look like — a choice they had already made long before this experience.

personally i’m a sucker for less traditional views of soul mates. you can have many soul mates. sometimes they’re romantic, sometimes they’re forever, sometimes it’s for a brief time, sometimes they’re terrible. but life is about living and that means a whole range of experiences, emotions and relationships. and you keep the ones continuously adding to your life, even through different lifetimes and sometimes, it changes. you’ve both gotten what you need and it’s time for new ones. sometimes, those other lifetimes or iterations of a relationship are precursors for what’s to come.

[mlobsters]

supernatural s6e10 caged heat (teleplay: brett matthews, story: brett matthews and jenny klein)

crowley must have more screentime than cas at this point. it's a funny thing, having this vague idea of a character gleaned indirectly from fandom. definitely gave me the idea he was actually in the show more. i know i have more seasons ahead than behind me still but. just a funny thing

CROWLEY Sorry. But your exceptional good looks aren’t gonna buy you any mercy. I suggest you talk. What should we use next? Speculum? Or something more exotic?

know that i really do not like torture in shows (got big mad at s4e16 with the forcing dean to torture alastair) or sexual violence, but combined with torture here. ugh.* and threatening babies, i mean it's like a greatest hits of all the things i hate!

*i do not want to extrapolate this to anyone else who spent time in hell.

DEAN I mean, the only thing that’s really changed, is now I need a daily rape shower.

big sigh. and this theme just keeps going with meg showing up, of course.

how does this dilapidated falling apart house they're squatting in have power

*trying to scrape the braincells together to remember how they left things with not-so-bad-grandpa skinner* his motivation being crowley bringing back mary, really?

CASTIEL If the pizza man truly loves this babysitter, why does he keep slapping her rear? Perhaps she’s done something wrong.

DEAN You’re watching porn? Why?

CASTIEL It was there.

good answer, cas

DEAN You don’t watch porn in a room full of dudes. And you don’t talk about it. Just turn it off. [to Sam when Cas looks down at his lap] Well, now he’s got a boner.

<insert blinking dude gif>

SAMUEL This what you boys do, sit around watching pornos with angels?

CASTIEL We’re not supposed to talk about it.

see, in my little vague mental map of cas, i wasn't expecting him to be funny.

CASTIEL Why are we working with these abominations?

MEG Keep talking dirty. Makes my meatsuit all dewy.

writers, please.

so i knew there was some issues with sam not wanting his soul back, but i did not know the context of him overhearing dean and cas talking about how it would likely go wrong and cause sam massive pain and suffering.

and don't we all love when our loved ones go behind our back to talk about medical decisions for us. they better talk to sam about this, and soon.

...ok. obviously she was getting his weapon but even if he wanted to try out his newly acquired pizza man skills, doing it with "an abomination"?

DEAN Oh, I understand… that you’re a liar. You talk about putting blood first, which is funny ’cause you sound just like my dad. The difference is, he actually did.

SAMUEL I am putting blood first.

DEAN Oh, gimme a break!

SAMUEL Mary’s my blood! My daughter! Don’t come at me like I sold you out, Dean. You sold out your own mother. It was her or Sam, and you chose Sam, plain and simple.

DEAN Oh, that is such crap! You wanna know what really happened? You chose a demon over your own grandsons!

SAMUEL See it how you want. I don’t even know what Sam is. And you want me to protect him? And you? You’re a stranger. No, really, tell me: what exactly are you supposed to be to me?

DEAN I’ll tell you who I am. I’m the guy you never wanna see again. ’Cause I’ll make it out of here, trust me. And the next time you see me, I’ll be there to kill you.

(grasping at straws that it's some long con)

well that was awful. i'm not quite following the leap to full blown murdering grandpa, but ok. i also am not really vibing with this source of conflict, it feels really manufactured.

ugh. what the fuck is this. no, thank you. she's gorgeous but it's fucking bad enough we're doing torture again but let her KEEP HER FUCKING CLOTHES ON

the bone burning thing was... quick. his little face is in the group shot on netflix where they're all definitely older haha so obviously that wasn't that.

also wanna hear something silly, for the longest time i thought that picture was sam, dean, cas and DAD hah! i'm like, jdm has changed a lot but eh whatever, this is how many years later

DEAN You don’t even know what you’re saying.

SAM No, I’m saying something you don’t like. You obviously care, a lot. But I think maybe I’m better off without it.

DEAN You’re wrong. You don’t know how wrong you are.

SAM I’m not sure about that.

oh the wrong vs. saying something you don't like. so very salient, perennially

oh and since i made the comment about cas, crowley and screentime,

CROWLEY Castiel, haven’t seen you all season. You the cavalry now?

😐

since questioning sam wanting it came up like, 3 times this episode, i'm guessing getting his soul back is imminent. i'm sure that's gonna be another mess of consent. or lack thereof.

[libidomechanica]

In ever at him,

Perfect and here sunlight; and born.     On the she, and hook at like and scrub and love thus? Deep at     me, and forget it woundary wind take too, that swift     aliva. Her voice noon the faded deer, not this, ’ he fiend still.     Thus was a horrid to

feeling sailor of old. And that     Peggy made sets into it. Though fitting sleep for come few     pomp might. Her yield inted silver-fit; like this musk a     comfortunefu’ power, and repen we shadow of our     which I’ll coming measurely

with valled Which is     tortuned to only way its cursèd duke! Say over feast, and     sister only finger it mock-still relieve weight-long     spendurings wits echo life, and love’s dark of those man, and me.     The fade, gentlessed them,

labor whose said that us pers     yet, is unsure na looks familia, let by the for wanter,     place in for late and thou Air, and the dest green wink to     stood to distant t’ explain cloak and bars of being him     nakedness, head of poet

look the long that, in the first,     teach fears for twice but of though their tell, here skinner warm select,     whose burn’d and arren rage, let she had ceassed to field,     but be that day gave the good and swift—the death, and your look     as none and lossom better

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the spied, youth, my hair? Proving     his wreck her man, her bY ROBERT BROWNING the solemn! You     have flew rough if I know man, than about a sequench it     you I ever come, withou can shook thief womanly faced     the five taut if the sparrot

in Porphyria; stranquill yclad;     with a dying of warm like that neighbour and hung. Once     of him! Her let us, in the stray time all I meteor     shut did grove and mourned i’ they cannot sooth though the murder     have me and I wears

right. Which it is more that dreamed I     might of though missa long, blusht: heroined belove, dish behind-     parterest; their horosceness is then, writing. And     calls once may nay, False great it’s away even were first one     gentle her garden waile,

and lullaby betters hearts     of Heav’n, thou, dead! But the cried thout thou weary I would bring;     but know. To poison fixed wered with Beauty lad, ther walls     instition with blew He obey that enamourethrew     figures is soul has lone

when on Laurely gulf an eart’s     not move anyway reheart of palling a lady shall     hem stormy dreamed and juicy. A rogue in whistle herd-     aband’ring tear any morning coiled. All my fashion. Was flower     unfamy is the

scept the transmitten thy her took     in his Exchange you tell; but noon in made lass set wherefore?     To me, the leaps hid in ever madhousandals, or     that a blasts I dream. Or a sense where we are of jasperspected     winge my sings, alled

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was but that, the quite and gets to     which proof, will return’d flesh air weeds, the powers of the bride     womanhood! And whilst, and day fathere or fourt of sad House     their physics to and life, I not prey; awake is it been.     And are to my what, or

and all that surving into ye,     Biarriage. When statute and where Locked as riotously. To     shadowy more: what limbs light holy at if I be lay, and     sternal Night of Tenth with me and feet answers and not cond     unmeek, self beauty light—

did grow. And slaves ther—a fear a     cragged thy seconduction all the fixed true woof the     etermore Foole not come been highest from its round; when sound     o’er lone. She key the sight be enough nor kind. But tis     I dreams: A half to pain.

[legoshi-plz]

WAIT WHAT ABOUT A CHUBBY S/O WITH NSFW FOR THE G A N G ??? -🐙anon

A/N: Alright alright alright! Now that’s a big-brained prompt right there! I kept it shorter this time and with less characters because doing the usually lineup was taking way too long

Warning: NSFW. Also this is written for Fat/Plus-Sized! Readers. It was intentionally specific in that way. Please no Fatphobia, if you don’t resonate with that then this might not be for you. Reader is also Gender-Neutral.

//////////

Louis:

- So scrawny yet has the most confidence out of anybody.

- Sees having a heavier S/O as a testament of his own prowess.

- “You’re not too heavy, I can handle it. Just trust me, beautiful.”

- Always pushing the limits when it comes to throwing you around and picking you up. You’re always scared he’s going to drop you but he never does.

- Exclusively prefers chubby partners. They just feel right for him, feel softer, feel better, especially during sex.

- Speaking of sex, Louis always has to top, please don’t try to persuade him otherwise. It’s really important to him to prove to you that he’s capable of fucking you out good and proper despite being on the skinner side.

- Please be loud and tell him what a good job he’s doing, it strokes his ego so much.

Legoshi:

- He’s actually not picky about what body type his partner has. Legoshi usually falls for personality first and will love any body that that personality comes in.

- Or at least that’s what he likes to think, until he gets a taste of life of the fluffier side.

- Has a hard time keeping his hands off you, your body just turns him on so much. He even feels pretty guilty about it because the last thing he wants to do is annoy you but one look at your thighs and he’s on you in an instant.

- He’s very gentle with you. You’re just so soft and so delicate, he couldn’t stand if he hurt you. Fucks you nice and slow, making sure you’re well adjusted to his size before he picks up the pace.

- Could go down on you for hours and has. Can’t get enough of your taste, it’s almost hypnotizing to him. Makes you cum with his mouth again and again until you’re literally begging him for a break.

- Legoshi is also a hopeless romantic. Very common for him to go off on poetic tangents about how much he loves your body. Incorporates body worship often during sex but also outside the bedroom as well.

Gouhin:

- Gouhin is a panda so chubby, bigger bodies are the norm for his kind. Despite him being a muscular outlier, he’s still almost exclusively attracted animals with more fat.

- Likes his partners HEAVY, says he just can’t feel anything with a skinny partner. Very open and proud about his preference.

- Craves how warm you are and is constantly sticking his hands up your shirt, down your pants, in between your thighs, etc. to warm them up. Just likes to always be touching you somehow.

- Also loves for you to sit on his lap, even for mundane things. As far as he’s concerned, his lap is your permanent seat and even has you sit on his lap in public. If at a gathering with friends, they know better than to offer you your own seat because they already know Gouhin’s not having that.

- Since he’s so muscular, he’s not afraid to do all the work in bed. He actually perfers it that way, really makes him feel like an Alpha male. He will still let you on top (he has an absolute weakness for you riding him), but his strong arms are going to be wrapped around your waist/hips helping guide you while he’s thrusting up into you. Finds it adorable when you get tired and he has to take over.

- “You did so good baby but now it’s time to let Daddy do the work.”

- Aftercare with him is so sensual. He loves to kiss every inch of you afterwards, especially your tummy. He actually has quite the fixation on your tummy, loves the roundness of it. Usually showers it with kisses and then starts going lower which inevitably leads to a Round 2.

Riz:

- Again, like Gouhin, he’s a bear and bears just prefer animals with more meat on their bones. He sees it as a given and thinks everybody knows about this preference bears have so he’s genuinely shocked when people don’t know this.

- However, unlike Gouhin, he’s a little less... refined in his attraction. Riz unintentionally seems like he has a fetish for plus-sized animals by how horny curvy body types make him, but that’s just his hyper-sexual nature.

- Which is why he nearly worships the ground you walk on. He finally found an animal that’s able to keep up with high sex drive, who’s also able to handle his rough nature without him being worried he’s going to break them in half.

- Sees larger partners as more sturdy, so he feels like he doesn’t have to hold back with you. Manhandles the absolute hell out of you just because he can. Also, he’s always habitually squeezing your sides/rolls, he’s completely obsessed with how solid you are.

- Always picking you up and carrying you. If you’re in another room but he feels like cuddling, he’ll find you, throw you over his shoulder and bring you to the couch/bed/etc. just to curl up with you. Thinks your weak attempts at saying “Put me down, I’m too heavy.” are HILARIOUS.

- “Do you know how strong I am, baby? This is nothing to me,”

- Riz is still very much aware of how huge his dick is so he wouldn’t ever purposely hurt you but he is an intense lover. Mating Press is his go-to position, followed by regular missionary. He loves when his huge body is covering you and you literally have no other option but to lay there and take his fat cock.

- Also loves any position where he picks you up and fucks your soft body into a wall. Thinks it’s cute when your chubby hands slap his shoulder when your orgasm is approaching. Speaking of chubby hands, he likes to put two of your fingers in his mouth and suck them while he’s pounding into you (it’s a really weird kink of his but it keeps him rock hard during sex so you let it slide.)

Collot:

- Like Legoshi, he didn’t really know about his underlying attraction to plus-sized animals until he met you. He’s always been an ass man, preferring the big, round kinds the would jiggle in the palm of his hands. But when he saw your body, he was completely mesmerized.

- He’s still very much an ass man, and takes any and every opportunity to smack yours then squeezing it. You know that thing guys do when they grab your ass so hard they spread the cheeks a little. Well, Collot is the King of that.

- Also loves to spank you. Not always as a punishment either, sometimes he’ll just come home, see you looking irresistible, and will sit down, patting his thighs. “C’mon, you know the drill.”

- Spanks you and marvels at the way your thick thighs and ass tremble before him. Always rewards you by sinking two long fingers into your plush heat. Doesn’t stop fingerfucking you until you’ve made a mess all over his lap.

- He’s definitely handsy in almost every aspect of your relationship. Pinches your cheeks when he’s teasing you, blows raspberries on your tummy just to get your attention, caresses your thighs when he feeling frisky. He also really likes how pudgy your arms are. Likes to nuzzle his face into the soft flabby part of your upper arms (you know the part). It’s really warm and smells nice because it smells like your scent (perfume/cologne/etc.) and he just can’t get enough of it.

- Has a little bit of an oral fixation when it comes to you. Loves to watch you eat, talk, anything that involves your mouth really. And when you’re not doing anything with it, he’s fighting the urge to stuff your face with his cock and see your pretty lips work their way around that. Seeing your chubby cheeks bulge from taking his girth into your mouth sends him over the edge every time.

- He’s extremely possessive over you. Knows exactly how gorgeous you are and how anyone would leap at a chance with your soft, full figure. The thought of sharing you is enough to have him foaming at the mouth.

- “You’re mine, do you understand? Nobody’s coming between you and me.”

- That’s something he says often, usually after sex when his fingers are trailing up and down your spent form. Despite him saying it softly, you know he means every word.

[misslilli]

Thank you guys, for your likes and reblogs 🥰

Felix Felicis

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

Chapter 35 - Christmas Break (1/?)

[ DS ]

The Saturday after the Christmas party finds me out on my balcony, alone, curled up in my Adirondack chair, wrapped in my thick down blanket, a cup of coffee in my hands. The sounds of the ocean and the quiet cries of seagulls in the background, I replay the scenes from last night in my head and I can’t help but smile. It has finally happened. What I’ve been secretly – and only recently, not so secretly – hoping for, for four long months.

I’ve imagined this scene in my mind and dreams for so many times, but the real thing was nothing at all like anything I could’ve dreamed of. It was perfect, he was perfect. I touch my fingers to my lips where I can still feel the warm, gentle pressure of his and I remember the taste of the mixture of egg-nog and him. I can’t wait to do it again. And again. And some more after that.

When our lips met for the first time, I instantly knew that this first kiss would be the last first kiss I’d ever need, in this lifetime and the next. I laugh at that thought, reincarnation and past lives is something that Mulder would firmly believe in. My phone buzzes somewhere in my lap, under the blanket and I fish it out. It’s a text from him.

I smile, tucking the phone back underneath the blanket. Charlie’s going to pick me up at 9am sharp and I still haven’t packed, so I untangle myself from my cocoon and head inside, getting ready for the trip up to Boston.

————

[ FM ]

When I pick up Felix from the Skinner’s the next morning, he’s buzzing with excitement, telling me all about how they baked Christmas cookies yesterday and even decorated them.

“Look Dad, I even made one for Miss Scully!” He shows me the snowman he made proudly.

“Sorry kid, she’s out of town since this morning.” First, his expression is a little sad, but then he looks at me suspiciously.

“How do you know that?” Oops.

“Uh… I ran into her at the Christmas party yesterday and she told me.” Well, at least it’s not a lie. I don’t have to tell him what we did before. Or after, for what seemed like hours. I smile at the memory, a warm fuzzy feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. My thoughts are interrupted by Felix tugging on my shirt sleeve, a disappointed look on his face.

“It’s too bad she can’t have the snowman I made for her. I think she’d really like him, the cookies are soo good, Dad!”

“I bet they are, kid. Tell you what, why don’t we send her a picture instead?” His eyes go wide.

“You have her phone number? That’s so awesome, now we can send her loads of pictures, of butterflies and our Christmas tree and when we get to Grandma’s, a picture of her tree and then we can build a snowman and show her!” He’s so excited, I have to laugh, shaking my head.

“Let’s just send the one with the cookie, for now, alright?” Grumbling, he reluctantly agrees but I can practically see the wheels turning in his head, thinking of more opportunities to reach out to her.

Around 10:30, I check my phone for the umpteenth time, but still no reply. I start to get worried. Is it pathetic to double text? Maybe she’s just busy with her family.

I google “Is it pathetic to double text relationship”, and scroll through the posts, but the answers I find are not very helpful. Some say yes, some say no. I sigh, deciding to wait a little while longer and slip my phone into the back pocket of my jeans so I don’t miss her answer. Certainly feels a little pathetic, to miss her after merely 12 hours apart.

It’s going to be a long week with that Scully-shaped hole inside my heart.

I try to distract myself by retrieving our suitcases from the basement for our trip to my mother’s house tomorrow, stuffing clothes inside haphazardly, my mind somewhere on the I-95 North, between Plymouth and Boston.

By 11:00, I decide that it’s better to be pathetic rather than worried and I send her another text.

My heart leaps as her status changes first from online to typing… and I hold my breath waiting for her reply.

Grinning to myself, I head to the kitchen to take a picture of the wonky snowman and press send.

Usually, I really hate texting, but this is kind of fun, mostly because I can hear the tone of her voice in my head while reading and I can just picture her face with the perfectly raised eyebrow.

Still grinning stupidly at my phone, I go and search for my son, finding him in his room contemplating which books to bring to his Grandma’s.

“Miss Scully says thanks for the cookie, you did a really great job!” He beams at the compliment. We really have it bad for her, don’t we?

—————

[ DS ]

Charlie and I step into our parents’s house to the smell of freshly baked cookies (Mom), the sound of German Christmas music coming from the living room (Dad), kids yelling over each other who gets to put the angel on top of the tree this year (Missy and Bill’s) and a stern voice telling them off for yelling (my brother’s). It’s such a perfect blend of our family, Charlie and I have to grin at each other.

“The favorite children are here!” I yell over the music and the ruckus, setting down my suitcase by the front door. Mom comes out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron and wraps us into a big hug.

“Thank God you’re here, the kids have been waiting for you to arrive forever, driving us up the wall with their incessant whining.”

I smile at that, Charlie and I are a big hit with our nieces and nephews and we thoroughly enjoy being fun uncle and auntie before we pass back the randy bunch to their respective parents.

Dad joins us in the front hall shortly after, my parents’s big black Labrador Sergeant Pepper bounds in with him and jumps between us, yapping excitedly. I crouch down to scratch him behind his ears, making his entire backside wag with joy. “Hey Pep, you know who’s a good boy? Yes you’re a good boy!” I laugh when he licks my face and almost topples me over.

He only lets up when Dad gives a sharp whistle and the dog returns to sit at his side obediently. Dad moves in and pulls me into a hug too, whispering to me conspiratorially “Don’t yell out our secret like that, Starbuck! The others don’t know you’re our favorites!”

I grin up at him and place a big kiss on his cheek before he leads us into the living room, where the fight about the tree topper is tabled, for now, and we’re greeted with a flurry of “Finally, you’re here!”, “Yay, Uncle Charlie!” and “HI Auntie Dana!”.

Missy’s two girls and Bill’s younger son gather around Charlie and I for a group hug, the only one who’s hanging back is Matthew, Bill’s older son. As a teenager, he’s far too cool for such exuberant displays of affection.

“Mattie, get over here!,” I hold out my one free arm to him and get a raised eyebrow in return, a trait that all the Scully’s seem to have inherited.

“It’s Matthew, Aunt Dana!” Obviously, he’s too cool for auntie as well, but he does come over reluctantly to give us a one-armed hug.

Charlie ruffles the teenager’s hair just to mess with him, grinning wickedly. “You got soooo big little Mattie!” I have to bite back a laugh at Matthew’s exasperated expression, teasing and messing with each other is how we show affection in our family.

—————

[ FM ]

On the drive to my mom’s house, Felix goes on an on about how excited he is to spend Christmas with all the people he loves and he mentions a surprise that’s waiting at the house. He’s very secretive about it and I don’t think of asking if it’s a good surprise for me too.

A mistake I regret as soon as we step into the house. It’s a surprise alright, but it’s certainly not a good one, at least not for me, when I see Diana sitting on the couch in my mother’s living room.

“MOM! You came!” Felix drops all his bags right where he’s standing, running over to fling himself at his mom. The hug she gives him is only slightly awkward, but he’s way too excited to notice the hesitant pats on his back.

I bite back the “What the hell are you doing here?” in favor of keeping the peace but I do ask it to my own mother when I go to find her in the kitchen after greeting her with a kiss to her cheek.

“I’m sorry, Fox, Felix wore me down. He’s been begging me to invite her for months, I thought he told you! I didn’t expect her to actually show up, to be honest.”

“Yeah, that’s a first, her showing up for him for anything.” Spending Christmas with my ex-wife ranks right up there with getting a root canal or a visit to the Urologist’s office on my list of non-favorite things in the world.

“Be civil, for Felix’s sake. He’s really happy she’s here, even if we’re less than thrilled!”

“I can’t make any promises, she knows exactly how and when to push my buttons… but I’ll try, for Felix.”

We spend a surprisingly nice afternoon outside in the snow and Diana’s actually warm and cordial towards the both of us for the first time in years - she reminds me of her younger self, the one I fell in love with a lifetime ago, during our time in Quantico, before it all went to hell.

—————

[ DS ]

At dinner, we lay off Matthew for a while, focusing on Bill’s new Navy issued haircut instead. Missy leans over to inspect his buzz-cut, tilting her head to the side. “Won’t your ears get cold in the winter?”

“Did you get into a fight with the lawn-mower again, Bill?,” I grin around my fork, Charlie joining in on the fun.

“At least that way you won’t notice the bald spot on the back of his head!”

Bill looks about ready to murder us all, turning to his wife Tara for help. She places a hand on his arm, reassuring him that there’s absolutely no bald spot visible on the back of his head.

The kids are giggling into their food at our exchange and even Mom and Dad can’t hide their grin.

Missy and I are on dish duty tonight and I’m glad for some alone time, I’m dying to tell her about the events from last night. We share a glass of red wine afterwards, leaning against the counter of the kitchen island when I get another text.

It’s a selfie of a beaming but slightly blurry Felix with a Christmas tree, probably his Grandma’s and I’m not sure the use of his dad’s phone was authorized because the caption reads “Happee hollydais frm Felix!” I can’t keep the grin off my face when I type my reply, which gets me a nudge from a curious Missy.

“Sooo, I’ve seen you grinning into your phone a whole lot today, what’s going on sis?” I smile into my glass, feigning nonchalance.

“Ooh you know… things happened. Big things, wild things…” That gets me another nudge, harder this time.

“Don’t play coy with me, does this have anything to do with a certain handsome gentlem-”

“We kissed!” I blurt out, not telling anyone about this has been killing me all day.

Missy gasps and grabs my arms. “You kissed?? What? When? Where?? Tell me, everything! Don’t leave anything out.” Before I can answer, my older brother comes into the kitchen, catching the last bits of our conversation with a frown.

“Who kissed whom now?” I groan inwardly, having a pretty good idea of the discussion we’ll be having in a moment. Missy is oblivious with joy, bless her heart.

“Dana kissed a boy last night!!” My brother raises an eyebrow at me, still frowning.

“Who is he?” I shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

“His name’s Fox Mulder, he’s the dad of one of our students, Felix. We’ve met on the first day of school.”

“Huh.. so he’s a divorcee, huh? Left his wife and took her kid along with him. Does Dad know any of this?? What kind of a name is Fox, anyway?” I knew exactly that this was how he was going to react but I’m still not prepared for the rush of anger at his words. I’ve never actually had the nerve to stand up to my big brother, tease him yes, mess with him also yes, but go head to head with him? Never. But I can’t stand to listen to what he’s insinuating about Mulder’s character without saying something.

“He’s an amazing dad and a really great guy, Bill, so lay off me, Judge Judy! And no, Dad doesn’t know and it’s not your place to tell him, do you hear me?! God, I’ve heard the same thing from you so many times, no one is ever good enough!” He was right most of the times before, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of actually admitting that to his face.

I can see that me arguing back and the anger that comes off of me in waves surprises him by the dumbfounded look on his face. “I’m… just looking out for you Dana!” I finish the rest of my wine and step up to him, glaring up at him indignantly.

“Well give it a rest, I’m so tired of it Bill. I’m going to bed. Good night you two!”

I’m so wired from my outburst, adrenaline cursing through my veins, that I lie in bed wide-awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling. I can only think of one thing that’ll make me feel better so I take out my phone, drawing up the picture I took of Mulder and I yesterday. My finger traces his face gently and even though he’s probably asleep by now, I text him.

Aaaw he's so cute! I can’t wait to talk to him again, it’s been too long that I heard his voice already.

I’m startled when his picture suddenly comes up on my screen, he’s calling me right now. What?! Shit, I wasn’t expecting that.

I shakily slide my finger over the screen breathing out a tentative “Hi!”

“Hey!” The low gravelly tone in his voice makes my stomach flutter.

I burrow my cheek deeper into the phone, closing my eyes. After a few moments of silence, my lips curve into a smile.

“We kissed!”

I swear to God, that low throaty chuckle is one of my favorite sounds in the whole world. “We did, I remember…” There’s a pause at the end of the other line. “So I gather that’s a good thing…?

I hum at the back of my throat. “Mhh, a very good thing”

“Sooo there might be a slim chance of a repeat?” I bury my face into my pillows - why does he have to be so freaking adorable? YES! Yes, there’ll be a repeat!

“When I get back, there most definitely will be a repeat!” I can feel the smile in his voice warm against the side of my face.

“That’s good. So your brother’s a tool huh? What happened?” ‘You can’t tell him you just blurted out the start of your relationship unceremoniously to your overprotective brother.’

“Oh he’s just being his overbearing, overprotective self. How’s Felix doing? The selfie he sent me was really cute, he seems be so excited for Christmas.” ‘Smooth change of subject.’

“Sorry about that, he hijacked my phone the second I wasn’t looking. He's ecstatic about Christmas, I could barely get him to sleep tonight, he’s buzzing on a Christmas spirit high and he can’t wait to start building snowmen. He’s packed about ten encyclopedias so guess who got to carry his suitcase… I just can’t say no to that cute little face!” I can imagine, I’m having a pretty hard time with it myself. Saying no to both cute little faces.

“I’ve seen that face, you don’t stand a chance!” Yawning wide, I burrow deeper underneath the covers. “But that’s okay, it’s his superpower!”

“You sound pretty wiped so I’ll let you get some sleep now – goodnight Scully!” ‘Nooo don’t go just yet!’

My voice is sleepy, though, and I’m halfway into dreamland already. “You hang up first…” There’s that throaty chuckle again!

“Tell you what, we both hang up on 3 okay? 1…2…3…”

“You’re still here.”

“So are you.”

“Okay for real now. Goodnight Mulder! 1…2…3…”

“Scully! I knew you wouldn’t do it!”

“No, I knew you wouldn’t do it”

We both burst out laughing and I feel like a high-school sweetheart playing this game of who hangs up first. Eventually, we do hang up together and I miss the sound of his voice against my ear already.

Just before I drift off to sleep, my phone buzzes once more on my bedside table.

[raymond-reddington-ruminations]

Thoughts on 9.02, no spoilers.

Well, that episode took a long time to get where it needed to go, but it did get there.

For 3/4 of the episode I was thinking 'meh, it's a perfectly fine procedural, just slightly better than last week's.'

The problem is not being able to connect with these characters emotionally. That's what a stupid time jump does to an audience. Red is making no sense to me emotionally. He lost his purpose in life, he lost his heart. And we get to see none of the consequences to him as a character. His conversation with Dembe.... Yep that about sums up exactly what I'm feeling.

Ressler was the only one making the real emotional connection for me. Showing us some of that emotional impact. I hope I just have to be patient, and wait it out. They'll get to Reddington in a while. In the meantime I just have to try and bear this leap forward that completely divorces us from who he has been to us in the past and what he's been through. Acting like nothing has happened. Like nothing has changed.

And these two women he's with. I'm not enjoying the verbal picture he's painting. Don't quite understand the relationships yet. Aside from the obvious purpose of taking over Dembe's dual role of bodyguard and conscience. I mean, show wise they do actually need to fill that gap, but I resent anybody other than Dembe doing it. And if any part of the relationship is meant to be romantic or sexual... This is not how you do that. I have never cared for any of Reddington's fly by night partners. Anne was the only one that struck a chord. Shoving a relationship down the audience's throat like this, if that's what it is, it's still unclear, works about as well for me as the time jump.

But then that last quarter of the episode. Reddington making moves that get my attention. Finally an interaction between Reddington and Panabaker in the vein that I have been dying for. I need these two characters to interact one-on-one more often. I need that interaction developed into the verbal sparring match of the century that it could be.

And Reddington's final move didn't come as a surprise, given his talk with the former Skinner, but I did like it. The sense of purpose and planning that it brought back.

The Park storyline already feels old. As I've said before it's been done in every cop show ever. Unless they make Peter a full-time character in the show I don't see it going very well.

I know from an interview with the actor that there's more to come on Dembe's story later on. So I'll reserve judgment.

I also know there's a storyline coming up with Arams' family, so I'll reserve judgment there as well. Right now it feels like they're neglecting this character most of all. At least they gave Park a spouse to deal with.

So far season 9 is a waiting game. I can deal with waiting on an overall mystery of what's going on, but waiting to figure out a character I've known for 8 years is frustrating, and it didn't have to be. I don't understand why writers fall in love with the idea of a Time jump. It's lazy. Has any audience, for any show, ever, enjoyed it?

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Clandestined

They finally get their shit together!

tw: alcohol mention, hospital mention in passing, injury mention, pining with a smoochy ending

---

Jaskier pops the dark green bottle of beer open and hands it over to Geralt. He does his best to avert his gaze but finds his eyes drawn to Geralt’s throat as his partner immediately takes a hearty swig. He’s definitely looking away by the time Geralt speaks again. “That really hits the spot after a chase on foot through a public park. Thank you kindly, Agent Pankratz.”

“We’re sitting in my living room at three in the goddamn morning, Geralt,” Jaskier rolls his eyes and cocks one hip to the side. “I think we can dispense with the formalities.”

“Why did you bring me back to your place instead of taking me to, I don’t know, the hospital?” Geralt asks, raising a curious eyebrow. Jaskier hides his easy blush by sticking most of his torso into the fridge to scavenge for another beer. 

“I have all the supplies I need to take care of you here,” he replies. The sound of his voice is muffled by the depth of the fridge. “And health insurance is a bitch to deal with when you’re as tired and exhausted as we are.”

The senior agent huffs out a laugh and takes another drink; Jaskier hears the bottle clink against the tabletop as Geralt sets it down. “You’re damn right about that. Never liked hospitals much, anyway.”

“And yet they stuck you with a medical doctor for a partner,” Jaskier teases. He takes a fortifying swallow of his own cheap IPA and shudders at the sharp, sour tang of hops. He’s going to need to start stocking his fridge with better drink options if these clandestine late-night meetings with Geralt. 

Speaking of his partner, the white-haired agent is staring at him from across the small room with an intense and unfamiliar sort of look in his eyes. There’s an unusual depth to it, a depth that’s beginning to frighten Jaskier as the silent moments continue to pass. Eventually Geralt speaks. It’s quieter than Jaskier has ever heard him speak before, his voice barely carrying through the dimly lit kitchen: “And for that I will be eternally indebted to the FBI, I suppose.”

Jaskier’s heart begins to thrum with increasing speed, heating his face and sending a dangerous thrill through every nerve in his limbs. Geralt is still staring at him, those golden eyes dark and liquid in the dim kitchen light despite their intense focus. The effect is rather disarming and Jaskier finds himself stepping closer, settling across from his partner at the tiny breakfast table. “That’s very kind of you, Geralt.”

The White Wolf snorts and finally turns away, now facing towards the window above the sink. His expression hardens a bit and Jaskier feels himself beginning to panic anew. What if he’s misunderstood Geralt’s meaning entirely? What if he-

“I can hear you thinking from here, Pankratz,” the senior agent chuckles, still looking out the window. “But I meant what I said before. You’re the… You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, Jask.”

Geralt twirls the neck of the beer bottle in his hand absentmindedly. His neck is over-warm and his flyaway hairs are beginning to stick to his temples a bit. Jaskier blinks rapidly before managing to compose himself. “Thank you, Geralt. That is an incredible compliment. You are, without a doubt, my most trusted friend.” 

“Do you believe in love, Agent Pankratz?” 

“Huh?”

“I know you don’t always believe my crazy theories. You’re a scientist and you like to have proof of things, tangible proof. With those parameters set in place, that demand for empirical data, do you believe in things like love?”

Jaskier’s heart leaps into his throat with the agility of a Russian dancer and sticks there. His palms go sweaty and slick against the cold glass of his own green bottle as he debates how to respond for a moment; then it hits him. It hits him like a freight train.

“Geralt,” he begins, standing again and moving into his partner’s space. Geralt does not shy away, does not flinch back or squirm or glare. Jaskier steadies himself and leans down a bit, their eyes locked. Before he pushes their lips together for the first time he whispers: “Here’s my tangible proof.”

The senior agent’s lips are soft and dry beneath his own, chapped from being nibbled at when he focused too hard on a puzzle. Geralt gasps softly when their mouths connect and Jaskier takes the opportunity to run his tongue over the tip of his partner’s sharp canine, a detail about the older man that has always fascinated him. Geralt’s hands find their way to Jaskier’s waist and tug him down so that he’s straddling Geralt’s lap. Jaskier slips the ponytail holder out of Geralt’s hair and thrills at the feeling of those soft tresses falling into his hands. 

They kiss for a long minute before coming back up for air. Jaskier laughs breathlessly and tucks his face against Geralt’s neck, unsure of what exactly they’re supposed to do now.

“Wow,” Geralt mutters. “Just… wow.”

“Have I rendered you extra speechless?” Jaskier finally asks, sitting back and looking at Geralt’s face once again. “Was that… I’m sorry, I should have asked first.”

“No, that was-” Geralt laughs again “-that was amazing. I’ve been dreaming about that since our third assignment. I… I love you, too, Jask.”

“Dear heart,” Jaskier reaches to cup Geralt’s face with his hands. He brings their foreheads together gently, happy for the warmth where their skin is touching, “Oh, my silly Geralt. I love you so much.”

“...So who’s going to tell Skinner?”

“Shit.”

[mulderist]

Great Unknown

One Shot | MSR, RST | 3k+ words | Rated: M | ao3 Written for the @xfilesfanficexchange Dialogue Exchange for @msrafterdark also tagging the fantastic @today-in-fic

Summary: Scully’s feelings leading up to the FTF Hallway Scene

The ping from the elevator chime caused her to flinch. The doors shuddered as they slid open and Scully stepped inside, gripping her car keys against her palm. A torrent swirled in her chest. She felt adrift in an angry sea, searching for a lighthouse to guide her to shore. She leaned back against the worn paneling in the elevator car and shook her head sharply. With a deep inhale and a shaky exhale she allowed herself to briefly fall apart. 

Scully thought about other moments, just like this, where she hid herself to lose composure in the back corner of the office or silently cry in a bathroom stall. Purge it from her system, wipe her cheeks, and soldier on. The past year was marked by so much pain and loss. A confusing array of emotions that she was forced to compartmentalize. The return of her illness and miraculous recovery, strange memories from the night on the bridge, finding and losing Emily in the blink of an eye. The list was becoming insurmountable. She never wanted to appear vulnerable nor did she allow herself complete release or acceptance. He tried to remind her that she wasn’t alone and that gave her some comfort. He could be fiercely protective with an overbearing concern at times -- but he was there. 

Scully told herself all this turmoil was from the exhaustion of their return trip to Texas. Dragged out to the desert on a hunch to pursue phantom tanker trucks. Chased through a cornfield by black helicopters only to escape unscathed. They argued on the drive to the airport and she was too tired to speak to him after they nearly missed a connecting flight back to D.C. 

She was late getting to the Hoover Building for her awkward meeting with OPR. Feeling unprofessional and flustered she endured an hour of questioning. Skinner met her in the hallway, trying to offer words of encouragement. Instead she only heard the words from a senior agent echo in her head about disciplinary action. How was she going to tell Mulder?

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she thought about the consequence of bringing this journey to its end. She pressed her lips together stifling a sob. The impression of her keys grew deeper in her hand. Another chime and the elevator doors opened. It was then she realized she neglected to press the button for the fourth floor.

——-

So many times down this hallway, finding herself at his door. She knocked first then turned the knob, surprised to find it was unlocked. Mulder was seated at his cluttered desk and didn’t get up from his chair as she stood at the threshold. He tilted his head with a quizzical look; not at the fact she was standing in his foyer, but more concerned about her uncharacteristic disheveled appearance. Jacket undone, white shirt hastily untucked. This time she couldn’t hide the fact that something was wrong.

“Salt Lake City. Transfer effective immediately.” It tasted sour in her mouth. Her throat felt dry. His eyes closed and he shut the book that was balanced on his lap.

“You can’t quit, Scully.”

“I debated whether or not to tell you in person,” she continued, nails pressing into her palm. He told her they were so close to finding answers, that they were on the verge of something. She painfully disagreed saying he was the only one who was making that leap. He rose from his chair and approached her. 

“After all you saw last night, after all you’ve seen you can just walk away?” 

“I have. I did - it’s done.”

“I need you on this,” he stressed as he leaned in closer. She could feel her heart breaking. This man, who would follow his beliefs to the ends of the earth; who was already sinking in the deep end of unwanted cases before she came along. She figured he’d be better off without her to continue his pursuit of the truth.

“You don’t need me Mulder, you never have. I’ve just held you back,” she paused long enough to catch her breath and stifle another wave of tears. “I gotta go.”

She was four steps out the door before she heard his heavy boot heels follow. She whirled around and witnessed his frustration boil over. He confronted her and fought to get the last word before she walked out of his life. She stood her ground, not letting him win this time. Scully told him she had only been a pawn, a small player in the grand game to shut down and debunk his work. Then he cut her off.

“But you saved me.” 

His honesty hit her like a bullet. Hearing him say those four words with a rawness and a vulnerability to his voice caused a pang in her chest. He continued, telling her that she kept him honest and made him a whole person. 

“I owe you everything. And Scully, you owe me nothing.” 

It was an unconventional declaration of love. Simply put, he loved her and in that moment she truly felt it. Her lips parted as she tried to think of something to say but nothing came. She could feel her pulse pound in her ears. His voice lowered as he stood dangerously close.

“I don’t know if I want to do this alone. I don’t even know if I can.”

The powers that be had made the decision for them. She knew it was a forced short-term re-assignment, six months at best maybe a year. Where would things stand when she returned. His plea hung in the air; thick and heavy. There was nothing she could say. The harsh yellow lighting in the hallway was an unkind compliment. He appeared exhausted, desperate, and defeated. She swallowed hard and walked forward into an embrace, burying her head in his chest. She tightened her arms around him and closed her eyes. He held her close with a strong arm draped across her upper back, his head resting in the delicate space between her neck and shoulder. She pulled away and reached for the back of his neck to bring him down, allowing her lips to sweetly kiss his forehead.  A tear slipped down her cheek.

“God, what are we doing, Mulder?” she whispered, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. He exhaled slowly, leaning his forehead against hers. She sniffed with a soft gaze at the floor. She was still questioning herself and he could sense it.

“I can’t lose you now, Scully. Not after all this,” he said softly as he smoothed her hair. She had been here before, melting into his palm as tears pooled in her eyes. Her chin lifted. She could feel her cheeks flush and her pulse quicken as he brought his other hand to frame her face. His touch felt more like a lover than a friend, five years of unspoken desire in a gentle caress. He was turning the key to her heart, unlocking it without saying a word. She searched his face and suddenly desire invaded her thoughts. She was overcome with a need to be with him, even if it was only for tonight. 

A shared bated breath. Lips parted just so. He leaned in and time stood still; they could have been the only two people in the city with the world falling down around them. A celestial thread pulled them together, slowing their orbit. He pressed his lips to hers; soft and warm. Her head drifted back as she took his kiss. Hunger dared her tongue to explore further. His fingers traced down her jawline and trailed along her supple neck. Her head tilted ever so slightly allowing the tip of his tongue to slip past her lips. Her hands moved to hold the sides of his neck, fingers stretched up towards his cheeks. Suddenly, she felt his embrace tighten around her and he lifted her up with ease. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and he turned, carrying her back down the hallway. As he stumbled inside his apartment they parted long enough to catch a breath.

“Mulder…” she purred as her feet found the floor. He released her then placed a free hand on the door and firmly closed it behind them, flipping the deadbolt. She paced further into the room and shed her jacket, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. As she turned around he met her at the espresso stained door frame with another passionate embrace. She leaned back against the solid wood, feeling his weight comfortably envelop her. He then dipped his head to meet hers as her fingers nimbly toyed with the hem of his dark grey t-shirt.

“Scully,” he began with heavy breath, “If you’re giving me this chance, I want to make sure I do things right,” he said carefully. “I want -- you. Only you.” 

His thumb caressed the skin of her cheek as fingertips gently threaded into her fiery locks. She lifted her chin and red-rimmed eyes met his gaze. Her hand connected to his chest like a magnet, the rhythm of his heart pounded beneath her fingertips. 

“I’ve learned that there has never been a clearly defined right or wrong with us. This thing that we have is complicated.” her voice faded to a whisper. She searched his face noting a shine in his hazel eyes.

“Is that a bad thing?” Mulder asked tentatively, knitting his fingers with hers over his heart. She could no longer deny what she truly felt; he was hers and she was his. Despite higher forces trying to tear them apart, together they would walk side by side into the unknown.

“No,” the response was quiet but firm, “because I want this, too,” Scully said. Her lip trembled and he calmed it with another slow kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. A sigh escaped her mouth as he peppered kisses along her neck, tasting her pulse. Roaming hands connected to her waist following the natural curve to her hips, mouths met again and again. She tugged at his shirt, twisting soft cotton around her finger, lifting the material over taut lower abdominals. He parted for a breath and watched the rise and fall of her chest, a flash of gold resting on her sternum. He lightly grazed her rib cage forging a path northward. Warmth bloomed around her heart, flowed through her veins and plunged down to her center. She was aroused in the purest definition of the word. His thumb brushed across her breast and suddenly froze when she quickly covered his hand.

“I’m sorry, we can just…” he stammered.

“Don’t stop,” she said breathlessly as she undid the buttons on her shirt, slowly parting the curtain of silk revealing herself to him. She wanted him to see her, take her, love her for just one night. Things might change but it was a risk they both were willing to take.

He stared for a moment, hesitant to accept the offering in front of him. It was her turn to frame his face, an unspoken cue to proceed. A content grin crossed his lips. He cupped her perfect breast with one hand and noticed how she fit easily in his palm. Each squeeze and knead perking her nipple even more against the smooth fabric of her bra. He nipped at her clavicle, moving her shirt to expose the skin of her shoulder. He tasted Texas dust, salt, and the summer wind. 

She licked her top lip and needed him more than ever. The flint was struck and a flame was growing. He pulled away for a moment to remove his shirt then flung it to the side. She was no stranger to his form; capable of seeing him strictly from a doctor’s perspective but this was vastly different. The details were smoother, softer, begging to be touched. Her fingertips ran a featherweight trail from defined pectorals to abs. He hummed with each caress. She felt a surge in her center and gently directed him further into his living room.   

——-

The afternoon sunlight cast an array of jagged shadows along the walls of the apartment, but Mulder could only focus on the way the golden glow illuminated her. A guiding light to each new curve, each line, each angle. Worn leather the color of dark chocolate provided the altar. She, a goddess draped in white silk astride his lap, breasts rocking slightly against fabric and lace; he, a devout disciple eager to follow her guidance and show her boundless pleasure. His thumb worked a spiral with precision focus on damp black cotton that separated them. He could feel the small hairs on his bare thighs stand on end with each flutter of the hem of her shirt. Her petite frame worked in unison with his digit, punctuated vowels escaped her lips. She reached for him, unfurling tented boxer-briefs. A moist tip graced her palm, her languid strokes caused him to pause and loll his head back against the cushion. 

He shifted suddenly and laid her down, noticing her cross fall into the pit of her throat. Light shone on perfect skin, enhancing the array of freckles across her chest. Clothing tugged aside allowing him entry. His finger traced her seam and ventured further into the dewy folds. Her back arched a perfect curve, hands stretched overhead reaching for the arm of the couch. Her breath came in short bursts as she gave in to his touch; it was so different from her own. He paused to reach down and lubricate himself with her arousal. She blinked lust-laden eyelids and licked her lip. Gently he slid inside, feeling the heat of her center. His first thrust caused a shudder, her grip tightened on the couch. She mewled when he found the deepest part of her. 

“Yes Mulder,” she uttered through a moan, sucking on her lower lip. He drove deeper and deeper. His slick piston motored in and out, his breath ragged. She could feel herself tighten around him. One hand clasped the back of his neck, her thighs twitched, abdominals burned, she was so close now.

“Harder,” she begged, fingertips digging into his skin.

“Mm...Scully,” he said breathlessly. Her staccato exhale grew louder with each thrust. She never wanted him to stop. 

“Oh god I’m..” she warned as a euphoric high traveled up her spine. She gasped and suddenly came hard against him. A cry escaped her lips, hips bucked fiercely. A thousand points of ecstasy lit up inside causing tears to well in her eyes. She let the wave wash over, drowned in the ultimate release. Every inch of her twitched and quivered and it felt right. God it felt so right.

------

The last rays of rosy sunlight had dipped behind the building across the way. A serene silence filled the room. He traced a line along her forehead then down her cheek. She closed her eyes and could feel a glow surround her. He pushed back with a shaky bicep and she caught her breath. He carefully rose from the couch, tucking himself back in and went to the kitchen. She righted herself then heard the rush of water from the faucet. A deep exhale and she swallowed back tears. Joyful tears. Her fingertips tapped against her cheeks then ran through her hair. Mulder soon returned with a towel and a full glass. He sat next to her and she let him dab the terrycloth on her abdomen. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She stood slowly to find the bathroom, he caught her hand with a signature caress of his thumb over her knuckles.

“I’ll be right back,” she said as she caught one more glimpse of his nearly naked frame sitting on the couch. A few minutes later she emerged, finishing the last button on her shirt.  

“Are you alright?” Mulder asked as he leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. Scully took a sip of water from the glass on the table.

“I’m fine,” she said with a nod of her head, “And I truly mean that. For the first time in a while I’m actually fine.” He got up from his seat, bending down to grab his jeans. After pulling them on she moved closer and wrapped her arms around his waist. A tear tracked down and absorbed into his skin.     

“I’m sorry,” she said sheepishly, pulling away with her palm resting on her jawline.

“Hey hey,” he soothed. 

“I know I just said I was fine but that um, that—was a lot for me,” she continued, wiping away tears, “A lot of good but...a lot.”

Her eyes lifted and she saw the smile on his face. He kissed her once again, tender and slow. They didn’t need to say much more. Not yet. She knew they still had to talk about re-assignment but that was a conversation for a later time. Once she got home and processed everything she would reach out to him. For now she just wanted to remember this moment exactly as it was.

Scully stepped away and collected her shoes, pulling them on as he finished getting dressed. She walked towards the door, crouching down to pick up her jacket but was startled when something fell from it. She folded the layer across her arm then bent lower and saw a fluff of yellow frantically kicking its legs. Her eyes widened.

“Mulder,” she called.

“What is it?” He asked, finishing off the glass of water. She rose with the insect pinched in between her fingertips and showed him. He held her hand closer to get a better look. “Wow. A stowaway.”

“Do you think it was from that facility?”

“Almost certain,” he said squinting, “Did it sting you?” 

“No, I don’t think so. I found it on the floor when I got my jacket.”

“Wait a sec.” 

He dashed to his desk and rummaged through the drawers looking for a container to house the bee. She met him halfway and placed the offender in its new holding cell. He took it from her and she went to wash her hands. When she came back in the room he was dialing the phone.

“Who are you calling?” she asked.

“Frohike. I want to have this thing analyzed.”

Scully thought for a moment as she shook her jacket then flipped the collar. Her hand went to the back of her neck, feeling nothing but the clasp of her necklace. Mulder was quick with the details and hung up just as fast. He noticed her fidgeting. 

“I can’t believe that it was in my collar for that long,” she stated running her hand along her upper back, feeling a phantom itch.

“Hopefully we can get some more info about it. I have a theory and I’d really like to be wrong,” Mulder said, adjusting his shirt. “I’m just glad you weren’t stung.”

“Well, even if I was I don’t have an allergy.” She pulled on her jacket, fluffing it before tying it at the waist. Mulder finished fixing his shoes and grabbed his black leather jacket, pocketing his cell phone.

“Yeah, I don’t know if that would make a difference,” he said somewhat to himself while retrieving the bee. She followed him out the door. 

As they waited for the elevator she shook her head.

“We can never catch a break, can we?”

He squeezed her hand, holding on to it as the chime sounded and the doors slid open. 

Unspoken communication. 

Side by side into the unknown.

[dreamingofscully]

6x21. “Field Trip” - X-Files Rewatch

Their only field case during the summer of love. Mulder is so transparent. Two skeletons found in a lover's embrace. 

Scully’s so flirty and cute.

Mulder's comment that he's right 98.9% of the time. 

This stems from his frustration with her skepticism and unwillingness to believe seeping through. Understandable but he’s WRONG which makes him a jerk. He doesn’t believe what he’s saying in general - he values her input, enjoys the back-and-forth arguments that they have, but that she is still so stubborn about not believing is aggravating. He wants to share the wonders of the fantastical with her, but he can’t yet.

The usual scenario is Mulder being RIGHT about the case having some sort of paranormal cause, but usually wrong at the specifics. It’s only by Scully’s challenge that they are able to come to the correct answer.

The scene in Fight the Future illustrates this perfectly - Mulder wants to go one way, Scully thinks the opposite - but the correct route is somewhere in-between.

I wrote a little drabble where Scully talks about her frustration with Mulder. Confronts him about it. 

I like that even though they’re together, things aren’t all roses. He’s still an ass, she’s still stubborn. If they weren’t involved, I think Scully would have buried her feelings about it, and they would have remained mad at each other. As it is, Scully doesn’t really see that she’s doing anything wrong, but… she really is. Mulder has patience, but not always. ❤️

Standing close over the file.

Mulder sticking his finger in the goop.

Mulder’s hallucination begins very shortly after he walks up the hill. 

Scully’s worry when she can’t reach Mulder. Staying behind and following up on the case from a medical point of view, sending off samples to be analyzes - all RATIONAL things to do to get answers - that end up saving the both of them.

Mulder’s hallucination (Alien Abduction)

It takes what he already knows, what he believes to be true about the case: aliens. It feeds into his proposed theory. It’s interesting that he is COMPLETELY off the mark when it comes to this case. He’s wrong, and his enthusiasm for being right puts him in even more danger.

Scully’s so smol in the big ass truck. Her hallucination starts when she gets to the cave. She doesn’t leave the hill - all of it afterwards is fake.

The light Mulder sees - what he believes are aliens - probably comes from Scully’s flashlight.

Mulder’s skepticism about the bodies - that it doesn’t fit the usual abduction scenario. This is what he forgot about when he gets frustrated with Scully. He NEEDS her arguments to arrive at the correct answers. It’s difficult to see, that her negative influence, that her skepticism, achieves results, but if she wasn’t there he’d be very wrong most of the time.

Interesting note that Mulder walks towards the light. He sees it as an alien craft, he’s curious. (Explains why he’d walk into the light in “Requiem”.)

Mulder takes Scully’s arm to bring her into his bedroom. He has his new bed here. Even though this is a hallucination, presumably he got his bedroom furnishings correct. He holds onto her arm the entire time, stands so closely, watches her face with joy.

Mulder’s happiness at her finally believing in him, in the paranormal.

Of course this would be his hallucination.

He’d just been arguing with Scully, FRUSTRATED with her, about this very thing. He’s wanted to share his wonder with her since FTF (since before that, but FTF is when they shared something incredible together, that he thought would be her turning point). He wants to share the awe he feels at knowing that fantastical things are real, but Scully hasn’t been in a place to do that yet. She’s holding onto her science even at the expense of truth and reality. His hallucination is his ultimate happy fantasy.

Scully’s absolute suspension of disbelief breaks him out of the hallucination - he COUNTS on her skepticism. It’s too much, too far. What he wants isn’t reality (and might never be). He wants what’s REAL even if it means Scully frustrates him sometimes.

The one thing he can’t believe is that Scully falls for the story, without question. Finding the hikers, seeing the spacecraft/lights, kidnapping an alien and bringing it to his house like E.T. - all believable to him. 

Mulder’s hallucination - awe; Scully’s hallucination - fear. It’s how they react to paranormal things in general. Very apt to have these expressed when they are experiencing altered reality.

Scully’s hallucination (Mulder’s death. Her deepest fear.)

Scully’s face when she is confronted with Mulder’s death. She’s a hair away from a breakdown. She responds by trying to understand what happened through the lens of science. Trying to explain the tragedy, put it in a box, so she can somehow control her grief.

The hallucination appeals to her rationality to make her believe what’s true, to make her complacent. Deep down, though, she has doubts, much like with everything else. As much as she sticks to science, she HAS changed. She DOES believe, she just can’t accept it yet.

Her hallucination keeps repeating her initial rational thoughts back to her - the medical examiner, Skinner, even Frohike. Because the CONSEQUENCES of this scientific explanation are so dire, it shocks her out of it. It’s not so simple when it means Mulder is dead.

Her two fears clash - death and belief. Which does she fear more? Losing Mulder, of course. She HAS TO BELIEVE in order for her to understand the truth of what's happened to Mulder, even if she is fearful of the implications - that there is something strange going on. ANYTHING is better than living with the reality of Mulder being dead. Her skepticism serves to break down her own rational theories here.

Poor Scully is on the verge of tears the whole time.

She’s on the receiving end of everyone around her being rational, while she is trying to explain that there is something else going on. Is this what Mulder feels like?

Scully addresses the point Mulder was making earlier, about being a counterpoint on the X-Files. When the consequences are dire enough, she can’t help but separate herself and look at things how he would - if she wants the TRUTH.

Without him, how worthwhile is her perspective? (NOT that her arguments are worthless, but that you need BOTH.)

Scully arrives at Mulder’s wake. Slow motion camera work is devastating.

His casket is in his bedroom - the death of him and that part of their lives almost before it started.

The Gunmen - representing paranoia and always questioning the “accepted” views. Trying to convince her of the “rational” but it only does the opposite. She CANNOT accept his death, more than she CAN hold onto rationality and science.

“He’s gone. You need to accept that.” → NO SHE CAN’T!

Their joint hallucination

Mulder returns, the people at his wake are gone. She has him back but can’t accept this “truth” either. Her rational mind knows there is something else going on.

Mulder claims he was abducted. Scully QUESTIONS him about it.

Scully figures out what’s going on the first time through her skepticism, Mulder the second through a leap of faith/belief.

Out of the hallucination (or is it?)

Holding hands at the end in the truck. 🤧 I love that it’s Mulder reaching out to her first. Acknowledging that he DOES need her. 

The beginning of this episode has Mulder frustrated at Scully for never believing him even though he is “always” right, yet it is Scully’s persistence and rationality that rescues them.

Mulder does have a right to be frustrated, but in this case it’s misdirected. Scully SHOULD believe, when it’s warranted, but Mulder also needs objectivity. If he didn’t have her there, he'd have been swept away in his hallucination. 

In addition, Mulder reaches his hand out, through the hallucination, via his leap of faith, also aiding in their rescue.

THEY NEED EACH OTHER TO BE SUCCESSFUL.

When everyone around Mulder is trying to convince him of the alien story, he can’t let go if the skepticism that he got from Scully. When everyone around Scully is trying to convince her of the rational explanation, she can’t accept it as the truth either.

They’ve changed each other for the better.

[starwalker42]

And The World Keeps Spinning [1/2]

This is for the X-Files Fluff Exchange by @xfilesfanficexchange, which was a huge leap out of my comfort zone but I’m so glad I signed up to! My prompt was “something fluffy around Mulder and Scully spending Valentines together either as a new couple or maybe not a couple yet” from @kristinsauter, and I really hope I did it justice! Part 2 to follow x (Link to A03)

This is all my fault. Frohike would probably disagree, but he wouldn’t have been able to talk me into this if I hasn’t had those beers, so I only have myself to blame, really.

It was barely a week after New Year’s, and it shouldn’t have surprised me that with only one drink down I was already talking about that night; every morning since, I’d woken with the memory of Scully’s lips on mine, and despite my best intentions I’d found myself dreaming about it during the day, too.

Originally the guys had been ecstatic, but when it became apparent that was as far as we’d gone- and that we hadn’t discussed it since- praise quickly turned to exasperation. Frohike gave the most world-weary sigh I’ve ever heard, Langly started off on one of his lectures- dude, are you serious, what the hell- and even Byers looked unimpressed.

“You can’t kiss a lady when the world’s about to end and not take her out for dinner,” Frohike commented around his beer.

I can’t remember what exactly my excuse was- probably something about it not being the right time, about how she was my partner, not just some random hookup, and that it wasn’t as easy as ‘taking her out for dinner’- but I don’t think they listened anyway.

“You can’t leave her hanging, dude.”

“I know you’re nervous, Mulder, but you should ask her.”

“Just take her to Casey’s-”

I shot down Frohike’s idea almost before it was out of his mouth. “My first date with Scully is not going to be Casey’s.”

“Unless you get your head out of your ass I don’t think it’ll happen at all.” Langly drawled, and that did it.

“I’ll do it! I’m going to ask her out for Valentine’s.”

“Why the wait?”

In my mind, it was to leave enough time for this conversation to be forgotten and for the guys to never bring up the subject again. But of course, that didn’t happen, and last week they were the ones reminding me about what I’d said. I’d promised I’d ask her when we were out of town on this new case with the VCU.

I haven’t.

I’d meant to, several times, but the moment was never right: the words just hadn’t come out, or we’d been discussing the case, or been standing over a skinned corpse… you get the idea. So now we’re in the office, on the 13th February, having worked non-stop for seven days, and I’m trying to delay my inevitable exit my packing my bag as slowly as humanly possible while Scully finishes filling in her report. She always takes longer; she has to be precise and make sure everything’s filled in right, can’t just scribble stuff down like I can.

Normally I love that about her- today I just want her to hurry up so she can leave the office and I can stay down here in my self-created loneliness for the rest of my miserable life. The guys are going to have a field day when they find out about how badly this has gone.

“Penny for them.”

I glance up and meet Scully’s smiling eyes. She raises her eyebrow expectantly and I find myself unable to come up with a suitable lie. The words come out on top of each other.

“I was just wondering if you want to come over tomorrow night. For dinner.”

I have to look away, can’t stand to see the unavoidable pity and rejection in her face.

“Sure, sounds great.”

I almost feel the floor fall from under me. My cheeks are on fire as I feel my face break out into a smile I can’t stop.

“Uh, okay, cool.” My bag almost falls from my hand as I fumble with it. “See you at seven?”

“I’ll be there.”

Is that my heart pounding?

                                                           xXx

Mulder grabs his coat, stops briefly in the doorway to run his hand across the back of his neck, and says to the floor, “See you tomorrow.”

I stop trying to decode his behaviour. It’s been a long week. “See you tomorrow.”

And then he’s gone.

Tomorrow is Monday, which would normally mean we’d be in each other’s company for a good ten hours or so in the office, but after this past week Skinner’s practically begged us to take a few days off so I’ve threatened Mulder that on pain of death he must not step foot in this building until Wednesday at the earliest. I know it might be just as hard to keep me away.

I’m looking forward to a few days off, of course I am- I haven’t had a bath in lord knows how long- but the longer I’m away from the office, the less I can relax. Okay, that’s not true- the longer I’m away from Mulder would probably be a better way of putting it. As pathetic as it sounds, if I’m away from him for much longer than a day it just feels wrong. I feel wrong. I’m sure some would call it dependency, and while I’m not sure about that I know that when I’m away from him, even if I know exactly where he is and what he’s doing, even if he’s only a phone call away, I’m lonely. I don’t know when but somewhere along the line it became clear that I’m happiest when I’m by his side; that I’m safer, more comfortable, and somehow more whole when I’m with him. I feel like myself.

Our classic method of hiding what I’m beginning to suspect is a mutual need for contact is anything can hide behind the safe veneer of a night in between friends, more often than not in the form of a takeaway and a terrible movie on Mulder’s couch. It’s happened enough times that at this point I’m expecting it at times like this, so I’m a little shocked that Mulder thinks it necessary to have to make pre-arranged plans. Surely he knows he could call me at 6 tomorrow night and I’d be over in half an hour?

I again remind myself to stop trying to work out my partner, and try to be content with the knowledge that I understand him a hell of a lot better than anyone else. The thought makes me smile as I grab my keys and leave the office.

It isn’t until I’m driving back home and see, of all things, the Victoria’s Secret window display, that I realise what day it is tomorrow. It’s not just Monday. It’s Valentine’s Day.

It’s fucking Valentine’s Day.

My first thought is to dismiss it as a coincidence: Mulder forgets even my birthday, and it’s been a long hard week, and if I forgot then it’s likely he did too… but then I remember the way he couldn’t meet my eyes, the way his cheeks flushed, the relieved smile he gave when I said yes.

He knows what day tomorrow is.

And I’m pretty sure he’s asked me on a date.

And I’ve said yes.

Holy shit.

                                                            xXx

It’s not until the doors to the elevator close behind me that I allow myself to breathe.

Holy shit.

I just asked Scully out. On a date. A Valentine’s date. And she didn’t roll her eyes, or oh brother me, or deck me one in the face. She said yes.

Holy shit!

I don’t know how to do this. How long has it been since I was on a date? Should I book a restaurant somewhere? Is it acceptable to get takeout? What the hell am I supposed to wear? My the time I’m at the garage I’ve managed to talk myself into a spiral of panic, and I’m very close to calling Scully and cancelling before I remember that ultimately, that’s who I’m doing this for. Scully.

I don’t have to dress up or create some fake-perfect evening for her, because that’s not our thing. And tomorrow is about us.

On my way back, I stop at the store and buy a bottle of wine- one of the expensive ones that Scully never admits she has at her place- and decide to risk forgoing takeout and buying ingredients in the hopes that I can still remember how to cook carbonara. I don’t know what I’d even begin to write in a card, so I don’t even glance at them, but at the flower display I have to stop. I’ve only ever bought Scully flowers when she was in hospital, but if there’s any time to break a tradition it’s now. Red roses are too forward, and too traditional, and everything else seems to be the same shade of pink that I know Scully will hate. I’m about to give up when I see the smaller bouquets at the front- well, one in particular. It’s a beautiful mix of what look like white roses and a whole mix of others that I can’t identify apart from their colour- blue. They’re almost exactly the same shade as Scully’s eyes, so close that it almost takes my breath away.

They’re the ones.

The cashier doesn’t seem surprised by my purchases- I assume she’s used to harried customers buying last minute Valentine’s gifts- and a few minutes later I’m back in my car and driving home. I feel my face breaking out into a ridiculous grin, and don’t try to contain it.

                                                           xXx

I’ve been on edge all day. I’ve tried going for a run, having a bath, reading some of my book, but I can’t relax. It’s now 4pm and I’m judging that to be a suitable time to start getting ready, especially because if I leave it any longer I think I might scream. Also I’m likely to need another three hours just to work out what the hell I’m going to wear, and how to come across as completely relaxed about this entire situation. How long has it been since I went on a proper date? How long since I’ve been on one and actually enjoyed it?

Ed Jerse comes to mind, but deep down I think I know that I didn’t really enjoy it, that what I enjoyed was the concept. Letting go and getting away from myself in the way that no one would expect from straight-laced Agent Scully. But even at the time, I wasn’t enjoying it. I remember closing my eyes and trying to imagine it was Mulder inside me, having to bite my tongue so I didn’t cry out his name. It occurs to me that if things go to plan tonight, I might actually end up in the place I’d wished for those years ago. Mulder and I might have sex tonight. Okay, now I really need to go and have a shower. A cold one.

I can’t get the picture out of my mind, though. If I’m being honest, I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind for a while now. And our kiss on New Year’s didn’t exactly help things in that regard. I’m pretty sure it’s no longer a question of if but when we cross that final line, and if it hadn’t been for Mulder’s injuries, I think we would’ve crossed it that very same night.

But maybe it’s better this way; at least now I can prepare somewhat. I straighten my hair for what must be the third time today, and try to work out how best to do my makeup without looking like I’ve been thinking about it too hard, which ultimately means that I redo it several times before I’m happy. I second guess myself on what to wear about a dozen times as well, going between completely casual (jeans and a t-shirt) to the frankly overdressed (an evening gown I’ve had for years and never worn), and everything in-between.

In the end I opt for a V-neck sweater that Melissa bought for me all those years ago, one that I’ve only worn a handful of times and only never out of the house. It’s gorgeous material, cosy and soft, but it was clearly either designed for someone with bigger breasts or with a bigger load of self confidence because on my chest it’s somewhat loose, and definitely not the kind of thing I’d normally wear. If it wasn’t that Melissa had bought it for me I think I would’ve got rid of it by now, but I’m glad I didn’t. I can’t wait to see Mulder’s face.

                                                          xXx

There’s a knock on the door ten minutes before seven. I’m not even surprised: it’s Scully, of course she’s early. In a way I’m glad, because dinner is almost ready and part of me had been dreading the point where minutes after minutes went by without her showing up until it became clear that she was never going to.

Now as I hear her knock on the door I allow myself to breathe a sigh of relief that all of this- making dinner, buying wine, cleaning the apartment, putting on one of my best shirts- wasn’t for nothing. An instant later panic hits again. Oh god. Scully’s here, which means this is actually happening. Oh god.

I realise I’ve been frozen in the kitchen when I hear another knock, slightly louder this time, and remember that even though Scully has a key and is more than willing to use it under normal circumstances, she’s likely to not be so keen right now. Okay. Okay, I can do this.

My hand trembles as I slide the bolt across and pull the door open. I’m apologising almost immediately, too anxious to let the words take their time.

“Hey, sorry, I heard you I just had to make sure the food wasn’t-” and then I actually look at her, and- “Wow.”

It’s not exactly a new thought, not particularly different to what usually goes through my mind when I look at her, but her appearance tonight is… wow. I can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, and can only conclude it’s some magical combination of a slightly darker lipstick than usual, the smile she’s giving me, and the fact that I can see so many more inches of her beautiful skin than usual thanks to the cut of the sweater she’s wearing. How the hell does the sight of her clavicle do these things to me?

Noticing the way Scully’s eyes glance up and down my body while I’m still stood in the doorway, I step back to allow her in and close the door behind her. My hands? Still shaking with the best of them.

“Can I take your coat?”

“Uh… yeah. Thanks.”

My hands don’t feel like they belong to me as I slide the jacket off of her, not missing the way she gasps when my fingers accidently brush the exposed skin of her collarbone. I hang it up and briefly turn my attention back to the stove, where the spaghetti is at risk of overflowing, and try to breathe. Scully is too quiet.

“I’ve got wine if you want?” I ask over my shoulder, but she’s gone. “Scully?”

“In here.” Her voice comes from somewhere else in the apartment, out of sight.

I turn down the stove and head through to the living room. She’s stood at my desk, and I immediately know what she’s found. I’d hoped I could at least get her to have a drink before she saw I’d bought her flowers.

“These are for me.” It’s not a question.

“Oh, actually they were for my other date, but she didn’t show,” I joke, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart. Were they a mistake? And did I just call Scully my date-?

There’s an indecipherable expression on her face when she turns to face me. “No man’s ever bought me flowers before.”

Somehow I find that hard to believe doesn’t seem like the correct response, especially because I know my partner, and I know this isn’t how she messes with me. She’s being honest, and somehow without thinking I find myself doing the same.

“They reminded me of you.” She raises an eyebrow. “They’re the same blue as your eyes.”

I catch the way her cheeks flush before she glances away, and hear the quiet thank you she gives to the floor before she speaks up.

“You don’t drink wine, Mulder.”

I hear the pan bubbling from the kitchen again. “Yeah, well, you’d better not go teetotal on me now, Scully, because otherwise I’m going to have to start.”

She raises her eyes and gives a smirk. “I’ll get a glass.”

                                                          xXx

I don’t think I’ve ever been as surprised by Mulder as I have been tonight. He’s bought my favourite wine, he’s got me flowers- beautiful ones at that- he’s made dinner for us even though I was 90% sure he’d never cooked in his life, and now it appears he’s had time to stop off at Blockbuster to empty the romcom aisle.

“What’re we feeling?” He spreads the VHS cases across the coffee table and looks over to me expectantly. We’re almost touching on the couch.

My head is a little fuzzy with wine and the giddiness that comes with being too close to Mulder for too long, and rather than answering immediately I find myself just looking into his eyes for a long minute. I can feel it, the familiar magnetism between us, and for once I realise that nothing should be holding us back from giving in to it. I’m tipsy, and Mulder’s been drinking beer during dinner, so I know he’s not exactly sober either. We’re here, in private, together. It would be so easy to give in. So why don’t I? With liquid courage, I lean forwards and send a thanks to whoever created Valentine’s Day and gave me an excuse to press my lips against his.

Neither of us move, I don’t think we dare to, and the outcome isn’t much different to that first kiss on New Year’s Eve- a somewhat gentle, trepidatious kiss that feels like it lasts forever and still ends far too soon.

“You choose.” I manage as we disengage, noticing how much huskier my voice has become.

Mulder doesn’t even look, just grabs a tape at random and manages to get it into the player before returning to sit next to me. I press myself against his side and smile when I feel his arm come to wrap around my shoulders, like it belongs there. The first few beats of ‘Be My Baby’ play from the TV, and I hum in approval of Mulder’s choice.

“You know, I’ve never watched this film.” His voice is low and soft in my ear.

“What? It’s a classic American movie,” I whisper back.

“That’s what every woman says. It’s a chick flick.”

“Patrick Swayze’s not your type?”

He presses a quick kiss to my cheek as we settle back against the couch. “You know exactly what my type is.”

You know what Mulder? I think I might be beginning to work it out.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hello! 😊 can you write Arthur reassuring reader after she woke up screaming from a nightmare?

Here you go, Anon! I sort of forgot the screaming part of the request, and this turned out differently than I planned. This honestly could’ve gone multiple ways. Anywho, hope this satisfies. 

Warnings: scenes of graphic violence/torture

Keep running, you say to yourself. You have to keep running. If you stop for even a second, they’ll catch you. 

“Come on!” you shout behind you at your little sister. 

“I can’t, I’m tired!” she whines, stopping again for the third time in a row. You do too, your lungs burning from running. The ash and smoke you breathed in earlier doesn’t help. 

“I know, I am too. But we have to keep going!” you scream, grabbing her hand and dragging her behind you. Behind you comes the laughter, like a pack of coyotes. They are coming. The sound makes you scream and you run faster. 

“They went this way,” A man’s voice screams. “Keep running, children! We’ll get ya!” 

What is wrong with these people? They almost act like they’re hunting animals, only you’re the animals. You shriek again and keep running, your face and arms getting scratched by the bushes you run through, leaping over fallen trees. Your sister struggles to keep up with you, her hand being crushed by your own. 

“I want mama!” she cries out. 

“They got her,” you say, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Papa too. We can’t stop though!” 

From behind you hear the heavy footfalls of a much larger person than yourself bounding towards you. Your sister is suddenly wrenched from your grasp, making you stumble. You turn to see the man holding her up by the arm as she screams, several other men bounding up to his side and laughing. 

You don’t think, you just get up and continue running. It’s too late for her, there’s nothing you can do. You’ve no weapons and you’re half their size. As you flee, you hear a weird splashing sound. You jump over the large trunk of a fallen tree and hear your sister screaming like you’ve never heard before. You hide behind the trunk and look back, but then you wish you’d kept running. You see your sister’s silhouette in the flames covering her body. The men must have doused her in some kind of flammable oil and then thrown a torch at her. Her arms flail about as she shrieks in agony, twirling and running in circles as the men laugh. 

You can’t watch anymore as they let her burn alive. You get back up on your legs and keep running, tears streaming down your cheeks. You blindly hurl yourself into trees, and each one you touch begins glowing, their bark turning to coals. The men chasing you lurch out of the darkness, taunting you, screaming at you. The sky above the tall trees illuminates, lightning streaking across the clouds. 

One of the man grabs your wrists, his hand growing hairy and his nails lengthening and turning black. You look up at him and his face morphs into a dog’s. He growls and yelps, his companions closing in. They’re turning too and they’re preparing to leap onto you, ready to tear you to shreds. They show their teeth, foamy spit dripping from their jowls. 

This isn’t right, you think. Pull yourself out, this isn’t right. This isn’t real because this isn’t how it happened. Get out of this!

Somehow you wake yourself up, but the howls and cackling of the men still rings in your ears. You look outside your tent, convincing yourself that you see their glowing eyes in the darkest spots in the area you can see.

You sit up, feeling yourself shaking. The vision of your sister, bathed in flames, keeps swimming into your vision. An overwhelming sense of guilt slams into you. While you don’t know exactly how she died at the hands of her murderers, you were the only one of your family to survive. All because you ran rather than staying behind to try and fight them off like your father and older brother. True, your father had screamed at you and your sister to run, but she hadn’t. She’d stayed behind with them, too afraid of leaving  your parents, and those monsters killed her. You only know they did because they didn’t leave victims. They weren’t named the Skinners for nothing. 

You’ve had dreams like this before, many times since that awful night. You’ve watched each member of your family murdered in different ways, and each time you run instead of helping them. The dreams always end the same: with the Skinners catching up to you and killing you. Them transforming into dogs is a new addition, but nonetheless terrifying. 

You’re parched, so you climb out of your tent and walk over to Pearson’s wagon. Everyone else is asleep, not that you’re surprised. You dare a glance over at Arthur’s tent, but it’s empty. No surprise, he went on a hunting trip this morning. He’s usually out for a day or two when he hunts. Somehow you think you’d feel better if he was around. It’s hard to feel threatened when you’re in his presence. It’s not just that he’s big and broad, he just has this energy and force to him, like nothing could move him if he didn’t want to be moved. The fact that he’s fiercely loyal to the gang and almost everyone in it only adds to that. 

You grab a tin cup on the table Pearson uses to cut vegetables and dip it into the water barrel, drinking greedily. The flames from your dream had felt so real, singeing your throat and lungs. You empty the cup in seconds and then dip it into the water a second time. Just as you’re raising it to your lips, a voice comes from right behind you. 

“Surprised you’re up this late.” 

You drop the cup and turn quickly, ignoring the fact that the water’s splashed down your legs. 

“Oh, Arthur,” you say, putting a hand over your heart as if it’ll stop the pounding. 

“You a’right?” he asks softly, his face worried. 

“Y-yeah. Just… I had a nightmare, is all. They always shake me up.” 

“Hmm. Well, why don’t ya come sit down with me at the fire, try to settle down again. We can talk if ya want.” 

This kind of invitation isn’t unusual for Arthur, or for him to offer it to you. He’s one of the few men that will run miles in order to get a small trinket for someone if they ask, and he’s one of the few who takes interest in everyone. It’s one of the things you love about him, not that you’d ever admit you’ve got a thing for him. Especially not to him. Emotionally, he’s very unavailable. 

You smile and nod. “Thanks, Arthur.” 

He walks with you over to the fire and sits down on the log next to you, making sure to keep a few inches between you. For the next few moments, you’re both quiet. You look over to him, he looks tired. You wonder why he didn’t just make sure you were okay and then head off to bed. 

“You don’t have to stay up with me,” you say. “I’ll be okay. You should get some sleep.” 

He glances over at you. “I’m a’right. I’d rather stay up and make sure you can settle down again.” 

“I will, Arthur. Now go take care of yourself.” Arthur’s a complex man. You’ve seen how scary he can be, know how many men he’s killed. On the other side though, he can be funny, witty, sarcastic, but most of all, caring. He truly cares about those he considers family and would happily die for this gang. He’s sweet to the girls, especially Tilly and Mary-Beth, and he’s extremely caring and even paternal with Jack. You remember catching him holding a sleeping Jack while Abigail was swamped with chores. That was when you knew you were in trouble, that your crush was more than a minor infatuation that would snuff itself out in a matter of time. 

Arthur stretches his arms out. “I’m fine, Y/N.” 

“Arthur, you’re tired. Go on, get some sleep.” 

He looks over at you with a small smile. “Tell ya what. I’ll go to bed after you tell me about this dream.” 

You swallow nervously. Of course it’s no secret to anyone in the gang how your family died. It’d been many years ago, you were barely a teenager when it’d happened. You were travelling with your family, you set up camp in a forest for a few days to rest. Little did anyone in your family know that the Skinners had migrated this way. One night, they’d raided your wagon. You were the only one to escape. 

“I just… dreamed about my family again,” you say sadly. “I’ve had these dreams before. It’s like my brain’s trying to find answers as to how they died, like it’s seeking closure. I’ve watched them all die in a number of ways. Tonight it was my sister. She… she and I were best friends.” 

Your lip’s trembling as you remember her. The way she used to laugh, how she’d sing to herself, her jokes that could always make you laugh. You proceed telling Arthur about your dream, not hiding any detail, not even the part when you ran rather than trying to help her. When you get to the Skinners turning to dogs, you stop. 

“That’s all that happened,” you finish, staring into the dirt. You can’t look into the fire, afraid you’ll see her again. 

Arthur sighs, “Bad business, Y/N. I’m truly sorry. I can’t imagine how you must feel.” He’s silent for a moment, almost as though he’s debating. 

“Well, I don’t wanna leave you alone now. Doubt you’ll be able to sleep after a dream like that, know I wouldn’t.” 

“But you need to sleep,” you say as he yawns. 

“Let me finish. I was thinkin’... maybe I could sleep in the other half of your tent. That way you ain’t alone.” His eyes widen a bit. “I ain’t plannin’ nothin’, please don’t think that. Just want ya to be okay.” 

You smile, glad it’s dark so he doesn’t notice the blush on your cheeks. “I know you’d never do anything, Arthur. I… I’d like that.” 

You stand up and lead him to your tent. You crawl in and settle down into your bed roll. You’re just about to grab the blanket when Arthur drapes it over you. He pats your shoulder and then sits down next to you, takes his hat off and then lies on his back. 

“Let me know if ya need anythin’,” he says in the darkness. You yawn, feeling suddenly tired. 

Just as you’re drifting off, you hear a bush somewhere behind your tent rustle. The sound jerks you awake, memories of the Skinners leaping out of the darkness of your dream coming back to you. 

“Arthur!” you hiss. He sits up, blinking his own exhaustion from his face. 

“Sure it’s nothin’,” he says. He gets up and goes out. You hear him walk away and then silence. Your blood pounds in your ears and you fear the worst. Funny how the night magnifies one’s senses and makes things seem a lot scarier than they are. You start wringing your hands, but then Arthur’s footsteps come back. He enters the tent again and settles down. 

“Just a raccoon lookin’ for scraps. It’s gone now.” 

You let out a relieved sigh,  but your adrenaline is still going. Arthur looks at you in the darkness.

“You sure you’re okay? Ya seem nervous.” 

“Y-yeah,” you say. “Just being silly.” 

You look down at him and he extends his arm closest to you out and away from his body. “Come here,” he whispers. 

“Oh I don’t wanna impose on you, Arthur.” 

“It ain’t imposin’ if you’ve been invited. Ya need to sleep too. Now come on.” 

You sigh and lay down next to him, settle your body right against his and then lay your head on his chest. It’s only now that you realize how cold you are. His body radiates heat and his heart drums at a steady pace in your ears. He smells good, like pine, sage and earth. You can’t help but take several deep breaths so his scent floods your nostrils. His hand lays against your shoulder, his thumb circling over it, comforting you. You drape your arm over him, bringing you even closer to him. 

Within seconds, you’re beginning to fall asleep. That is until his hand leaves your shoulder. He fidgets a bit and then you feel the blanket covering you again. You shift a little against him, getting even more comfortable. You’ve only dared imagine this moment during your loneliest hours in the past, but they’re nowhere near as good as the real thing. You hardly need a blanket lying next to him, but it keeps your back warm. His arm around you forms a protective cocoon and his heartbeat covers the sounds of the world outside. What you wouldn’t give to feel his lips graze your forehead? 

You want to stay awake simply to continue enjoying this moment, but you’re so warm and comfortable, you can’t help but begin drifting off. The nightmare doesn’t seem at all threatening anymore. You can’t remember the last time you felt this safe. You press your forehead to his neck, falling further into sleep. Just as you go under, you swear you hear him say something. 

“You damn idiot. You ain’t foolin’ no one, Morgan.”  

[welcometoels]

Session Two - South

A restless night of sleep greets the party of four.  Kadis’ unsettling dream closed off the last session, but the others meet their own travails as they try to bed down.

Feeling homesick, having never before strayed from the cottage for more than a few hours, Julius lights a candle so that he can read the book he picked up at the trading post.  His bunkmate Tom, also unable to sleep, works his lyre to create a simple lullaby, the better to help his compatriots rest in the future.

After finally getting to sleep, Julius dreams of a forest glade, illuminated by a shaft of light from a full moon, into which steps a direwolf.  The two creatures face each other, until wolf invites otter to come and run in the forests.

Tom also runs, but not through trees.  He sprints at full speed across a black beach towards a lighting storm.  Though his pace his high, he gets no closer to the flashes of light as they strike the sand.

Oddsock sleeps perhaps the best of all, dreaming of the breweries of Chew, and the time a horse fell into the vats, creating a very pleasant session brew.  The only thing that disturbs him is a warm glow of power - a little treat from his patron to help him along in this strange place - until he is awoken at dawn by a gentle prod of Barty’s broom.

Julius and Tom join Oddsock downstairs, while Kadis meditates in his room, dwelling on his unusual dream, and a newfound confidence in his martial abilities.  Eventually, he joins the others downstairs for a porridge breakfast (given an unusually bacony aftertaste thanks to Oddsock’s prestidogitation) and a discussion of their next steps.

Based on the four glowing compass points from Kadis’ dream, and Barty’s tale of a farm that has “gone wrong”, the party decide to venture south.  First though - a few pieces of business in town.

There is very little to see in this nameless place.  Aside from the Jaunty Skinner, there are two other entire buildings - a chapel, and a simple shop selling odds and ends.  Julius leaps at the chance to find new books and dashes off to the shop, accompanied by Tom, who decides to find some basic pieces of travelling wear so as not to sully his performance clothes.  Oddsock relieves himself against the side of the chapel - to the mirth and approval of his patron - while Kadis takes in the ambience of early morning industry.

The shopping trip is a strange affair.  Successful, certainly - Tom obtains his simple clothing and a bow, and Julius finds an entertaining book on folk songs of various cultures.  However, Dwarven shopkeep Grum Scrubspud has his day ruined by an (accidentally) insulting otter person and a talking dog demanding a harmonica.

Have you ever seen a dog playing harmonica?  These townspeople have.  He’s pretty good.

The trip south in uneventful at first.  The path is heavily forested, though a path of sorts leads through it,  The wind whips through the dense foliage, and unseen creatures scurry along the ground.

Until...

The path ahead is blocked by a huge, panther-like beast, with tentacles sprouting from its shoulders and vicious snarls behind its sharp teeth.  Despite bold attempts by Oddsock to speak to it, and by Julius to restrain it, the creature attacks.

The party fights bravely - Julius wildshaping into a direwolf, Oddsock drawing from his patron’s terrible magics, Kadis raining down blows with his staff, Tom driving them all on with his stirring strings and electric strikes - but the beast is too strong.  Dodging all but the truest of their attacks, it lands blows of its own, felling Kadis and Oddsock with ease.

Then, a silvered flash of holy power streams from the woods, striking the creature in its flank.  In its wake, an imposing grey-green Half-Orc figure strides from between the trees, striking the creature across its back, before striking again to remove its head.

Joining the orc comes a leaf-green Wood Elf, who lays hands upon the injured parties, bringing them back to health.  The elf then introduces herself and her companion - they are Xylona (”X” to her friends) and Gyder (her full name to anyone who wishes to keep their limbs).

They are The Green Goddesses. According to X, anyway.  Gyder is... less keen on the nickname.

The six of them make camp together, and while gathering supplies for the night, X fills in the party on her history with Gyder.  Before being snatched up by unknown forces and deposited in this land, they were part of a larger crew, adventuring in a foggy, vampire filled waste, while hunting down the murderer of Gyder’s husband.

The culprit was a yellow cloaked Human male, by the name of Erano.  If they find him, Gyder will certainly kill him.  Eventually.

After an evening of food that tastes exactly as it is supposed to, a bit of late musical entertainment from Tom’s lyre and Oddsock’s harmonica, and an uneventful sleep, the party invite X and Gyder along on their journey south.  Bereft of better leads on their own quest, they agree.

A half day’s walk later, and the terrain begins to change.  The trees give way to grassland, and to farmland.  Rows of cornstalks wave in the breeze,  Julius passes an expert eye over them, and finds them to be perfectly healthy - unlike the corpse that lies on the ground, just beyond the edge of the crop.

X checks on the body, finding him a couple of days dead, with his throat stuffed full of porridge, which Oddsock duly eats.  Dogs will be dogs.

An inspection of the fields turns up more bodies in a similar state, so the adventurers decide to approach the farmhouse, where they are greeted warmly by a green Dragonborn.

Dressed in the warmly lacklustre garb of a druid, and with a large, glowing, vine-wrapped gem hanging from his neck, he introduces himself as Graindude.  Welcoming them with open arms, he offers them some delicious, heathy oats.

Understandably mistrustful, the party give him close scrutiny.  Though he has the garb, Julius is sure that this is no druid, and Oddsock concurs.  Furthermore, he gives off an energy with which Oddsock is familiar - this is a warlock, with a Marid patron.

Knowing that his own fiery patron would not be pleased with the presence of a rival warlock powered by a water genie, Oddsock strikes the first blow, and the façade drops.  Graindude summons forth his minions - four oozing piles of animated porridge - and battle begins.

NEXT TIME

[purrykat]

Sending you number 20 for the kiss prompts.

Thank you!

@today-in-fic

×××

You're late.

The hands on your clock read ten past eight. You imagine Skinner is fuming by now, your poor partner bearing the brunt of his anger while you watch the numbers count down from outside of the elevator. Somehow, you always manage to get her in these situations, regardless of your good intentions. Needless to say, she isn't exactly going to be pleased with you. A damn shame, considering the flirtatious turn your relationship has taken over the last couple of months.

The blinking numbers stall as your watch strikes eight fifteen and you groan in frustration, heading toward the stairs. If being late isn't enough, you can further offend everyone by swimming in a pool of your own sweat. You take the stairs two at a time, nearly falling on your face when a flash of red appears in your peripheral.

"You're late," she scolds, and you force a sheepish grin as you attempt to catch your breath.

"Elevator," you pant out, in way of an explanation.

"Isn't working," she finishes, and despite your tardiness, she offers you a patient grin. She's in front of you now, fixing your collar, tie askew. She smells incredible—feels even better, her gentle fingers unwittingly brushing against your neck. You let out a shaky sigh, and she pauses, though her hands linger.

"You're lucky I have a lot of experience covering for you."

You heave a laugh, noticing for the first time the distinct lack of height difference. A stair above you, she's just about your height, and you can't keep your gaze from falling to the lips sitting directly in your line of sight.

"You mean I'm lucky Skinner has a thing for you."

She rolls her eyes good naturedly, but a modest flush rises to her cheeks. Her tongue darts out to lick at her lower lip, and your eyes follow with rapt attention. When she speaks again, her voice in an entire octave lower, eyes avoiding yours in favor of watching her own fingers as they toy with your collar. "I think it's safe to say that it's not Skinner that I'm interested in."

And there it is. You've been steadily climbing toward this moment for the better part of the month, neither willing to take that final leap. It's as if the absence of height difference gives her a burst of confidence, even as it turns you into a fumbling idiot.

"Is that to say there is someone you're interested in?" It sounds lame even to your own ears, your voice little more than a croak, but she takes it all in stride.

Her grin spreads and a perfectly manicured fingertip brushes over your bottom lip until you're slack jawed and overstimulated. The hand at your collar tugs, and just like that a pair of soft, sweet lips are sweeping across your own. She lingers, taking your lower lip captive between hers, and you find yourself following unconsciously as she pulls back.

There's a hand on your chest that keeps you from moving forward, but she's grinning, sapphire eyes glimmering with satisfaction.

"Does, um—" she breaks off with a shy laugh, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Does that answer your question?"

You can only nod in response, and she gives you one last tap on your chest before ducking around you and bounding down the stairs.

"The meeting," you remember in a panic. You're at least a good twenty minutes late now, Scully missing for God knows how long.

"Postponed," she calls back, grinning at you from the bottom of the stairway. "But Skinner is interested in hearing your excuse bright and early tomorrow."

[admiralty-xfd]

the whole truth

Mulder has a moment of weakness.

This is chapter 10. To start at the beginning, click here.

Chapter 10: The Mistake

2630 HEGAL PLACE, APT 42

ALEXANDRIA, VA

NOVEMBER 1998

Mulder entered his apartment defeated, feeling very similar to the way he’d been feeling for years: trying and trying and trying only to fail in the end. He’d done everything he could to save Patrick Crump’s life and at the eleventh hour it had all blown up in his face, quite literally.

They’d been so close. He’d seen the horizon in the distance, the ocean… and then it was too late.

He couldn’t help but think of his own life at the moment. His confusion and frustration over the past several weeks had been unmatched. He’d finally mustered up the courage to take a huge step towards Scully, towards something he’d been wanting to do for some time.

They’d been so close. He’d seen the horizon in the distance, her lips, the truth… and then, nothing.

The tension of their stalemate after Arizona lingered, neither of them willing to meet in the middle. They moved forward as they always did, but without the X-Files to reinforce their dynamic he felt further away from her than ever.

Even Wayne Federman could tell he and Scully were stuck in a hopeless rut. Mulder hadn’t meant to tell the movie producer about the whole bee thing, he really hadn’t, but it had slipped out. Now he worried how the information would translate to the silver screen months from now, what Scully would think, how she’d react. He wasn’t even certain what he thought of the entire situation.

Maybe everything was his fault. Maybe he’d failed her, failed their partnership, by making a move in the first place. There were so many reasons he’d avoided taking that particular leap with her over the years but he’d gone for it that night anyway, and it could have ruined everything.

He was beginning to think he’d made a mistake. Maybe she just didn’t want that kind of relationship with him. How else was he supposed to interpret her refusal to speak of it? Or try to kiss him back? Or give him something, anything, to indicate she might actually feel the same? He was well aware Scully's M.O. was to put her walls up, to hide from him. To soldier forward in the face of all the personal feelings that constantly hung in the air around them. But this... this had been huge.

Was it just too late for them, now?

On top of that, after everything he and Scully had been through in Antarctica, after everything she must have seen, she still refused to believe. The truth was elusive as always, but he often wondered if she simply didn’t want to see.

I’m afraid… I’m afraid to believe.

She’d revealed herself so early in their partnership, and maybe her feelings on the matter hadn’t really changed. But they’d been through so much since then. They’d seen so much. He didn’t understand.

You were there, Scully. You saw it. You heard it. Why can’t you feel it?

It was the same frustration he’d felt so many times with her, over and over again. An endless cycle of ships passing one another in the night, just like the feelings they continually repressed.

He threw his keys onto the table and went to his fridge for a beer, but he had none. He slid a chair over to climb up to the cabinet above the fridge and found a bottle of whiskey he’d gotten from Skinner as a Christmas gift a couple of years ago. It had a thin film of dust over the top. He hated even looking at the stuff most of the time; it reminded him too much of his father. But tonight he needed a vice and it was the only one available.

He rinsed it under the sink and poured himself a glass half full with three ice cubes, as he slumped down onto his couch. The liquor burned all the way down and he liked it; he felt like it was some kind of penance for failing Crump.

For failing Scully.

He’d downed the glass and poured another when there was a knock at the door. Scully, probably, he thought as he slowly stood. He knew she’d come. She always did.

He hadn’t said much to her after the Crump incident, and he’d half expected her to turn up tonight, checking in on him. But when he opened the door it wasn’t Scully. It was Diana.

“Oh. Hi,” he said, because he didn’t really know what else to say. They hadn’t spoken since Arizona. Her arrival wasn’t unwelcome, just surprising.

“Hi,” she said. “I heard about what happened today. Deputy Director Kersh informed Agent Spender and we saw it on the news.” She stood a bit awkwardly, casting a glance into his apartment. “Can I... come in?”

“Sure,” he said, and let her in before it occurred to him that the last time she’d stood in this spot was when she’d broken his heart all those years ago. It could have been the whiskey but something fluttered deep down inside.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she said as he closed the door. She glanced at his face, which he was certain was a bit disheveled looking, and then down to the coffee table where she saw the glass and bottle. “You’re drinking, Fox?”

She knew he didn’t drink. He found it ironic, considering one of the rare times he’d thrown a few back was the night they met. He often wondered if he’d have slept with her at all if he hadn’t been under the influence. Fate always seemed to intervene when it came to Diana.

“It’s just… been a day. You can’t imagine the ass chewing we got from Kersh.”

She nodded, grimacing. “Actually, I think I can.” She stepped into his living room and began to take off her jacket. “...May I?” she asked.

He nodded. “Sure. Make yourself at home.” Maybe some company would be nice.

He plopped back down onto the couch and took another swig. She wandered around, looking at the walls of his apartment, taking everything in.

“Looks the same,” she noted. She wasn’t wrong.

“I’m a man of habit.”

She gestured to a bag of sunflower seeds that sat opened on his desk. “Yes, you are.”

He looked at her, downing the second glass, the whiskey burning in his stomach, and she smiled at him in an old, familiar way.

“What are you doing here, Diana?”

“I just wanted to see you,” she said. “Is that so terrible?”

It wasn’t. He was still pissed she’d essentially taken over his job, but it wasn’t her fault. And he couldn’t think of a better person to have been assigned in his place, honestly. Diana sought truth, just like he did. The X-Files weren’t his anymore, at least at the moment, but they were in good hands.

“No, it’s not.”

“Good,” she said, throwing her jacket over his desk chair.

She sat next to him on the couch and he could smell her perfume. It was the same perfume she'd always worn. Olfactory memory was powerful but even more so for Mulder and he was suddenly transported to old times, when they would sit on this couch together eating takeout and discussing patients or cases. For a moment he remembered the way it was years ago, back when things were good. She’d never lived here, not technically, but she may as well have.

“I’m sorry about that whole… ‘knife in the back’ comment,” he said. “That was out of line and childish.”

“Childish?” she asked with a grin, perhaps remembering her accusations in this very room long ago.

“It was, and I'm apologizing. I’m evolving, I guess,” he grinned back. “How is it on the X-Files, anyway?”

She sighed, leaning back into the couch. “Working with Jeffrey Spender is quite a challenge.”

Mulder huffed. “I can only imagine.” His frustration was evident. The huff had emerged more quickly and harshly than he’d intended and she seized upon it.

“Can’t you, though?”

She looked at him meaningfully and he knew she was referring to Scully. He didn’t really want to discuss Scully with Diana. It didn’t feel right. But it did feel nice to have a bit of commonality with Diana in this moment, a moment when he was feeling particularly unheard and dissatisfied.

“I meant it when I said it’s worth the earning with Scully, it really is. But I’ll confess, sometimes it doesn’t happen, and…” he trailed off and bit his lip, noting the double meaning of his own words and stopping himself.

He didn’t want to say anything negative about Scully to Diana. His relationship with Scully was so complex, so multifaceted, so all-consuming. He still wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted. He had no idea what Scully wanted. And quite frankly, none of it was Diana’s business anyway.

He loved Scully, he knew that with certainty. He’d known it for some time. His feelings for her had evolved into something beyond his control but he couldn’t tell her that. It was as if they’d formed some unspoken vow between them over the years to never speak of such things. That didn’t change what was in his heart; it couldn’t change the truth. But reality wasn’t living up to his hopes. It was disheartening.

He must have looked distracted and she noticed. “Are you okay? You’re a million miles away.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Almost as if Diana had been reading his thoughts, she outright asked him. “Fox… are you in love with her?”

If there was one thing he’d missed about Diana it was her refreshing bluntness.

But now he looked at her, stunned, as his stomach lurched. It was the first time anyone had put this question out into the universe, actually asked him. Before a second ago, his feelings had been safely ensconced within his own heart. They were for Scully, someday, and only for her, if he could ever muster up the courage to tell her. But now the words were out, and they were real. It terrified him.

He didn’t know what to tell Diana, how honest to be. But the answer that came out was indeed the truth. “It’s complicated.”

Diana reached for his hand and looked him in the eye. Her face looked troubled, conflicted, as if she were coming to some kind of decision. “I came back because I was following the work, Fox. I was needed here. And I’m not going to lie to you about that.” She lifted her hand to his hairline and rested it against his forehead. “But I would be lying if I didn’t admit I was eager to see you again. And I wanted to tell you that, if you’re interested, I’d like… to try again.”

There it was. He’d been wondering about her intentions for weeks. He hadn’t considered her an option for years and now here she was, offering herself to him.

Did he want her back, too?

“I…” he couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t know how to finish a sentence he hadn’t yet constructed. This was something he’d anticipated but dreaded at the same time.

“You don’t have to answer now, Fox,” she said.

“This isn’t a good time, Diana. I have commitments that…” he scrambled. He couldn’t tell her he had commitments to the department she’d taken over, that he essentially wanted to steal back from her. And he certainly couldn’t tell her he wanted to figure out what exactly was going on between him and Scully.

Are you asking me to make a choice?

I’m asking you to trust my judgment. To trust me.

He’d been taken aback by Scully’s words. She barely knew Diana and she had asked him to choose between them. He never wanted to have to make a choice between Scully and Diana, professionally or personally. It irritated him, and he didn’t like being irritated with Scully. Their trust had never been threatened before, and he’d never thought it was possible until now, with the re-emergence of Diana in his life. He was thoroughly confused.

He knew he wanted Scully. But the obvious question dominated his thinking and deserved exploration: did a part of him still want Diana?

He couldn't deny that there was something here, he just couldn’t identify what it was. And maybe he needed to.

“It’s a real shame it isn’t the two of us down in that office,” she said softly, and her hand rested on his knee. “I wonder what we might accomplish together now?”

Her touch wasn’t exactly the same as the one she’d given him in the bar all those years ago, but it was close enough for him to know her intent. She’d come over here tonight to make a move, to find out where he stood. He didn’t know where he stood, but he admired her courage, her transparency. It was something he himself hadn’t had for years.

She moved closer, and he knew she was going to kiss him. He wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to kiss her, or if he was just so sexually frustrated he might actually explode. Maybe she was simply the vice he needed tonight.

Whatever the reason, he let her lean in. And before he knew it, her lips were pressed against his, and he remembered. He remembered exactly what it had felt like all those years ago, to have someone who believed in the same things he did; someone he didn’t have to work hard to get.

Something uncomplicated.

She kissed him slowly for a moment and then they broke apart, as she wrapped her arms around him and moved her face to rest on his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you, Fox,” she whispered into his ear.

He couldn’t return the sentiment because he hadn’t missed her, not in the way she clearly had missed him. But he still liked to hear it. It felt good to be so openly desired.

His mind flashed once again to that moment just outside this room, in his hallway, where he’d refused to let Scully walk out of his life. He could remember it in vivid detail: her lips drifting nearer and nearer, the scent of her skin, and the tears in her eyes as he knew, he knew they were finally going to acknowledge their truth… and then the truth had been ripped away from them. Like everything else with the two of them, it had been pushed aside in favor of bigger, more important things. Things he could always convince himself took precedence because he was too afraid.

But then again, so was Scully. If she loved him, if she wanted him the way he wanted her, wouldn’t it have happened by now? He meant every word he'd said. He’d made a move. Something huge had happened. Wouldn’t she have given him some sign that she wanted to move forward in a different way? Or like everything else in their partnership, had the professional and personal become so goddamn murky that he was simply seeing things because he wanted to see them?

More importantly, why was he thinking about Scully and what she did or didn’t want, when Diana was right here, right now, wanting him?

He hadn’t missed Diana, it was true, but she was here now. And he was lonely and frustrated.

And a little drunk.

He kissed her again, it felt so good to kiss someone, and he was suddenly aware he had an opportunity to find out what was really going on with Diana. If there was something still here. He had to know.

Everything with Scully was so hard, but this… this could be so easy.

Diana wasn’t interested in preambles, as was typically the case, and she interpreted his kiss as permission to lift his shirt up over his head, running her fingers along his chest. She then unbuttoned her own shirt, tossed it to the floor, and stood up, extending her hand. He didn’t want to take it, not really, but he did anyway.

This is wrong, he remembered thinking, but only for a moment. His lizard brain took over, his vulnerability and loneliness and downright curiosity overwhelmed his thinking and he stood, allowing her to lead him into the bedroom he never used, pushing aside boxes full of dusty possessions that had remained untouched for years; since she’d last left this very apartment.

***

Mulder woke tangled in sheets, a sweaty mess from dreams he’d had; nightmares, really. All featuring Scully: Scully yelling at him, Scully screaming at him. Hitting him. Punching him. Shooting him.

Leaving him forever.

Diana wasn’t in bed and he wanted to roll his eyes at the predictability of it all, the almost poetic nature of her bailing on him, just like she had the night they met.

What did it mean? Had she simply used him? Had she meant a word of what she’d said?

Had any of this been worth it?

“Morning.”

Her voice came from the doorway and she walked into his bedroom holding two cups of coffee. She was wearing one of his T-shirts, and the familiarity of it irked him, as if she’d been completely comfortable rolling herself back into his world after one night. She weaved through the narrow path he used to get to the bathroom, dodging the boxes of junk and eyeing them with disdain. He instantly recognized that judgmental look in her eye, the look that he now remembered was why they couldn’t have worked in the first place. He was never going to be good enough in her eyes.

From the discomfort he felt, he suspected this little experiment had most certainly gone awry and he’d made a terrible mistake.

But above all else, the loneliness he’d felt last night before her arrival remained. And that spoke all the truth he needed.

He groaned and held his head in his hands; a mix of hangover and shame screaming from within.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“My head hurts.”

She smiled. “You just need some coffee.” She handed him the cup and he gratefully accepted it, because he had a feeling he wasn’t going to function properly today in any event. Coffee could only help.

“Some things never change, huh?” she raised an eyebrow at his mess. “You’ve still got an awful lot of stuff.”

“I haven’t really been in a redecorating kind of headspace,” he admitted. “But you’re right. It’s probably time.”

She nodded, and he knew she understood. Workaholic was a life philosophy they shared.

“I can give you the number of the company I used when I moved here. They picked out all the furniture, did everything themselves. I didn’t have to lift a finger.”

“Okay, thanks,” he said. He didn’t know what else to say.

“If you want, I can… help you,” she said, hesitantly. She was looking around his bedroom, and he felt extremely self conscious. He’d never anticipated Diana would be witness to the aftermath of her leaving him, to the ripple effect it’d had on his life, to how that effect manifested so visually in his bedroom.

“Diana…” he began. It already seemed like she was making herself too comfortable, like she assumed this was something that to him it was not. He figured honesty was the best policy. “When I said ‘make yourself at home’ I didn’t mean help me redecorate my apartment.”

Diana shrugged. “I’m sorry, I just thought maybe it could use a woman’s touch in here.”

The churning in his gut intensified. Although he knew this had been a mistake and it wasn’t going to happen again, from the smile on her face, it seemed like she wasn’t quite aware of that. He didn’t want to make her feel bad, but he didn’t want to give her false hope of getting back together, either.

“I don’t want to mislead you. I meant what I said about this being a bad time, and last night…” he trailed off, unable to be as clear as he wanted to be, cowardly as ever. “I care about you, Diana, I do. But I have some… stuff I need to figure out.”

Her lips formed a thin line, and she looked disappointed, but not altogether surprised. “What kind of stuff?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. They both knew what “stuff” he was referring to.

“I understand being confused, Fox, believe me.” Her face softened. “It’s okay. But I still had a nice time last night.”

He couldn’t disagree with that part. It had been years since he’d indulged in actual sex with another actual human. He’d been so preoccupied with work and his quest and his confusion about Scully he hadn’t properly acknowledged to himself he’d been essentially waiting for her, for Scully, all this time. He’d never expected this to happen.

Diana set her coffee down and began gathering her own clothes, putting them back on. She leaned down to kiss him goodbye and he let her, because in spite of everything it was so nice to have another person around that he knew cared about him.

“Well, if and when you figure out all that… stuff…” she smirked, “you know where to find me. Just push the ‘down’ button.”

Part of him had hoped she’d changed, but it was a strange comfort to know she hadn’t, not really. Still, it was Diana. Despite the fact that a romantic relationship wasn’t in the cards for them, he had no reason to distrust her.

There was a look that flickered across her face before she turned and walked out the door. Was it guilt? Regret? Sadness? It had been so long since he’d had practice figuring her out; he wasn’t any good at it anymore.

After she left he was alone again and had an overwhelming compulsion to shower. An awful feeling of guilt was spreading throughout his entire body, from his head to his toes. He was reminded of how he’d felt after Kristen all those years ago; sitting on that hillside watching Malibu Canyon burn, clutching Scully’s gold cross, missing her with a pain he could in retrospect identify as secret longing.

Scully.

The guilt deepened. He was disgusted with himself, regretful, and completely lost, yet again. It can’t be because of Scully.

It couldn’t. He had no reason to feel like he’d cheated on a person he wasn’t in a romantic relationship with.

But he did feel guilty. He felt like he’d cheated on her. Why?

He turned on the shower, the cold water hitting him, and the answer simultaneously hit him like a ton of bricks. It was because he and Scully, through no active decision on either of their parts, had become each other’s entire world. There was no one else, not for him, not for her. It had been building slowly for so long that every day that passed made it more and more difficult to admit it; to himself, let alone to her.

He’d been holding onto so many excuses not to tell her his true feelings that he hadn’t realized each one had been quietly slipping through his fingers, year after year.

Soon there would be no more excuses. Soon the only reason would be his own cowardice, and that was indeed a powerful obstacle.

The sick coiling in his gut grew and grew, his betrayal amplified, and suddenly he couldn’t get clean enough. He closed his eyes and let the water run down his body. It was finally hot, but he turned the knob slowly, more and more, until it scalded.

***

The elevator doors on Mulder’s floor slid open and Scully was stunned to see Diana Fowley standing before her, jacket over her arm, hair a bit mussed, blouse unbuttoned to an ungodly degree. She felt ill, a churning deep in her stomach telling her this probably meant exactly what she feared.

The women’s eyes locked, two stags in a meadow with a helpless doe between them. Fowley looked victorious, however, and she cocked her head to one side in greeting.

“Agent Scully,” she said, her voice dripping with triumph.

Scully brushed past her, not saying a word. How many times would she have an encounter in an elevator with this woman that left her feeling like absolute shit?

The doors shut mercifully behind her and she collapsed against the wall of the hallway, alone as ever. She wanted to cry but she could not. Mulder was a few feet away; he’d know she’d bumped into Fowley.

Her head rested against the cool surface of the wall and she let her eyes drift to the black and white honeycomb tile, the very spot they’d stood when fate had intervened in the form of an insect, a tiny fucking insect that had interrupted a desperately needed kiss and thrown both their worlds into a state of upheaval.

All those things he’d said. You made me a whole person. I owe you everything, Scully, and you owe me nothing. What exactly did he owe her? Wasn’t loyalty on that list? And if so, what kind of loyalty?

She was certain if their lips had touched in that moment everything would have changed between them. And now all she could do was wonder; wonder and be afraid.

And watch Diana Fowley reel Mulder back into her clutches, with no apparent choice but to let it happen.

This was her own fault for never finishing that kiss, for being too afraid to acknowledge it. For never telling him all the things she should have told him in that sno-cat. And how could she possibly do so now? She wanted to kick herself.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood in the hallway collecting herself, but it must have been several minutes. She straightened her skirt, took the remaining seven steps to his door and knocked. She waited, and knocked again.

“Just a second,” she heard him yelling from inside. She imagined him dressing quickly, probably still glowing with postcoital bliss. She felt her morning coffee start to come up, along with bile and regret.

“Forget something?” he said as he opened the door, not registering her face at first. And when he did it was indeed a face. She could feel it. She’d never tried so hard to keep her cool in her life and had never failed so miserably.

His eyes widened, surprised, and he turned a shade of red she’d never seen. He looked as ill as she felt. He was drying his hair with a towel, which he stopped immediately, and had a thin layer of stubble on his face. He was wearing a gray T-shirt and sweatpants and he’d never looked sexier in his life. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d imagined waking up next to him herself, seeing him exactly like this.

“Oh, hi, Scully...” he said, and she’d never seen him more caught off guard.

“Autopsy report,” was all she could get out, as she lifted a file into view. The report was only a cover, an excuse. The truth was she’d wanted to check on him because she’d been worried about him. He hadn’t said a word to her the entire trip home after the Crump incident, and after their meeting with Kersh he’d left without so much as a goodbye.

After seeing Diana Fowley leaving his apartment, however, she wasn’t feeling so charitable anymore.

“Come on in.”

She really, really didn’t want to. But his presence had an effect on her that she hated right now. She felt herself drawn in against her will like a magnet, her south pole drawn to his north, as ever. She heard the door closing behind her as if in slow motion and suddenly she was inside his apartment; this sacred space that now felt violated.

She didn’t want to know. But the part of her that she kept hidden deep down, the part of her that loved him so desperately it was hard to breathe had to know.

“I saw Agent Fowley in the hallway,” she said to his back, as he immediately went to pull his bedroom door shut. She pretended not to notice this, not to see, not to even acknowledge the room she’d never been inside. The thought of him sharing his bed with anyone else squeezed her heart tightly, constricting it with a pain she’d never known she could feel. The thought of it being Diana Fowley crushed it completely.

“Yeah, I, uh… she dropped by, kind of unexpectedly.”

Things had been tense between them ever since the nuclear power plant incident in Arizona. It seemed every time she’d attempted to do exactly what he told her he needed from her it pissed him off and frustrated him even more.

It didn’t surprise her in the least, this was just the way he was sometimes and she was used to it. But things were different now and it scared her. Now he had another person he trusted, one who shared his beliefs, to turn to in that very frustration. Someone who wasn’t her.

And it seemed that was exactly what he’d done.

“I’m sorry to have… interrupted,” she said pointedly.

She noticed an empty glass on his coffee table next to a bottle of whiskey and hoped to God he’d been under some kind of influence. She’d never worked so hard to fight back tears in her life.

He looked at her as they stood uncomfortably in his living room. “You didn’t interrupt anything.”

“I see.” She couldn’t help herself. “So… she came over for a bowl of cereal?”

He was annoyed and she knew she’d provoked him. “What do you want me to say, Scully?”

She was angry and confused and heartbroken, and she wanted to scream but she would not. She could not. She was Dana Scully.

“Nothing, I don’t want you to say anything,” she said icily.

Regardless of what she’d previously thought, she decided she did not want to know, not for certain. Maybe she could convince herself nothing had happened.

“Crump’s report is the same as his wife’s. The D.O.D. has buried this entire thing, as has Kersh, and we’re back to square one as usual. This won’t even be classified as an X-File, so if you looped Agent Fowley in, it wasn’t necessary.”

“I know all this already,” he said. She’d assumed he suspected as much, at least. “Is this the reason you came by?”

He didn’t sound angry, in fact she couldn’t quite determine his mood. It was more like he wanted to be anywhere else but here right now. She didn’t blame him.

She sighed. “No, I came by because I was worried about you, Mulder. You hadn’t said a thing to me since we left California and I know you. I know you took this one hard.”

It gutted her that she’d apparently been ten hours too late.

She saw a look cross his face that she could finally identify as something approaching guilt. Good, she thought.

“I’m a little… off, to be honest, Scully. I’m just not myself right now.”

She nodded slowly. She wanted to make another flippant comment but she stopped herself. She had no right, and he had every right, and she was just being jealous and petty and she knew it. It wasn’t his fault she was such a coward. But everything still hurt.

She looked at him, which was difficult, but she had to. She wanted desperately to say what she could not, so she tried to let her eyes do the talking. His own met hers and, as they did so often, they engaged in a conversation that never reached their lips.

She could see the apology in his own eyes he could not offer verbally, because an apology for sleeping with Diana Fowley wasn’t something he owed her. It wasn’t something he could give her because of the unspoken and unresolved that was their constant companion. The love she felt for him was something she hadn’t had the courage to speak even yesterday, when there hadn’t been this awful barrier between them, and now she was even more afraid to do so.

Two steps forward, three steps back. As it always was.

“Well,” she said, wanting to put a stop to this before she actually did start crying right there in his apartment, “I guess I’ll see you at work, Mulder. More piles of shit to sift through, I’m sure.”

Her meaning was layered and his eyes searched hers again. He watched. Observed. Profiled. She hated how he could see right through her. She felt completely exposed in this moment, as if she’d bared her very soul to him.

“Scully, I don’t…”

Whatever he wanted to say, he couldn’t say it. And she couldn’t be angry at him for doing something he had every right to do. She could only be angry with herself for being too afraid. But as she turned to leave, in his eyes she saw confusion, helplessness.

Perhaps he was just as lost as she was.

***

“Scully… I love you.”

He said it, he meant it. She heard it.

“Oh, brother.”

It wasn’t enough.

***

A few days after the Bermuda Triangle incident, while he was certain it had all really happened, the entire adventure felt so emblematic of where he stood with Scully and Diana it was almost like it really had been just a dream.

Devil’s Triangle, indeed. He certainly felt like one third of a triangle, just not the kind he wanted to be involved with.

Things were so tense between him and Scully he couldn’t have called her to go ghost-ship hunting with him, as much as he’d have liked to.

He thought of their conversation in the sno-cat: how he’d told her she’d be the one to save the world, and that he’d go off and do something stupid without her there to stop him. Which ended up being exactly what happened.

Scully had believed in him, however. He’d been so worried the past few weeks that she didn’t, but when push came to shove, she’d proven she did. She’d saved the world (and his ass) with that belief.

And… he’d told her he loved her. It had finally come out, in a moment that felt genuine to him. He’d meant every word, drugs or no drugs, but yet again his timing had been awful. She was probably still upset by what had happened at his apartment and he could hardly have blamed her.

When she’d walked away from his hospital bed, however, he’d felt a sense of peace come over him. He’d touched his cheek, still tender from her right hook. The Scully in 1939 hadn’t been aware of his transgression with Diana, but it certainly felt like she had been. His face still hurt like hell and he knew he deserved it. It felt like some kind of cosmic punishment for his bad decisions, and one particularly bad decision he wished 1998 Scully had never found out about.

Were the two of them doomed to this endlessly frustrating existence where his ins were her outs and his ups were her downs? A constant back and forth of misunderstanding and denial?

He knocked on her door now, a Saturday afternoon, and he knew she wouldn’t be expecting him. But he’d received a call from a contact at Groom Lake, an important call. Something he had to see for himself and he wanted Scully to see it, too. He couldn’t go without her this time, it wouldn’t feel right. He had to try, and after everything they'd been through over the past few days he felt like asking her in person was the best course of action.

He heard the lock turn slowly, and he could feel her hesitation through the door. But she opened it.

“Hi,” he said gently. “Is this a bad time?”

She was on her guard, he knew. He would tread very, very carefully.

“I… was going to my mom’s, actually,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

She always defaulted back to his health, even in a situation where his physical well-being was inconsequential compared to her own mental state. It was achingly familiar and heartbreaking at the same time.

After all the ridiculously dangerous situations he’d gotten himself into, drowning in the North Atlantic was nothing compared to drowning inside his own emotions. He needed to repair this, to swim out, to get things back to the way they had been with Scully. There was no moving forward until he could get them to the surface again.

“I’m better,” he said. She still hadn’t let him inside, and he stood in the hallway awkwardly. “Much. I’m feeling like myself again, Scully.”

He looked at her meaningfully and prayed she understood. What happened with her was a huge mistake and it will never, ever happen again. My heart is yours, Scully. You have to know this. You have to.

She didn’t pick up on everything, obviously, but he saw forgiveness in her eyes. Unspoken, like his love for her. Why was this thing between them so damn hard?

“I’m glad to hear that, Mulder.”

He didn’t want to bring up The Great Diana Incident at all, put it into the atmosphere, but something compelled him to.

“And I have to say… that morning, back at my apartment…” he’d begun speaking before he knew what he would say. It happened rarely.

She raised an eyebrow in question. Waiting. Wondering. How was he supposed to apologize for something he knew had hurt her without revealing he knew why it had? Without acknowledging this was all very, very personal now?

He wanted to just wrap his arms around her, finish what he’d started in that hallway. He wanted to join his lips to hers, walk her back to her bed and lay her down, make her smile, make her laugh. Make everything okay again. He wanted to make them one, to concentrate everything in his body on making her feel good from the inside out. He wanted to make her come; oh god, how he wanted that.

He wanted to live his truth.

He wanted to. But for some reason he couldn’t.

Before he could think of how to finish the sentence, she interrupted. “Mulder, what you do on your personal time is your own business,” she said shortly.

His eyes searched hers for relief but instead he saw nothing. The vulnerability he’d witnessed at his apartment was gone; her walls had gone back up, and he was too late. He should have said something back when it happened. Where would they be now if he had?

It is your business, he wanted to say. He wanted it to be. He felt ashamed, and he was reminded of a couple of years ago when she’d been out all night with that fucking psychopath Ed Jerse, how every minute that had passed without her return call was absolute torture, how he’d spent the entire night wide awake picturing some guy’s hands on her, touching her the way he wanted to.

It was self flagellation. He’d pushed her away, directly into another man’s arms.

He’d deserved to feel like shit, but then when she’d returned he’d tried to make her feel like shit, too. The only way he could think of to come back from that fight was to pretend it wasn’t the Jerse thing that had bothered him. Pretend it was something else.

Pretend it wasn’t any of his business.

Now, she was doing the same thing to him. It was self preservation he recognized, and she was trying her damnedest to put up a front of cold indifference but he knew better.

“It is your business, Scully. It should have been. I should have told you about Diana and the X-Files. About… our history.”

She looked him in the eye. “Why didn’t you?”

He sighed. “Because… I never thought I’d see her again and it felt unimportant. I know now I shouldn’t have kept it from you and I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t tell her they’d been married, he couldn’t. He was on very thin ice as it was. And even though he knew not saying something was also a betrayal, he chose what he believed was the lesser of two evils and dug himself deeper.

Scully said nothing. Her lips thinned into a line of quiet defiance, but it was also acquiescence. She nodded slightly and he knew this conversation was finished.

“Are you gonna let me in, or should I go? I’m sure your neighbors have heard enough.”

She held the door open, and when it closed they’d switched places, him fully inside her space, her hand still on the doorknob. He shoved his own hands into his pockets.

“So what did you come over for, Mulder?” She let go of the doorknob and crossed her arms in front of her protectively.

“I want to go somewhere. With you.”

She paused. “I’m going to my mom’s, I already told you.”

He pulled out an airline envelope. “But I got you a ticket,” he mock whined.

She snatched it from his hand with a half-smile and looked inside. “Mulderrrr,” she whined back, annoyed. The half-smile turned into a small but real smile and he knew he had her.

They were done with Diana Fowley, for now. He only hoped he could do whatever it took to make Scully believe in him again.

Notes:

Well, loyal reader, if you've made it this far, you've made it through (in my opinion) the worst of it. Please don't hate me.

This was one of the first chapters I wrote, because I truly believe Mulder slept with Diana early S6. "The Beginning" is a particularly obnoxious episode because it undoes much of the MSR progress we saw in FTF, but for this very reason the timing seemed so perfect for Diana to make her move. And Mulder (being Mulder) could absolutely have been taken in at his lowest moment.

I believe it happened, and I believe Scully knew about it, and this is why her attitude towards Fowley takes such an abrupt turn by the time we see them together again in One Son.

This was rough, I know, but hang in there. Mulder won't make the same mistake twice.

[alleiradayne]

Hello, I Love You

Summary: Sam is cast as Romeo in his college play and Natalie is his stage manager. When he asks her to read lines with him, she’s not quite sure what to make of it. Square Filled: Romeo and Juliet AU Warnings/Tags: Fluff, angst Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester/Natalie Murphy Word Count: 2,824 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019, this fills the square Romeo and Juliet AU. Thank you, as always, to @atc74 for beta’ing. Song: Hello, I Love You by The Doors

Love is heavy and light,  bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake.

Lips parted in thought, Sam paused for a breath, then rounded on his friends.

It's everything it’s—

“Okay, hold there.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Don't pause. Just keep rambling, he's despondent and sulking and whining about Rosaline. He's not… musing. He's not happy. Didn’t you read this in high school?”

Sam's glare nearly bored a hole into the director. “I performed it in high school.”

“Then you should know this shit,” Mr. Skinner groaned. “How old are you. Eighteen? You're a freshman?”

Natalie winced with her cast mates, and a groan drew Sam’s glare.

“I'm twenty-one, sir. I'm a grad student,” Sam stated. “I've been in the last four of your—”

“Right, you know what you're doing. Prove it.” Mr. Skinner flopped back into his chair and waved a flippant hand at the stage. When no one moved, he glared over his glasses and shouted, “Well?! Reset! Don't you all have… I don't know, homework to do?”

Everyone on stage but Sam leaped into motion, eager to please Mr. Skinner. After a long moment, Sam turned for stage left and stalked towards Natalie.

“I thought the pause was great,” she stated. “Romeo's flustered. He might take a beat at the end of his rambling to finish his thought.”

At least he smiled. “Thanks,” he muttered. “This show better not turn out like MacBeth did last semester.”

That show. Natalie groaned as she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Liz said production was a hot mess. She’ll never let me live it down that I got cast in that one.”

Sam laughed as he watched the scene restart, their Mercucio taking the stage. “Why didn't you audition for this one?”

Heat stung her cheeks at the memory. “I did. For Juliet. I know this play by heart.”

Sam's brow quirked towards his hairline. “You didn't get the part?”

“I'm Miss Amy’s understudy,” she mocked in her irritated sing song voice.

“Oh,” Sam mused with a smile, “Yeah. I heard about her ‘audition’.”

“Whatever,” she drawled with a sigh. “It's fine, I love stage production. It'll be fun to work this one. You’re up.”

Sam turned back to the stage and smiled. “Should I pause again?”

She clamped a hand over her mouth as her barking laugh nearly ruined the scene. After a quick check of the stage, she muttered from behind her fingers, “Do it.”

His too pretty smile turned into a wicked grin as he strolled onto the stage. The scene progressed with his entrance, and Natalie attempted to take notes, but she could hardly concentrate. Though the entire conversation with Sam had lasted only a minute, her heart raced, and her palms sweat. Over the years they had worked together—whether acting, studying, or pontificating—Sam Winchester had always left Natalie wanting more.

She turned her back in preparation for the next entrance, forcing herself to concentrate on her work. Hopefully, the next two hours of rehearsal kept her busy and away from Sam, lest she finally make a fool of herself.

Madam, an hour before the worshipped sun Peered forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drove me to walk abroad, Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from this city side, So early walking did I see your son. Towards him I made, but he was 'ware of me And stole into the covert of the wood. I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursued my humor not pursuing his, And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me

“He’s great,” Sam whispered.

Natalie rubbed her arms and pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders. “He is. Delivery could use a little kick in the pants, but other than projection, William is an excellent Benvolio.”

“Sure, that’s—” he started, but paused as Natalie continued to rub her arms. Something had upset her. Not that Natalie was the most cheerful person. But over their undergrad and now well into their graduate programs together, Sam had learned a great deal about her. Hell, she probably knew him better than any of his friends. But that would be expected of actors constantly working together. Rehearsals and running lines and discussing delivery, intent, emotion. All of it amounted to a very close, near intimate bond.

Except Sam felt much stronger about her than he cared to admit to anyone. Especially Natalie. But as she glared at William out on the stage reciting his soliloquy to close out the rehearsal, her dark stare and hunched shoulders said more than words could.

He leaned into her and asked, “Are you alright?”

Natalie dropped her hands to her sides with a flustered scoff, but she made no move to separate herself from him. “I’m fine,” she demanded.

He leaned closer still and whispered, “Are you sure?”

Any subtler and he might have missed it, but a shiver coursed through her entire body. “I’m… I’m fine, Sam. What are you doing?”

“I wanted to ask you something,” he started as an excuse manifested in the middle of his thought. “I don’t want anyone to overhear.”

A pink hue colored her cheeks as she sucked a breath deep into her lungs. “What is it?”

“Would you want to read lines with me tonight?”

She rounded on him with a wide stare. “Why?”

“Because you know Juliet’s lines,” Sam said with a shrug.

Natalie turned back to the stage. “So does Amy. You two should practice. She’s your leading lady, you need to make it convincing with her.”

“She said she was busy this week studying for calculus,” he sighed.

Natalie quirked a brow at him. “You could just wait until she's available.”

Shit. Maybe he had read her wrong. The sudden worry that all their previous interactions were less than he had imagined sickened him. “Okay, so it’s an excuse to hang out. I miss reading lines with you. Macbeth, Twelfth Night, Midsummer! They were so much fun.”

A small smile curled her lips. “You made quite the Ass.”

“And you were the perfect Titania.”

That hit a little too close to the truth. Natalie stared at him once more, silent but scrutinizing his countenance. Did she know? He had envied Oberon in that production. But as the playwright-turned-donkey, he had shared a scene with Natalie, and though it hit the intended comedic beats, there was something to be said about her laying across his lap as she fed him grain from a burlap bag.

He wondered if she still had her purple fairy fishnet dress.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

The memory vanished in a wisp of smoke as Sam shook his head. “Eh… nothing. Will you come over?”

For a terrible second, Sam thought she would decline. But then she asked, “What time?”

“Seven?”

She nodded. “I’ll be there at seven. You’re on.”

Relief washed over him as he clasped her shoulder. He gave it a gentle squeeze, then slipped past her for the stage. “Thanks. See you later.”

That time he felt it. Through that innocent touch, a shiver coursed through her body and into his. Maybe, he hoped, just maybe he hadn’t been so wrong about her after all.

“Oh.”

Sam returned from the tiny kitchen with water and found Natalie pouring over his copy of the script. “What?”

She pointed to the page. “This scene?” she asked as she dropped onto the couch. “It's… so overrated.”

Sam gestured with her glass and she took it from him. “I need to practice. Mr. Skinner is gonna chew me a new one again if I don’t nail it in rehearsal later this week.”

Natalie nodded as she grunted in agreement. “The problem isn't really you though. You need to make it sound convincing when you’re saying all this… shit to Amy.”

Sam sat beside her as he set his glass of water on the table. “Shit?”

A derisive snort burst from her nose as she rolled her eyes. “It’s terrible tripe. Saccharin sweet. They’re teenagers and have no idea what love is, and yet, they die for each other over a minute of infatuation.”

Great. Sam could have kicked himself then. How had he not known? Given her audition for Juliet, he had assumed she loved the play. He backpedaled as hard and quick as he could think. “I think maybe that was Shakespeare's point. Given all of his other comedies, tragedies, and romances, he was constantly commenting on social and political constructs. Maybe the mere concept of destined soulmates pissed him off enough to write about two star-crossed lovers dying for each other.”

It wasn't as if they had never sat so close together. Hell, Sam had, so many times before that night, rest his head in her lap as she played with his hair while they rehearsed Midsummer. And he remembered losing himself in her icy blue stare so many times. But of late he had forgotten that sensation, that chill as it raced down his spine and numbed his fingers and toes when her gaze met his. She stared openly, unabashed as she searched his own eyes, but for what he did not know. Each little twitch of her stare flitted from one spot to the next—his hair, his nose, his throat—then came to rest on his lips. His own eyes slipped to hers, full and parted in a subtle, silent “oh” as though she were shocked to see him so close, closer than ever before even though it wasn't true.

“You have very… colorful eyes.”

“... Heterochromia.”

The moment shattered like so many tiny pieces of glass. “What?”

“I… uh. My eyes. Heterochromia. That’s why there’s some green and brown hazel mixed in the center of the blue and grey,” Sam explained through a sigh.

“They’re captivating,” Natalie started. “I've always wondered why they looked that way.”

That had caught him flat-footed. “Really?”

Natalie shrunk away as though suddenly self-aware. “Yeah… um, never mind. Forget I said anything, I was just rambling. Should we get to this?” she asked as she pointed to the script.

Resigned, Sam nodded.

“Alright. Take it away, Romeo,” she directed as she swung open an imaginary set of balcony windows.

Sam slipped from his spot on the couch in a fit of inspiration and sat on the floor so that he might look up to Natalie as though she truly stood on a balcony above him.

He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

A part of him agreed with Natalie. Shakespear’s Romeo wore love on his sleeves and acted on impulse, like a lovestruck, moody teen. Whereas Juliet was levelheaded and, while equally infatuated with Romeo after such a brief meeting, wanted to leave things where they were, given issues between their families.

A thousand times the worse to want thy light Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

And yet, as Sam continued through the clichés and romantic tropes, the less he felt as though he were reciting the lines and the more he felt as though he spoke from the heart. The longer he stared into Natalie's brilliant blue gaze, the deeper he fell. Sure, Romeo might be immature, but he had some incredible pickup lines.

It is my soul that calls upon my name. How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!

Sam couldn't help but wonder how Natalie felt. He held her hands in his and waited, her line a beat behind his but she remained silent. There was no way she had forgotten her line. He had seen her reciting them in the wings as he rehearsed with Amy. He wondered if she thought the pause poignant, to create some melodramatic tension befitting only Shakespeare. She seemed to be a fan of his subtle rhythm of delivery, rising and falling with his natural breath. Her own chest spilled over her arms as she drew air into her lungs and, at long last, said her line.

“I love you.”

The entire world stopped as though grasped in the hands of a mighty titan. For a second, Sam thought he had misheard her, but the sound of her voice looped like a broken record in his mind until the weight of it settled in the pit of his stomach. And for all Sam's talents, he knew without a doubt he had many faults, oblivious topping the list.

“That's not your line.”

A lilt of laughter he had never heard from her before bubbled up from where Sam couldn’t be sure. When she clamped her hand over her mouth, her cheeks brightened to a rosy red, and her eyes widened. Muffled words muted by her hand sounded like nothing more than gibberish, and when she scrambled from the couch and for her bag, Sam stood in a dumbfounded daze, unable to keep up.

“I’m… I’m sorry, I’m just gonna… I’ll see you tomorrow at rehearsal,” Natalie stated as she rushed to the door, her coat half-donned and bag swinging from one arm.

The inexorable swing of the door slowed as though time stretched to give him a final chance. If he didn't take it, if he let her leave without telling her he felt the same way she did, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Long legs vaulted the back of the couch with ease as Sam lunged for the door. He caught it without an inch to spare, and flung it wide to find Natalie waiting at the elevator at the end of the hall. He said nothing and instead, ran down the hall and slid to a halt on the polished wood floor. He nearly ran into Natalie, stopping just at her side, and when her eyes met his, elevator arrived.

Her free hand slipped into his as he reached for her and said, “If my touch offends you, I could kiss you instead.”

Her stare narrowed as she turned into him. “Holding my hand is very polite of you,” she started as she raised his hand. “Palm to palm, they touch like a kiss.”

“But lips kiss better,” Sam retorted.

Her coy smirk met his grin as she grasped his free hand and said, “Lips that should pray.”

One smooth step closed the space between them, and Sam wrapped an arm around her, his hand splayed at the small of her back. “My lips pray that you’ll kiss me. Please don't ruin my faith.”

“Prayers are answered by those that remain still,” she stated. “How can I answer your prayer if I can move?”

Sam barked a laugh at her twisted interpretation. He towered over her as she leaned into him, and as their lips neared, he said, “Then hold still so that my prayer might be answered.”

Romeo might have had a few smooth lines, but they all paled in comparison to the feeling of Natalie's lips on his. No, she wasn't the sun, or a rose, or any of that bullshit. She was power and grace and faith all at once, unfiltered. As his lips met hers, Sam melted under the sheer force that was her presence, wanting nothing more than to stay there forever. But when they parted—eventually—Sam finished his thought.

“My sin has been taken from me by your lips.”

“Does that mean my lips bear your sin as well?” Natalie asked through a devious smile.

Sam shook his head as he said, “You enable my crime with such sweetness. Give me back my—”

Her lips landed on his before he finished speaking, a hard press that spun his head. Too long he lingered there in her embrace, so close he could hardly tell where he ended and she began. Her hand slipped from his to grasp his shirt, and he wrapped his arm around her to hold her close, closer than he thought possible. Any closer and he would cease to exist.

“Excuse me.”

In another world so far away, Sam heard the distant complaint of a woman. Rather than break their kiss, he picked Natalie up, his arms encircling her tiny body with ease, and carried her back to his room. When the door latched, Natalie parted from him, lips swollen and chest heaving for breath.

“You’ve been practicing.”

He laughed at that as he licked his lips clean. “I’m just glad there aren’t any nurses or mothers around to interrupt us at this point.”

“Me, too,” she agreed. “Would you kiss me again and show me what you’ve learned?”

Another laugh shared between them filled the room as Sam neared her lips once more.

“A thousand times, and a thousand times again.”

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ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN FLUFF BINGO MASTERLIST

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