#maggie pov

[akiacia]

maggie scenes for fun 🤣

[screechingsweetstraveler]

In Aziraphale's books, a pact was drawn,

Two souls entwined, from dusk to dawn.

One in ethereal light, the other in shadow's play,

Yet together they find, love's eternal sway.

If Heaven asked of our days, entwined so fine,

We'd unveil our journey, love's richest wine.

In your eyes, dear Nina, and Crowley's grace,

Eternal devotion, in every embrace's trace.

God might muse, "Love, is it bad or good?"

Aziraphale would smile, "Love, truly understood."

In every celestial glance, and demon's allure,

A symphony of love, forever pure.

Maggie, once a scientist, chose a lens to wield,

Capturing moments where words softly yield.

A photographer of dreams, she dared to aspire,

In each frame, love's fire, a burning desire.

Aziraphale, in tomes of old, found love's refrain,

In Crowley's wit, a charm, a celestial gain.

A dance of opposites, yet a harmony so clear,

In each other's embrace, love's atmosphere.

In a dance amidst hail, laughter rings so sweet,

Wealth in moments, cherished, complete.

Regrets hold no sway, for they carry no weight,

Just cherished memories, sealed by fate.

When debts loomed, love's debt was repaid,

With poems and sunsets, in hues unswayed.

A painter of skies, each stroke imbued,

Whispering "I love you," in every view.

Gardeners we became, nurturing blooms,

In each blossom, a promise that eternally looms.

In our tale, as in Good Omens' celestial art,

You're the muse that ignites the deepest heart.

So if granted a return, let it be,

With pen and camera, and hearts set free.

To paint our love in every shade and hue,

For in this life and the next, we'll choose you

A pov of Maggie and Azi

The art work is taken from Pinterest Credit : @hansoeii @riadoodles

[randomfoggytiger]

"Mr. Mulder, I Know Something About You"

(Dedicated to @baronessblixen for her fascinating idea: Bill Scully giving Tom Colton and Ethan Minette binders bulging with dirt on one Fox Mulder. This took a slightly different path, though.)

*****

The first time Bill heard the name Fox Mulder was the day after his sister and her partner were sucked almost dry and hospitalized in Washington State for nearly two weeks. One fuzzy, panicked call from Tara and one fuzzier, harried call from his mom sketched in the slim details: Dana was on the mend, she’d been investigating a missing loggers’ case with her partner--

“What 'partner'? She’s in the field?” 

She had been, for months. He’d forgotten to ask at their father’s funeral, convinced that her height and lack of experience had kept her teaching at Quantico. 

“Dana's mentioned him once before, I think. You know how tight-lipped she is about her life.”  

“Mom, do I need to come home? Is she….”

“No, Bill-- but I’ll call you if she takes a turn for the worse.” 

So, Bill stayed on board; and Dana got better, and Tara celebrated over the phone, and Maggie remembered the name: Fox Mulder. 

*****

The second time Bill heard the name Fox Mulder were the days following his sister’s abduction. 

His mother talked of little else-- with Dana’s captor dead, any possible leads had died with him. There was nothing now but faith and hope.  

“But I believe Fox will call as soon as he finds her.” 

Fox. His sister, Tara had told him, still called him Mulder. Then again, Tara’s attention was currently wrapped up in calendars and planners and endless negatives. For that matter, his was, too; and what little time he had to think of family he thought of her, alone, counting the rising costs of their countless tries, alone, while he worked as often as he could to forget to cover those costs and forget his own loneliness. And his sister, somewhere, alone; and his mother back in Maryland, alone.

Dana and her former partner’s professional relationship wasn’t a top priority, or even a distant concern.  

**** 

The third time Bill heard the name Fox Mulder was after promising his eldest sister that Tara would try her fertility herbs. His wife was curled up on one side, quiet, and Melissa stuck her toes in his other side, slyly smiling.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” she concluded, setting aside the herb pouch and pinning him with her eyes, “why haven’t you given Dana a call? She hasn’t said it, but she’s been expecting one.” 

“Don’t start, Missy.” He’d have disengaged, too, but Tara’s head was pressing into his shoulder, a sure sign she was falling asleep. And sleep was precious these days, what with the hormone shots and regular appointments and never-ending stress. He’d promised to shoulder her stresses for nine more weeks; and whether this was a test or not, Bill Scully had and would never back down from his word. 

Melissa, opportunistic woman that she was, had banked on it, waiting for her sister-in-law’s “dozing” tea to kick in before launching the subject. “Billy, you know you want to talk to her. What’s the problem? I mean, she almost… we almost lost her. Why can’t you let whatever you’re holding onto--” 

“Miss--” he stopped, his voice startling them temporarily.

“You owe it to her, Bill. You two haven’t talked in months; and you both say it’s because of your work but really it’s because of your pride. You’re both so like Dad; but at least Dad was blind to what it did to us."

“And what about Dana? She's back on her feet and running right back to her autopsies and late nights. You can’t point a finger at me without three pointing right back at her. At least I try to be there for my family.” 

“You weren’t there when she was gone.” 

He swallowed, stung and angry. “And who was, Melissa? You?”

Her toes gripped his hip, guilty. “Fox.” 

*****

The fourth time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was during his sister’s not-so-secret battle with cancer. His mother called often to vent and cry, unable to share her worries and pain with her only living daughter and unwilling to burden Tara with more stress.  

Fox had become a footnote of late, so consumed was he and Dana in their work. 

“Mom, how can you let Dana run herself down like that? She should be resting or looking into treatments-- anything rather than chasing after rag magazine cases half across the country!” 

“Bill, you know perfectly well not everyone can run to sea to escape their problems. Not even you.” 

*****

The fifth time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was after he’d met the man, watched him fill Dana’s head with insane theories about chips and government conspiracies, and backed off, awed, when Dana’s cancer miraculously went into remission. 

He was roaming the halls, searching for coffee to wash down the remainder of his rage at Fox Mulder’s red eyes and dazed expression when he noticed another government type walk stiffly towards the nurse’s desk, brusquely flash a badge, straighten his stiff spine and stiffer tie, and promptly demand to see “Fox Mulder.” 

“I know where he is,” Bill cut in, saving the nurse the hassle but still getting a glare for his trouble. “Bill Scully. How can I help you?”

“Yes-- I was sent to bring him back for questioning; and we’re expected in,” he looked significantly at his watch, “forty minutes. If you would take me to him--”

“Take Mulder where?” Bill snapped around to see Walter Skinner, A.D., striding over, eyebrows drawn and face grim.  

“Yes, Sir. Agent Mulder is being called in for--”

“The committee’s been disbanded until further notice, Agent Colton; and until I have those further orders, my agents are not to be bothered or contacted while they are in this hospital. Is that understood?” 

Bill watched the other man’s jaw lock, grind, and shift as it worked its stubborn way around, “Understood, Sir.” Then Agent Colton turned tail and fled, heels thudding down the tile on their thunderous path to the elevator. 

A.D. Skinner wasn’t done yet. “My apologies, Mr. Scully. That agent was out of line; and I'll see to it that your family isn't bothered again.” 

It was best to nod and let the A.D. think he was frustrated with the intrusion.

Mulder could have been mid-conversation or on his way out by now. Instead, he would still be on that bench long after the family had left for the night. 

He seemed the type. 

*****

The sixth time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was over another phone call, mere months before the birth of his child. 

“Bill Scully? You might not remember me, but my name’s Ethan, Ethan Minette, and Dana and I used to date back when, well rather, right after she was recruited by the FBI. She ever mention me? Yes? No? Anyway, not important. Calling about information you might possibly have on, lemme check… Fox? Mulder, yep, Fox Mulder. Dana’s partner? There was a case she was involved in recently, really gruesome, real Frankenstein abomination stuff; and Colton, Tom Colton? You know him? Dana’s friend? Anyway, we keep in touch, we’re related somewhat, you know? And he named you as a hot tip and I was wondering if you…. Yeah, yeah, I can wait.” 

He and Tara fought afterward: Tara, as big as a house, was ready to cave the roof in.

“Dana’s coming for the holidays, Bill! And you two will spend the week in stony silence avoiding each other and, and Maggie and I will have to try to keep the peace instead of celebrating our first Christmas as a growing family, and-- and how could you do that, Bill? After all Fox Mulder did for our family?” 

Bill was lacking even to his ears; and, after cooler heads prevailed, he dialed Ethan back up and insisted his name be kept out of the article. Ethan talked doubly fast, banging a pen up and down every other word for emphasis as he cajoled and steamed about losing necessary credibility; but, inevitably, gave in. 

“I’ll only do this because you’re Dana’s brother and she was a real sweetheart. But if I need to call you in future…?” 

“I don’t have any more information.”

Dana skipped most of Christmas, anyway. 

*****

The seventh time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was when he flew in for Emily Sim’s hearing. 

“I need him as a witness if I’m to have any chance getting custody of Emily,” Dana had stated carefully, meticulously avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Bill still caught her bewilderment and fear… and joy. 

“When’ll he get here?” 

“Tonight, tomorrow… he didn’t say when, just that he’d be here.” He caught her smile, too. 

“Dana…” Her head snapped up, and he paused. “We’ll be there.” 

“Bill, you don’t have to--”

“We’ll be there, Dana.” 

And they were. 

And so was Fox Mulder. 

Bill left with Tara, tired and emotional, and Maggie, displaced and confused, after exchanging silent, cursory greetings with his sister’s partner. While he slowly walked away, both women in tow, he heard a curt “Dana Scully and Fox Mulder” echo behind him. 

And, in spite of everything, he sent up a prayer for both.

*****

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic

[searchingforserendipity25]

cannot believe it's early november already and my pile of tbr (totally being read books, not to be mistaken by to be reads) (most of them not have not actually been read in some months) is still nowhere to being finished.

quick! write the title of the book you want to finish before the end of the year and a book you want to read next year in the tags

[cabeswaterdrowned]

genuinely the funniest thing about writing the twilight au is that Adam’s reactions to Edward! Gansey (so far at a point that’s going to shift) really aren’t too different from canon. like, canon Adam would be in that biology lab scene and instead of thinking ‘what if Gansey is a vampire and I smell good to him’ he Would immediately be like ‘oh my god Gansey can Smell the poverty on me and is disgusted by me I do not care about this at all except I will break down in my car (in canon bike that’s the one aspect that would change) about it later—

[pretendygood]

I started writing something I'll probably never post that was supposed to be a pretty simple s3 scenario. Not even a good one. Just had to get it out of my system you know?

Somehow all plot flew out the window immediately. It turned into "Crowley accidentally stumbles into a support system" and honestly? Thank you brain. I needed that.

[wander-wren]

wrt to the “adam shouldve been a visionary” dreamer trilogy/greywaren post i’ve seen a few times (possibly reblogged?)….well, maybe, but also no.

it’s not that i don’t have my own gripes with tdt (namely, yes, not enough adam), but i just…i can’t get behind visionary adam. not canon visionary, anyway.

like. you’re telling me ronan “the choice was death or hurting adam, which wasnt a choice at all” lynch would have handled it with ANY amount of grace if adam “i will be your hands. i will be your eyes” parrish was given the ultimatum “hurt others every time you have a vision and live, or turn the visions inward and quickly die horribly”??? no!!

and maybe in this alternate version of tdt that’s the whole point, yknow. if that’s what you want, ABSOLUTELY go ahead, dream on about it, write the fic, send it to me i’d love to see. etc etc etc

but the point of the dreamer trilogy is that it’s about ronan. so if we’re keeping with that vision (ha), and with the basic premise of the series, then no, i don’t think visionary adam is a good idea.

which begs the question…what WOULD i have adam do?

[disclaimer i read each book as they came out and havent done full rereads since so my memory is spotty, pls correct anything i get wrong]

in all honesty i would keep call down the hawk essentially as it is bc i think it was good. it takes place during november, no? so potentially add in/exchange a shorter adam moment for thanksgiving break. he can help scry and figure out psychic things and be distrustful of bryde.

have winter break be during part of mister impossible. seriously where are adam’s school breaks lmao. adam is relentlessly practical and cares about ronan and he should be here to sow doubt and try to curb some of ronan’s more ecoterrorist tendencies. ronan can sneak around and hide from him and there can be tension and worry and anger. but also a lot of good pynch feelings still, ofc, bc its Them.

but don’t worry! they can still have a big fight/falling out over the ley lines/bryde/the ecoterrorism before adam leaves for school again. as silly as it is that ronan freaked out over an unread text when adam was literally napping, maybe this time it’s deliberate. or maybe adam really was napping again, or driving, or whatever. the rest of mister impossible can play out from there, or a condensed/reshuffled version of it to accommodate adam being there for a while.

greywaren can start the same, but for the love of god let ronan get out faster it is HIS BOOK. i do like henessey helping him do that i think its an important part of her character, and adam’s part in all that was very good and angsty so i wouldnt change it, but i would have it happen in the first half. ronan and adam make up and go off to do whatever was happening by the end of greywaren tbh i got confused. or something totally different! who knows.

also i just want to see adam interact with the actual visionaries and with carmen and henessey more and with bryde i think it would be very cool. very fun.

i also think gansey/blue/henry shouldve shown up literally ever at all but idk how they fit in so shh

[lover-of-mine]

Hi baby hope you're having a good day 🩷

I had a thought that really isn't plausible but ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

If we only get the bachelor party through flashbacks, seeing it from different povs would be Interesting. How Buck interprets the events and how Eddie does could be very different and very Loud. Especially with the possibility of an almost™ and who remembers what about it. I know they won't have the time for that but it would be interesting.

(p.s. I think I sent you an ask with an idea I had about the pink, but with the new promo and the drag queen in pink, it doesn't make sense anymore).

Hi baby 🩷 Yk there's actually a chance of some scenes in different povs maybe? Or like, since it seems to be them telling what happened you can have like *voice over* "no that's when this was happening" and the scene alters slightly? Does that make sense? Because you can even add a moment that would go like "wait what happened after that" and the other just hesitating and the scene changing? There's definitely a way to play with pov there for SURE that's not all that time consuming. You do the switch by having them having trouble remembering what happened and handing the pov over. I can totally see that happening. Don't know if they would do it, but yeah, I can see it. You just have to do slight movements on the scene to show that change, you can play with lighting, where they're sitting, stuff like that. And I kinda love that actually kspkapakapakaoa

Also, yeah, you did send an ask about the pink thing but I had a really weird weekend and I didn't have my computer most of yesterday so I was waiting to check the pink scenes to give you my thoughts, then the promo dropped and I just got more confused? I will still go back to your theory, I promise, I just hadn't had the energy to look into it to give you something more thought-out, because maybe there's something there even with the drag queen, because something I noticed about the promo is there they seem to have put bi colors everywhere, and it seems to be in people's clothing too, so that particular instance could be adding to the scenery since the pink is being used a lot with love interest and stuff and that's not the case there, even more with the way it all seems to be flashbacks. But I have to think about it more. I will still give you my thoughts on that, I just need a bit more time.

[superbeans89]

POV: It’s a cold winter night, so you and Maggie are playing Pokemon.

[hephaestn]

are you really writing if you don’t take some of your time to sit, listen to your fic playlist, imagining scenes, and making yourself tear up??

[deathsweetblossoms]

Her hair is sleek and wet, fanning out around her where it meets the sea. Right now, she strikes him as entirely otherworldy. A siren--or one of the aos sí liable to drag him to a watery grave. Fey magic as ancient and wild as the hala, wearing a girl's skin. (A Far Wilder Magic)

I went into this with zero expectations and it really served me well. I knew I was promised "a magical secret, a mythical hunt, and a tender love" and I was very much delivered all of those things and more. I laughed, cried, yelled, swooned. So, if you're curious about this book and want to remain unspoiled, skip this post.

Friends, listen to me when I say this: A Far Wilder Magic is like Darlingstern meets Jurdan fanfiction set in a magical realist 1920s parallel universe. Maggie, described here as a siren (in a very Darlington-Sees-Alex type of way), grows up love-starved but fierce and weapon-wielding. Wes hides behind a layer of charming foolishness, but beneath it he is gentle, kind, and full of so much love. Already the Jurdan dynamic is there, but take away the cruelty of The Cruel Prince and keep the Suspicious-Yet-Reluctant-Friends dynamic of Alex and Darlington when they meet in Ninth House. Additionally, there's a lot of similarities (not in an obvious way where the author intentionally copied things, but in a way where I can just see the similarity of connection between two relationships) in the type of soul-entwined connection that Alex/Darlington have and Maggie/Wes have. It's really something.

There's just so many quotes that took my breath away:

Wes wonders what the two of them would boil down to--what he would boil down to--if alchemy could go deep enough. ... The pieces of them crumble into each other, becoming one...

And then we see this repeated imagery of alchemy and entwining for the rest of the book, and if THAT doesn't cater to my very specific interests...just, wow. Five stars from me.

(Also, the fact that Maggie holds a weapon to Wes and all it does is make him fall more in love? JURDAN CODED.)

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 22 / 31 * DUDED-UP, EGG-SUCKIN' GUTTER TRASH 」

September 12, 1885

“Coffee, Mister Brown?” Maggie asks, looking back over her shoulder.

“Please, Emmett is fine. And yes, thanks.”

“Alright, Emmett. I’d offer you sugar, but we’ve run out of the stuff two days ago, so I hope you don’t mind it black.”

“That’s not a problem. I’ve been trying to get myself used to drinking it black.” The bitterness will be exactly what he needs for this conversation.

Seamus walks into the room just as Maggie hands a steaming cup over to Emmett, roughly scraping a towel against a patch of dirt caked onto his neck.

“I thought I told you to wash up before you came and joined us.” Maggie sniffs at the air and makes a face. “You smell worse than the animals, Seamus.” Shrugging, Seamus drapes the towel over the back of the nearest chair and settles down opposite Emmett. A thick cloud of uncertainty has followed Seamus into the room, crackling with a palpable energy in the air between them.

“And keep Mister Brown waiting?”

“Emmett,” he offers again, to which Seamus nods.

Caught by the weight of the imploring look in Seamus’ eyes, Emmett half-considers dispensing with the story he’d created to lay the truth out on the table before them, consequences be damned. It would be nice to bring them into the secret as well, have two more people with whom he could be more open around and not worry about accidentally slipping up and revealing something he shouldn’t, but he had agreed to pay the price for his knowledge the very first time he travelled through time and now the consequences were his to suffer.

Telling them the truth would be an additional burden he didn’t feel right saddling either of them with.

But some variation of the truth with the temporal aspects of the story carefully redacted? They deserved that much.

“So, what is it you came all this way to tell us, Emmett?” Maggie settles into the seat beside Seamus, pushing a cup into his hands.

Seamus’ thoughtful prayers at the funeral had been twisting a proverbial knife in his gut and he feared that if he left it a moment longer, his subconscious would find a way to make physical wounds in its place.

Better late than never would have to do.

“I’d meant to come sooner, but with everything happening, I’m sorry, time just got away from me.” Seamus nods, the irony lost on him.

“Those haven’t been easy things you had to deal with these past few days.”

Even faking a death was a messy affair. “No, but they are related to why I’m here. I actually came to talk about Clint.” The name immediately strikes a chord with both of them, Seamus leaning forward in his seat with a peculiar expression on his face that Emmett can’t quite place.

As if he’d been expecting that name to come out of his mouth.

While that opens the door for a number of very interesting questions, Emmett keeps his train of thought on one singular track, sipping at the hot coffee to wet his suddenly dry throat. “Particularly, about his supposed death.” Maggie starts to look at him with that same disapproving look he’s seen on countless faces in his own time. He can’t say he’s surprised.

It’s Seamus, however, whose face he finds himself unable to look away from.

“Clint wasn’t on that hijacked train when it went into the ravine. Believe me, I know how it sounds—crazy—but that story about him trying to stop the robbers was just that. A story.” One he’d run through over-and-over with Clara until it sounded believable enough for the general public who would forget about it the moment the next thing caught their eye.

“I told Marshall Strickland how Clara and I saw the train go over the ravine. That Clint had heard word about a robbery happening on-board the train and planned to intercept them before they could do any real harm, but he wasn’t able to stop the hijackers from plunging the train into the ravine.”

The Marshall appeared to accept it with minimal questioning despite the disbelieving scowl permanently etched onto his face. Clint Eastwood had already become a local hero—to say he died a hero’s death in an attempt to uphold the law and protect the innocent would be a fitting, poetic end, one that involved minimal scrutiny on the Marshall’s part.

“But the truth is, that didn’t happen. Not like that.” Seamus remains a thoughtfully quiet enigma, near impossible to read, and Emmett sips at his coffee, grimacing at just how bitter this cup seems to be. “The train fell into the ravine, that’s for sure—the wreck is still there—but Clint didn’t go with it.”

Maggie, quiet up until this point save for the expression on her face that had grown more and more disbelieving with each word, finally speaks.

“Now Emmett, you’re really sittin’ here expecting us to believe that all that was made up? Do you take us for fools?” Maggie’s tone is sharp. “Or are you just tryin’ to spare our feelings, seeing as how it was no secret we were worried for Mister Eastwood? In which case, I’ll tell you we need no coddling. We’ve faced Death before and come out of it. This will be no different.” Maggie reaches for Seamus’ arm, squeezing tightly.

“No, I don’t think that. I told you it would sound crazy, but everything I’ve said so far is the truth. Clint left town that day and I used the train wreck as a cover story to protect him in case Tannen or someone else came looking for him.”

“So, you’re telling us he’s alive, are you?” Seamus sounds both dreamy and sceptical, torn between whether he should allow himself to believe it or to join his wife in saying what Emmett knows. That when you think about it, it sounds too unbelievable to be truth.

But Seamus doesn’t look surprised. Confused, maybe, thoughtful, certainly, but this is the very same expression he has seen countless times on Marty just before the kid says something profound and wise, well wiser than his years, that cuts straight to the heart of the matter in ways Emmett himself would never have considered. A sixth sense, for lack of a better word—an perceptiveness and awareness that attunes him to the world around him with special attention paid to those close to him—that is always immediately followed with some comment about perceived non-intelligence that makes Emmett want to pull his hair out.

Marty might not have been book-smart in the way he was, but he was clever and wise, an almost perfect reflection of what he sees echoed here in Seamus.

“Oh, Seamus, it’s a fine tale, isn’t it? The hand of God comes down to stop Clint from getting on that train and those bandits get what they deserve while Clint lives out a happy life elsewhere?”

Seamus only shakes his head, looking at—through—Emmett, straight to his soul. “It is quite the tale, but I don’t get the feeling that he’s lying, Maggie. Just look at him—that’s not the face of a man who came here to sell us a story just for our sakes.”

Maggie nearly throws her hands up in disbelief. “Another of your feelings, Seamus! Honestly, I don’t know what to make of these half the time. You really believe that?”

“Aye, I do. Same way I believe that there’s more here that Emmett’s not telling us.” Emmett blinks, stiffening in his seat. “I think it’s all more complicated than that.”

Swallowing, he looks down at the ripples spreading across the surface of his coffee. “No—you’re right. That is the truth, but it isn’t the whole truth. The whole truth is, frankly, even more unbelievable from your perspective.”

Seamus and Maggie exchange a glance of a thousand unspoken words before Seamus smiles, his tone light for the first time that afternoon. “We’ll be the ones to decide that, Emmett.”

[livesincerely]

….I might need someone (or maybe two someones) to proof read/beta something for me soon, if anyone’s interested

[randomfoggytiger]

"You're Not Here, Dana-- You're a Million Miles Away"

Part IV of the Bill Scully POV mini-series (Part I, Part II, Part III~.)

Bill's POV during A Christmas Carol.

*****

He didn’t know what had gone wrong.

At the airport, Dana had been fine. She'd been chatting, laughing even, fresh off the plane, debating some feminine topic with their mother as the two wheeled their luggage closer and closer to the exit. Catching his eye, she’d lit up-- like a firecracker, as Melissa used to say-- and even quickened her pace to soak up “a Big Brother Bill hug”-- something else Melissa used to say but which had rubbed off on the rest of the family. 

Maggie had deferred the passenger side seat; and the three of them chit chatted and caught up on the drive to the base. They’d asked spirited questions about Tara; and Bill, per his wife’s specific instructions, had refused to give away any hints about how big she’d gotten. 

“He’s a dad already,” smirked Dana; and the teasing and good-natured snipes had trailed after them until they turned the last corner. 

Everyone had been delighted with each other, Tara had had her fun surprising her guests, and no one had seemed bothered about the sleeping arrangements. 

It was the phone call that did it, he realized: Dana had come charging up the stairs, tense and distraught, insisting that Bill drive her someplace that he knew she’d never been before. Somewhere he’d never been before, either. 

“I heard her-- I heard Melissa’s voice-- and I have to know what is going on. And the only answers I’ll have is if we go, right now, and find out who was on the other line.” 

He'd taken her, of course-- he’d taken her despite how crazy her story sounded, waited outside the crime scene until Dana finished poking around, then driven her home. She’d remained tight-lipped about what had happened; but that was to be expected-- nothing had come from their detour other than a sense of confused embarrassment-- and they’d both silently moved on from it as soon as possible. 

It was after the phone call that she'd begun to withdraw.  

*****

Tara went to bed early: up at four and likely tidying and cleaning until their guests arrived after noon, the day had caught up with her-- so Bill supposed-- after the last of her luxurious dessert disappeared from the plate. That, and Dana sat quietly through the meal, seeming bruised rather than pleased during his wife’s happy monologue at dinner. 

“Bill, is everything okay with Dana?” she’d sighed as he helped maneuver her around the temporarily cramped room. “She’s been awful quiet since you two returned from the crime scene.” 

“I think she’ll be okay. Dana’s probably processing.” 

“So I didn’t offend her?”

Bill stopped pulling the quilt back, turning to see how badly Tara’s feelings had been hurt. “It’s the case, Honey, don’t worry about it. You know how I get about work sometimes--”

“But Bill, this seems different. Maybe she was hurt, somehow, by what I was saying about a family or becoming a mom; or she feels guilty because Melissa’s not here.”

“If it’s more than just the case, Mom’ll get it out of her; and if it’s about us, Mom'll let us know. I don't think there's cause for worry, Sweetheart.” 

Tara sighed, sat down on the bed, and reluctantly smiled as he bent to take off her comfortable house shoes. “You’re so good to me, Bill. I just want this Christmas to be perfect-- it’s the first since… well, a few firsts since.”

“The past few holidays have been hard on us Scullys; however, I’m convinced we’re due a really, really good one.”

“Baby here included?”

“I thought he was a New Year's baby.”

“You’d better hope it’s a boy then, Bill Jr., because the Scully women seem to have a mind of their own.” 

He nodded, grabbing her empty glass to refill downstairs. “Still thinking of Melissa for the name?”

She smiled, reaching out to catch his arm and pull him closer. “As long as we’re still thinking of Matthew for a boy.” 

*****

Melissa was an inescapable topic this Christmas. She lingered like a benevolent ghost, lounging on the sofa from the corner of his eye or twinkling companionably from the photographs displayed around the house. 

The creaking floorboard, however, was a reminder that Dana, not Melissa, was up and wandering. It was after midnight at least, but she was probably still on East Coast time, Bill assumed; or, of course, she was taking a private call and would be flying out when it was light. Try as he might, the thought that his remaining sister would be called back to work with Mulder-- away from her family, over the holidays, after a miraculous cancer remission-- made his blood boil. 

He waited up after the Jeep drove off, arguing himself out of calling Ethan Minette back to retract his retraction. 

Dana had never been good at sneaking out; and he listened to her tiptoe back in before sunrise, settle in the dining room, and stay there as the minutes then hours ticked by. 

The morning newspaper thudded against the front door, the sun began to rise, Bill slid down before his military wife or mother could wake and start the day. 

“Dana?”

*****

He knew disappointment should be second-nature by now with Dana and promises she couldn’t keep. Likely, the sting was keener because Melissa, for as flaky as she’d been, had never pretended or promised to be someone she wasn’t: she wandered in and out of their lives whenever the mood struck but always with a tenderness to their fixed positions. Even Charlie didn’t hide who he was or what he’d decided behind a false front. Meanwhile, Dana passed herself off as stalwart and dependable before jerking left and ditching medical school, the FBI mainstream, and familial obligations.

“Alright,” he’d agreed. “Lunch!” And she hadn’t agreed; and left. 

Although this was her work and her business, it was quickly becoming the family's problem: Tara, puzzled by this impossible situation, did her best to distract Maggie by hostessing her around; and Maggie, tight lipped whenever Dana’s name came up, tried to talk over ruffled feelings and assure everyone Dana would be there for the Christmas party, of course, so nice to meet friends of Tara’s, they were such nice people, reminded me of the Stotes family we knew in ‘75, remember them, Bill? 

It was the Scullys' first Christmas after so much grief and miraculous second chances-- his and Tara’s as much as Dana’s-- and still, Dana flaked.  

“It’s work, Honey. You know how that is,” Tara reassured, taking on the previous night's role of comforter. “God and country come first in your jobs.” 

It wasn’t country Dana was putting first. Or God. 

Bill kept these thoughts to himself, letting Tara pull back the covers for him tonight. He even smiled when she promised to refill his empty glass of water after New Year’s.

“After New Year’s,” he agreed.   

*****

Dana left with Detective Kresge before Bill finished an insignificant morning errand. 

“She didn’t even say hello to you or Tara, just left? I thought she wanted this vacation, Mom.” 

“Dana does, Bill. She’s just… going through a hard time right now.” 

“And she  doesn’t want to share that with us? Just wants to sleep here most nights and leave in the morning before I can even say ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’?”

And it had come tumbling out. Dana and Maggie, huddled at the table mere hours ago, denying and insisting about PCR tests and a long-lost Scully daughter. 

“I know Melissa, Bill-- she would’ve never had a child without telling me. Dana is using a 60% possibility to justify her denial because she sees this little girl as a chance that… a chance that was taken away from her. And,” she paused, gripping her arms and steeling her voice, “and I know my babies. I know myself. There were so many small things after your father passed… sometimes, I’d see him from the corner of my eye, smiling at me; or I’d hear his voice late at night, announcing his sudden arrival back from deployment.”

“But, Mom--”

“Yes, I know they weren’t real; but there are things that feel real, and your sister is struggling with them right now. This Christmas has been hard, Bill, as much as we do our best to make it a beautiful time for you and Tara and the baby. Dana has more than the loss of her father and her sister to wrestle with.” 

*****

The day passed in preparation for the evening’s party, more decorations and more food and more people filling up the space before Bill could take a moment to relax. An innocent remark about his late father flew completely over his sister’s head; and, tired of walking on eggshells, he asked her to help him in the kitchen. 

Careful Billy, you meddler, Melissa used to tease. Perhaps that was her version of wisdom; and perhaps he should have remembered it before his directness came across as accusation, slipping from one point of irritation to the next without tact or grace.

You know Dana hates how direct we are, Billy: it shoves her into a corner that she can’t escape from.

It’s never stopped you, he'd said.

Yeah, well, why do you think she doesn’t ask me for advice very often? she'd replied, poking him companionably.

Bill mumbled their back and forth, alone, with somber fondness.

*****

He’d been given the picture shortly after Melissa became a more permanent fixture in their lives. 

“It’s a good one, isn’t it? Had it taken before… you know.” 

They’d been sitting in his rattrap apartment listening to Tara prattle to one of her girlfriends about how happy she was to unpack the last of their things-- relaxed and hearty and if not happy then something close to it. Their little sister’s abduction and return had unsettled them, unsettled him; and her quick recovery and dogged insistence on going back to work soon, too soon, had rankled him. But Bill had finally given in and called up Dana at Melissa’s insistence-- the wound, though it remained, was healing. 

“I never understood why you left for so long without at least calling more than once in a while.”

“Bill, I just… I needed to resettle after Dad died. You all were there for Mom, even Charlie; but I….” She shrugged, changing the topic by pointing at the photograph. “My friend took that right before I had to jump in the car to go. She said, ‘Think of a beautiful memory and I’ll capture it forever’; and the most beautiful thing I thought of in that moment was the smile you flashed me after I threw an orange right between Harry Pinklewhit’s eyes.” 

He’d laughed in spite of her non-answer; and their conversation drew Tara in, who’d also laughed at nine-year-old Melissa’s incredible throwing arm. 

Bill didn’t feel like smiling when he’d handed over that photograph to Dana, the question of Melissa's legacy laid to rest in the replica of his sisters' girlhood bedroom. He and Tara, his mother, and Melissa had been where Dana now stood; and, despite some necessary pain, the facts would give her an opportunity to accept and grieve her loss.

Standing in the doorway while Dana, rebellion and determination in her eyes, slid past him with the social worker, Bill wondered when-- or if-- that acceptance would begin. 

***** 

The three had resolved not to question Dana further. If she was pursuing adoption, then a decision would be finalized either way; and in the end, it was just the four of them.

“Five”, Bill amended; and Tara had teared up and given him a big hug.

Determined to have a good time on Christmas morning, even if the youngest Scully might get up and walk out on a moment’s notice, they’d flocked in, woken Dana, and pounced on the presents before she’d completely defogged-- a strategy unintentionally spearheaded by Tara. Seizing an opportunity, Bill swept along beside her, kneeling down to hand over the biggest present she'd been drooling over for the past month. His mother gravitated to Dana, snuggling up next to her on the couch; and teamwork or group effort or separate but uniting plots seemed to successfully keep his sister from bolting. 

Until he’d gleefully stumbled to the door and inadvertently shepherded in Dana’s latest twist in the case.  

“According to this… I… am Emily’s mother.” 

And what could anyone say to that?

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic!

[mikodrawnnarratives]

"Their one mistake, was giving up me..." (i misspelled on the image) (and I wrote down the lyric wrong)

Well I promised and I'll deliver (from this poll)

sum real angst compacted in this lyric comic I got in the works hehe

[neptunesenceladus]

you know that bit in infinite crisis where Kon and Dick are going to stop Luthor and it switches between their thoughts and perspectives and shows how parallel yet different their thought on the situation are?

yeah, I really thinking about how that would work in a wholly written context. Because you could show so much about how the characters think and see the world and proving that one perspective is unreliable by have different thoughts about the same thing.