#mostly i was just struck with the image of scully

[freckleslikestars]

Bay

Mulder and Scully at Charlie Scully and his partner’s commitment ceremony, circa late season three. All this really is is a discussion about homophobia in the scully family. Also I’m drunk so don’t yell at me if my punctualion is bad.

1267 words, read here on AO3

Light piano music filled the summer air, the soft scent of jasmine coiling around every corner as warm California sunlight pervaded the shadows. Gentle chit-chat could be heard as the friends and family of her brother and his partner milled about the venue. Well, friends of Charlie: she was his only family in attendance. As far as she was aware, nobody else had received so much as an invite.

It wasn’t a wedding. Of course, not. It was 1996, and even the most developed, progressive countries seemed awfully close-minded when it came to love.

But everyone was dressed in their finery and there had been poetry and declarations and vows at the ceremony, and now there was prosecco and an open bar, with speeches and dancing to look forward to.

She found herself perched in the seat of a bay window, toying with the earrings her brother had chosen – along with the beaded floral dress and the sheer wrap and the shoes and the hair and...well, pretty much every aspect of how she looked for his day – and trying to blend into the vines of flowers climbing the walls.

‘Ah, there you are, I thought I lost you,’ a glass was proffered, an elegant hand holding it by the stem, not the bowl. She forgot, sometimes, his upbringing, ‘I know you said wine, but they’re doing cosmos, and, well...’

‘Thanks,’ she smiled, ‘you know, many bartenders credit the gay community and pride with the popularity of the Cosmopolitan. Kamikazes were big in the eighties, so Cheryl Cook, who was working in a lot of gay bars at the time, exchanged the lime juice for cranberry to make it pink and slightly sweeter. That’s why Dan drinks them, he likes the history.’

‘Fascinating,’ Mulder smiled down at her, clinked their glasses together and took a sip. He looked around the room at all the happy, laughing faces, ‘so, tell me, why are you one of only two Scullys in attendance? If that’s not an inappropriate question?’

She glanced up at him and shrugged, ‘we’re catholic. Ahab and Mom weren’t...particularly welcoming of Dan. Neither was Bill. And I honestly don’t think any of the extended family even know about Charlie’s preferences.’ She swirled her drink in her glass, studying it as if it had all the answers to the universe in its depths, ‘I guess I wasn’t overly welcoming and accepting either, initially.’

‘What happened?’

‘He lived down the street from us, and he was in my year at school, though he’s closer in age to Charlie. We were in a couple of classes together, and we were all part of this big friend group. He was really good at algebra, and I...may or may not have had a thing for him.’

‘I think I see where this is going.’

‘Yeah. There was this tree, at the park we used to all hang out at, and one night I caught them kissing behind it. I think we all kind of...knew Charlie was gay, we just didn’t talk about it, as if he wouldn’t be if we just pretended hard enough that he wasn’t. It broke my heart; if at sixteen you can know what heartbreak is.’

‘I think you can.’

‘Well, I stopped eating, stopped talking to anyone. This boy that I was oh so very much in love with was kissing my little brother, and so I decided to starve myself to death.’

‘Dana Katherine Scully, I never pegged you as the melodramatic sought.’

‘I was a teenager, I listened to a lot of Fleetwood Mac at the time, what do you expect.’

‘You clearly didn’t starve to death, so what happened.’

‘My mom sat me down, told me to tell her what happened. So I did. She told Ahab, there was a big fight, and Ahab kicked Charlie out.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yeah. Charlie and Dan ran off together that night. I didn’t think we’d ever hear from them again, but...Missy kept in contact with them. Missy...she wasn’t exactly 100% straight either. I remember we argued about that, once, when I was about nineteen. I told her...it doesn’t matter what I told her, it wasn’t something I’d care to repeat. She had every right never to speak to me again, and yet...she just hugged me,’ she backhanded a tear, sniffed, ‘I...I spent a lot of time parroting my parents’ beliefs. And she told me she didn’t like to see such hatred in me, that I would end up losing her like we lost Charlie.’

‘You didn’t lose her, though.’

‘No. It took a long time, and a lot more of her explaining why hating someone for being in love was stupid than I care to admit, but, I came to understand it and accept it. Maybe even love her for it. Charlie called me when I was at the Academy, said he wanted to apologise for making out with the guy I liked. I think Missy told him I’d...’ she paused, looked up at him shyly, ‘I’d been going through some things.’

‘Things?’

‘I- I sort of had a...thing, with this girl who was also at the Academy. It didn’t last long, but it didn’t end well, and, well, I...I guess it ended badly because of a lot of internalised stuff I had going on, and I think Missy knew Charlie would understand the self-loathing a bit more than she did.’

‘I didn’t know-‘

‘Nobody but Charlie and Dan do, these days. Missy did, of course, but-‘

‘I won’t tell anyone, I-‘

‘I never thought you would,’ she shook her head, a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. ‘Anyway, I realised you have to start building your own faith – you can’t always rely on God to have all the answers: I think I’m still learning that.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he cast his gaze down to the floor after watching her face so intently as she retold the story.

‘What for?’

‘I thought your family was kind of perfect. I mean, I guess your mom kinda manages to pull this whole image together of the perfect catholic family, y’know, with the doctor daughter and the navy son, the way she always seems to be there for you. And you’ve always seemed like you really love your parents.’

‘I do,’ she shrugged, ‘and Mom, she’s...she’s old fashioned. I think she doesn’t really mind what we get up to in our personal lives so long as we don’t, y’know, make a big deal out of it and flaunt it, I guess. And...I think she’s lost too much to care much more, anyway. Charlie loves mom, in the abstract, too. If Bill weren’t around, we could probably talk to her about it, but Bill-‘

‘Not so keen on “love is love”?’

‘Not really. I love him, in that grudging, sibling way, but I can’t imagine ever wanting to voluntarily spend time with him without feeling any sense of obligation, and I think the same is true for him.’

‘”All unhappy families,” and so on,’ Mulder sighed, downing the last dregs of his Cosmo.

‘Tolstoy had a point,’ she said, slipping from her seat and reaching for his now empty Nick and Nora, ‘get you another?’

‘Sure,’ he smiled, relinquishing the glass to her possession, ‘hey, Scully?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Have I told you how pretty you look today?’

She blushed, looked away with her bottom lip caught between her teeth, ‘perhaps I should just get you a water, Mulder.’

He chuckled, knowing full well he wasn’t drunk, and nodded, ‘perhaps.’

Tagging @today-in-fic

[mldrgrl]

The Matchmaker

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary:  Based on this old prompt I got, which I originally said I couldn’t handle, but then inspiration struck and I had to roll with it.  

Scully has only just barely opened the door to the dark office when Mulder is shoving a file into her hands and closing the door behind her.  The projector is on, but the screen is blank, just white square of light and Mulder’s silhouette as he takes her to-go cup of coffee from her hands so she can shrug out of her overcoat.

“Once upon a time,” he says, handing her coffee back to her.

“Really, Mulder?  Once upon a time?”

He smirks good-naturedly and snatches up the remote to the projector to advance to the first slide.  “Once upon a time there was a little tiny tree in a great big forest in New Hampshire.”

“Mmhm.”  

Scully tucks the unopened file under her arm and passes through the warm light of the slide projector to put her satchel down at her workstation.  She takes a momentary glance at a grainy, black and white photo of a large tree and sips her coffee.

“Estimates have placed this particular tree to be somewhere around 400 years old.  This is the earliest photo of it I could find, in the Manchester Daily from 1929.”

“Did someone cut this tiny little tree down and release a great big swarm of deadly mites like the ones we encountered in Washington state?”

“No, nothing like that.”  Mulder winces and scratches the back of his head before advancing to the next slide, another black and white photo from a different angle, wider so that the tree in question stands small and alone in the middle of a field against a backdrop of mighty oaks and firs and pines.    

“Well?” she asks.

“Did you know there are countless legends about enchanted trees?  Trees with magical powers, trees that have the ability to heal or harm or grant wishes or foretell the future?”

“Folklore.”

“Every single culture has some kind of legend about the power of a tree.”

“Mulder, you once tried to tell me the same thing about Bigfoot.”

He ignores the wisecrack and clicks through his slides, narrating the images that appear on the screen.  “The Jinmenju tree in Japan is said to have fruit with human faces that laugh at people who happen to walk by.  There’s the sacred Norse tree Yggdrasil, center of the cosmos and where the Gods gather for daily court.  In Iranian mythology the Bas tokhmak is said to contain seeds that eliminate sorrow and despair.  And the Hungarian égig érő fa or sky-high tree that only selected shamans are entitled to climb and encounter magical worlds in the clouds.”

“Sounds suspiciously similar to Jack and the Beanstalk.”

“And then there’s the Hart’s Location Flame Thrower Redbud.”    

Scully presumes the new slide is the same tree that was in black and white at the start of the slideshow, only now it’s in color.  The leaves are multicolored, mostly red and purple, but some are so dark they’re nearly black.  Though small, the tree stands out in sharp contrast to the yellow fieldgrass, blue sky, and the green trees behind it.

“Well, it’s certainly beautiful,” she says.

“The locals call it The Matchmaker.”

Scully snorts softly.  “And why is that?” she asks.

“If you open up that file I so generously put together for you, you’ll find newspaper clippings from the past half-century, most of them wedding announcements, citing this tree as a key to what led these couples to a happy union.”

“Mulder...you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Of course with any good legend, there’s a catch.”

“Of course there is.”  She puts her coffee down and opens the file, but doesn’t take more than a passing glance at the pages she flips through.

“From what I can gather, and keep in mind this is the Cliff’s Notes version of things, people believe the tree can predict compatibility in couples who make the pilgrimage there.”

“And how, pray tell, does the tree do this?”

“Glad you asked!”  Mulder advances the next slide, a close up photo of the left hand of a woman.  The ring finger is disfigured in some way, appearing to Scully to almost resemble a twig.

“What the hell am I looking at, Mulder?”

“You’re looking at an example of what might happen if a couple is not compatible.  There’s an online Usenet group dedicated to finding matches for anyone who’s had, let’s say, experiences with the tree that have left them unrequited.”

“Unrequited?”

Mulder scrolls through the next few slides without comment.  There’s another photo of the side of a woman’s face with what appears at first to be a small pinecone earring, but on closer look the pinecone is actually attached to the earlobe.  There’s another of a hand, masculine this time, with veins that look like tree roots creeping up from wrist to knuckles.  The last one is a forearm covered with a thin layer of moss.

“They say the only way to reverse the effects is by true love’s touch.”

“True love’s touch,” she repeats.

“Hope you’ve got your hiking boots ready and an overnight bag in the car,” he says, clicking over to an aerial photo of a forest.  “We’re headed to a little town on the outskirts of Crawford Notch State Park.”

She tries not to sigh in response.

*****

The flight to Manchester is less than two hours and they arrive just before noon.  Scully has flipped through the file Mulder gave to her, and though the clippings make for amusing anecdotes, she sees nothing noteworthy or remarkable.

“What exactly is your interest in this case,” Scully asks, buckling her seatbelt after she takes her usual navigational seat in their rental car.  “Not that I even believe there actually is a case here, let alone an x-file.”

“You don’t think it’s unusual just how many couples cite that tree as a turning point in their relationships?”

“Not really.”

“You’re not even a little curious?”

“About what?”

“The tree.”

“Quite honestly, I’m far more curious about what you’re going to buy me for lunch than I am about a matchmaking tree.”

He chuckles.  “Ah, well, lucky for you our first stop happens to be a diner not too far from here.”

“Yes, lucky me.”

*****

The diner resembles a small cabin and is nestled amongst the trees off the side of the road.  She doesn’t want to admit it, but the drive so far has been beautiful.  The highway is narrow and tree-lined and it’s autumn.  Miles upon miles of yellows and reds and golds and greens and oranges.  To say that the road is picturesque would be an understatement.

The little cabin-diner is warm and cozy.  A wood-burning stove is on in one corner, easily heating the small space.  There’s a long counter with swivel-seats dividing the cabin in half, lengthwise, and four booths pressed up against the front windows, two on either side of the door.  Only one man sits at the counter, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper.  He looks up briefly when Mulder and Scully enter, but immediately returns his attention to his newspaper.

A waitress in an emerald green, button-down dress and starch white apron comes out from behind the counter with two menus.  She smiles congenially as she says good afternoon and waves to the booths.

“Take your pick,” she says.

Mulder looks to Scully and she sees him glance at the counter.  She nods and cuts her eyes to the nametag pinned above the pocket of the woman’s uniform.  “The counter is fine,” she says.  “Janet.”

“Sure.”  Janet turns and her blonde curls bounce lightly against her back.  Her shoes squeak as she makes her way back to the other side of the counter and places the menus down side by side.

“What do you recommend?” Mulder asks.

“Can’t ever go wrong with a burger,” Janet answers, pulling an order booklet out of her apron pocket.  “But, the special today is meatloaf.  And the soup is tomato bisque.”

“I’ll do the burger.  Medium well.  Is that pie under that dome back there?”

“Pecan.”

“More of a sweet potato guy.”

“Yeah, me too.  Well, sweet potato girl.”  Janet laughs and winks and Mulder chuckles and nods.

Scully clears her throat and slaps her menu down on the counter so hard that Mulder jumps.  “I’ll have the chicken salad,” she says, pushing the menu towards Janet.  “Balsamic vinaigrette on the side, if you have it.”

“Sure.”

Janet swipes the menus from the counter, scribbles their orders down and rips the paper from the pad to slide it through a small window behind her.  Scully adjusts her napkin and cutlery as Mulder swivels towards her and leans in close with his elbow on the counter and his hand across his forehead.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you being hostile to the witness.”

“The witness?”

Mulder inclines his head towards Janet and then raises his eyebrows.  “Did you even read the file?”

“I gave it a glance.”

“Janet is one of the unrequited.”

“Too bad for Janet.”

Mulder narrows his eyes a little at her and puckers his lips to form a question.  She doesn’t know why she’s suddenly feeling so catty, she just does.  No, that’s not true.  She does know why she’s feeling catty.  The past year her partnership has felt like a game of ping pong, bouncing between extreme highs and extreme lows.  And the wedge that was driven between them by Diana Fowley, may she rest in peace, is not far enough in the rear view mirror for her liking.  They’re on the mend, both professionally and personally, but she still can’t help but feel threatened in some way when Mulder turns the charm on with strangers.

“I’ll stop being hostile if you stop flirting,” she blurts out, regretting not only what she’s just said, but the way in which it flies out of her mouth.

“Flirting?”

“Forget it.”

“Flirting?”

“Nevermind.”  

Mulder straightens in his seat and puts both hands flat on the counter.  Scully rolls her shoulders back and tucks her chin down.  She lets her hair fall across her cheeks to hide her embarrassment.  Janet is suddenly there in front of them again, two glasses of water in her hands.

“Didn’t even ask if you folks wanted something to drink,” she says.

“Got any iced tea?” Mulder asks.

“Sure do.”

“Two lemons, please.”

“And for the lady?”

“I’ll just have the water, thank you,” Scully says.

Janet is gone for what feels like only seconds before she’s bringing a glass of iced tea to Mulder and a small glass dish of lemon slices.  Mulder thanks her warmly and for some reason, that makes Scully feel even more chagrined.

“Janet,” Mulder says, reaching into the interior breast pocket of his jacket to grab his ID.  “My name is Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully.  My partner and I are actually on an assignment right now that you might be able to help us with.”

“Me?”

“Have you ever been out to see a tree they call The Matchmaker?”

The smile on Janet’s face wavers and then fades into a frown.  She stands stock still for a few moments and then grabs a rag from the side of the counter as though she’s about to clean something, but then just twists it nervously her hands.

“What do you know about it?” she asks.

“Not much, which is why we’re here.  We know from our preliminary investigation that you’re amongst the group that calls yourselves the unrequited.”

Janet nods slowly.  “That’s not...a crime, is it?”

“No, no.  We’re trying to determine if you might be the victim of one though.  It’s my understanding your contact with the tree has left you with some sort of affliction.”

Janet nods again and then hesitates before tucking the rag in her hands into her waistband and coming around the counter.  Both Mulder and Scully turn in their seats and Janet turns her back to both of them.  She lifts the hair up off her neck and it’s then that Scully’s interest is finally piqued.  The back of Janet’s neck is rough and scaly, resembling tree bark.  Scully whips a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and leans closer to Janet.

“Do you mind if I…?” Scully asks.

Janet glances over her shoulder at Scully, looks at the gloves she’s pulling on, and then nods her head.  “Go ahead,” she answers.

“Agent Scully is a medical doctor,” Mulder says, unnecessarily.  

Scully gently prods the ridges at the back of Janet’s neck.  It appears as though the skin is very dry and may flake away, but in reality it’s very thick and does not give at all.  Mulder hovers over Scully, his chin nearly touching her shoulder.

“It could be an allergic reaction,” Scully says.  “It appears to be a localized eczema.  Have you seen a dermatologist?”

“I’ve been to every dermatologist in the area,” Janet answers, dropping her hair and turning back around.  “They’ve done biopsies, tried laser removal, creams, gels, cryotherapy, the whole nine yards.  No one knows what it is or how to treat it.”

“And you think the tree that Agent Mulder mentioned earlier has something to do with this?”

“Oh, I know it does.  I was foolish enough to ignore the warnings and so...well, now I’m one of the unrequited.”

“I see.”

“Can you walk us through how it happened?” Mulder asks.

“It was about five years ago now, I was a senior in high school.  Me and my boyfriend at the time, Anthony, we thought it would be like a funny thing to do just before graduation.  We’d been together all through high school, grown up on the same block, and we were planning on getting married the next fall.”

Scully lets her eyes drop momentarily to Janet’s hands and notes the absence of a ring on her finger.  

“You knew of the stories before you went up there?” Mulder asks.

“Oh yeah,” Janet answers.  “I mean, if you’re from around here, you hear all about it from the time you’re a kid.  And everyone wants to brag about it, you know?  You hear from all your friends, my parents touched The Matchmaker and then got married, but no one wants to talk about the other side of it.”

“You and Anthony?” Scully asks.  “You never married?”

“Well, how could we?  He wasn’t the one.”

“According to the tree.”

“If it was true love, I wouldn’t be afflicted.”

“You really believe that?”

Janet points to her neck.  “I didn’t until this happened.”

“You didn’t believe in the legend when you went there?” Mulder asks.

“Not really.  Who would believe that a tree could do this?”

“You folks need to talk to Hattie Vale,” the man at the other end of the counter suddenly pipes up, even though he doesn’t even look up from his newspaper.

“Hattie Vale?” Mulder asks, swiveling in his seat to face the older man.

“Mmhm.”  He nods once and turns the page of his paper.  “That cursed tree is part of her legacy.  Janet, I’ll take my check now, if you please.”

“You got it, Wallace.”  Janet gives Scully a wry smile before she heads behind the counter again, ripping a page out of her booklet.

“Can you tell us how to find Miss Vale?” Mulder asks.

“Take the red bridge about a mile inside the entrance of Crawford Notch. Sign’ll say private property, but it’s just to try to keep looky-loos away from the tree.”  Wallace takes a few bills out of his wallet and puts them on the counter.  “Thank you, Janet.”

“See you tomorrow,” Janet says.

“Miss Vale lives out by the tree?” Mulder asks.

Wallace folds his newspaper and then stands and tucks it under his arm.  “Go right at the fork, that’ll take you to Hattie.  Go left, that’ll take you to The Matchmaker.  And take my advice, don’t touch that tree.”  

“You have a personal experience you’d like to share with us?”

“No.”  Wallace pulls a hat out from his jacket pocket, slaps it on his head, and walks out of the diner.

“Why do I not believe him?” Mulder says to Scully as he turns back to face the counter.

*****

Hattie Vale’s home is exactly where Wallace says it would be.  While the diner was a faux cabin, Hattie’s place is the real deal.  Scully would not be surprised if it did not have running water or electricity.

The woman that greets them on the porch is both ancient and spry.  She’s stocky and squarely built, wearing a thin housedress and a hand-knit sweater and moccasins on her feet.  Two long, grey braids fall over her shoulders to her hips.  Her face is sunburnt and weathered, deep lines in her forehead and at the sides of her mouth.  She grins broadly, revealing a handful of missing teeth.

“I had a feeling I might get visitors today,” she says.  “And here you folks are.”

“Are you Hattie Vale?” Mulder asks.

“Sure am.  Who’s asking?”

“My name is Agent Mulder, this is Agent Scully.”  He stops at the edge of the porch and holds up his badge and Scully does the same.

“That supposed to impress me or something?”

“Ah, no Ma’am,” Mulder says, chuckling as he tucks his ID back into his pocket.  “We’re investigating some unexplained afflictions associated with a tree in these parts referred to as The Matchmaker.”

“You’re about three centuries too late for that, bub.”

“Forgive me for my tardiness.”

Hattie laughs heartily at Mulder’s joke and Scully has to fight not to roll her eyes at him when he gives a pleased grin in her direction.

“Come on in, I got coffee I can put on.”

“That’s not necessary, Mrs. Vale, we only want to ask a few questions,” Scully says.

“Come on in anyway, let me put my feet up.”

Mulder hops up the stairs onto the porch and Scully trudges up behind him.  She’s surprised to find that the cabin actually does have electricity and is fairly tidy and well-furnished.  The large room is a combination kitchen, dining area and living space.  Hand-woven rugs are strategically placed on the wood floors.  Knitted blankets are draped over the couch and a lounge chair.  There’s no TV, but there is a transistor radio perched on a folding tray next to the chair.

Hattie plops herself down into the lounger and pulls a lever to extend the footrest.  She leans back with her hands over her belly and flexes her toes inside her moccasins.

“How long have you lived out here?” Mulder asks, waiting for Scully to take a seat before he perches himself at the edge of the couch.

“Well, I was born here, so I figured I might as well die here too, but I did move out to Vermont for a time when I got married.  After I raised my kids and my husband passed, I thought it was as good of time as any to come back.  That would’ve been somewhere around 1942, I think.”

“That was fifty-seven years ago,” Mulder says.  “You had already raised your kids and been widowed by then?”

Hattie laughs again.  “I was born in 1885.”

“You’re 114 years old?”

“Don’t look a day over 100, do I?”  She wiggles her shoulders a little and lifts her brows.  Even Scully has to smile in amusement.

“Mrs. Vale,” Scully starts.

“Hattie, please.  Never liked formalities.  So stuffy.”

“Hattie, can you tell us anything about the tree?”

“Maybe why some might say it’s cursed,” Mulder adds, and Scully grimaces.

“A curse?  Bah.  Sounds like you’ve been talking to my grandson.”

“Who’s your grandson?” Mulder asks.

“Name is Wallace Byrd.  He’s my girl Rosemary’s boy.”

Mulder and Scully give each other a glance.  “We did...happen to run into someone named Wallace,” Mulder says.

“Wally had a bad go of it when he was a young man.  He blames the tree for it, silly boy.”

“So, you don’t think it’s cursed?”

“Not at all, the tree is blessed, if anything.”

“Do you happen to know how it came to be blessed?”

“Oh yes, I can tell you exactly how it came to be.”

There’s a twinkle in Hattie’s eyes as she starts to tell the story of the tree, one that makes Scully even more dubious and Mulder even more interested.

“My four times great grandfather, Jean-Luc Benoit, came to this area from Quebec City in the first half of the 1700s,” Hattie says.  “There was a Winnipesaukee tribe that lived nearby and they traded goods often.  Jean-Luc fell in love with a squaw from the village called Little Flower, and she with him, much to her father’s dismay.  Sensing that Jean-Luc was going to ask for his blessing to marry his daughter, her father met with some of the elders of the village and they told him he would have to ask the white man to pass a test of his true love if he were to take one of their women away.”

Mulder nods encouragingly at Hattie and then grins at Scully.  His enjoyment of the tale is palpable.  She keeps her gaze straight ahead, afraid she might slip and very unprofessionally roll her eyes at him.

“Little Flower’s father took the advice of the elders,” Hattie continues.  “Except, he decided he was going to give the would-be suitor an impossible task.  He told Jean-Luc to plant a seed, and only when that seed had flourished and become a tree, could he have his daughter’s hand in marriage.  Jean-Luc said his love was unhurried and he would plant the tree and wait as long as it took.  A ceremony was held for the planting and to everyone’s astonishment, the tree grew overnight.”    

“Overnight?” Mulder asks.  “Incredible.”

“I’ll say,” Scully murmurs.

“But, that wasn’t to be the end of it,” Hattie says.  “Little Flower’s father was distraught by the turn of events.  Instead of turning to the elders as he had before, this time he went directly to the tree, believing the Gods may have grown the tree as punishment for his trickery.  He apologized for his wrongdoing and pleaded with the tree for a sign that would show him that Jean-Luc was worthy.  When he went home, his village was in chaos.  They told him that right before their eyes, his daughter had started growing leaves where her hair was and roots where her feet were and that she reached up to the sky and her arms became limbs and her fingers became branches.”

“She turned into a tree?” Mulder asks.

“So they say.  Little Flower’s father was distraught and horrified.  He tried pulling her feet from the earth, but the roots just grew deeper.  When he saw that he could do nothing, he ran to Jean-Luc and asked for his help.  The instant that Jean-Luc touched the tree that Little Flower had become, she was restored to her human self.”

“And since then, people have come to ask the tree to show them who their true love is?” Mulder asks.

“That’s about right.  Mostly locals though, passing the story along to their children and grandchildren.”

“Mrs. Vale, Hattie, are you aware of any pesticides that may have been sprayed around the tree or perhaps any poisonous foliage that might surround the area?” Scully asks.

Hattie shrugs.  “Been years since I’ve been out by that tree.  The state took that part of the land years ago when they formed the park.”

“Have you heard about people coming away from the tree with afflictions?” Mulder asks.  “Skin problems, or physical ailments of some kind?  You said your grandson, Wallace, believes the tree to be cursed.  Has he been suffering from an ailment after contact?”

“Ailments?  No.  Broken heart is more like it.  Wallace brought his sweetheart out to the tree before he proposed.  He was a believer in the legend and said the tree showed him that Corrine, that was his girl, was his true love.  A week before their wedding she was killed in an automobile accident.  He never got over it.  Now, he thinks the tree cursed him to a life alone.  I tried to tell him many times not to take stock in that tale.  It’s just a tale, after all.”

“So, you don’t believe in the legend?” Mulder asks.

“Believe in a tree that grows overnight and wraps a girl up in branches?”  Hattie laughs.  “You’d have to be crazy to believe in that kind of thing.”

It’s Scully’s turn to grin and Mulder smiles good-naturedly.  He stands, and Scully does as well.  

“Thank you for your time,” Scully says.

“Could you tell us, what’s the best way to reach the tree from here?”

“Once you cross back over the bridge head due west.  The ‘no trespassing’ signs should lead you right to it.”

*****

It really is a stunning tree, Scully thinks, as they stand before it.  The photos didn’t do it justice.  The sun shines onto the top of the tree, making it look alive with red-purple flames.  The branches curve out and the leaves cascade like a waterfall.  The field grass flutters in the wind like a golden wave around their feet and the leaves of all the trees that surround them shake and rustle.  She has to brush her hair from her eyes and away from her cheeks.

“Well, I guess we should take a look,” Mulder says.

“What is it that we’re looking for?” she asks.

“You tell me.”

“I don’t know, Mulder, I’m not a botanist.  Plants aren’t something I ever took a strong interest in.  I’m not even sure I’d truly be able to identify poison ivy if I came across it.”

“Leaves of three, let them be.”  Mulder smiles as he pulls on a pair of gloves.  “Something we used to say as kids to avoid it when we were camping.”

“And somehow I’m guessing you still managed to pull your share of rashes.”

“I don’t know where these baseless accusations are coming from, but I will neither confirm nor deny the generous supply of Calamine Lotion my mother kept on hand for such occasions.”

Scully snorts softly and pulls her own pair of gloves on.  Mulder is already crouching before the tree, running his hand over the dirt. He picks up a fallen leaf and twirls it by the stem.

“It looks like a heart,” he tells her, turning it upside down and holding it up between pinched fingers.  He’s right.  

“Bag it,” Scully says, handing him a plastic bag.  “We’ll need soil samples as well.  Maybe scrape some bark off as well.”

“I take it your theory is the tree is toxic?”

“Perhaps.”

“Mmhm.”  Mulder seals up the leaf and stands back up.  “Any of those poisonous plants you mentioned before known to cause skin irritations for over five years?”

“Mulder, I’m fairly certain that contact with this tree is merely coincidence.  Take Janet, for example, she could have daily exposure to an allergen without even knowing it, causing that rash at the back of her neck, her laundry detergent, for example.”

“Something that all of the dermatologists she’s been to have failed to diagnose?”

“I’m only saying that there are more probable explanations for why someone would develop a skin irritation than a centuries old legend.”

“Probable, but not implausible,” he says.

“Mulder, you’re crazy,” she answers with a shake of her head and a small laugh.

He pockets the plastic-wrapped leaf and then walks away from her to circle the tree.  Scully studies the lush mane of leaves, trying to determine the best possible way to part them and reach the trunk.  She puts her hands into a gap and a few birds fly up and out of the tree in a panic, their wings flapping wildly.  She jumps back, heart racing.  A sudden breeze ruffles the back of her hair and she shivers.  Goosebumps prick her arms, but she isn’t cold.  Her shoulder pulls up automatically as the inside of her ear is tickled with what feels like a soft whisper.

“Mulder?”  She turns, but no one is there.  She hurries to the other side of the three and spots Mulder a few yards away, looking up into the white pines that border the clearing.

Scully turns back to the tree and finds another gap in the leaves to part.  She cautiously pushes them aside and finds she’s able to lift a section back and step under the canopy of branches.  Hunching slightly, she pulls her pocketknife out and scrapes a bit of bark from the thin trunk and bags it.  She crouches down to collect some dirt as well.  As she straightens her knees, her heel comes back and catches on a tree root and she stumbles.  Her first instinct is to throw her arm out and her hand smacks into the tree trunk.  She can feel the bark bite into her palm through her glove and the inside of her wrist is scraped in her efforts to prevent herself from falling.

“Dammit,” she mutters, wobbling into her hunched position and letting go of the tree.  She pulls the sleeve of her blazer up to inspect her hand.  There’s debris on her glove and the inside of her wrist is scratched red, but the skin wasn’t broken and she’s not bleeding.  She rotates her wrist a few times and fortunately it doesn’t feel sprained, just a little sore.

“Scully!” Mulder calls.

“Yeah,” she answers, warily.

“Where are you?”

“In here.”  She can hear the crunching of the field grasses and leaves underfoot as Mulder approaches.  She pulls the cuff of her sleeve down over her wrist before pushing the leaves aside like drapery and steps out from the canopy.

“You have…”  Mulder approaches and reaches up to pluck a leaf from her hair.

“Thanks.”

“It matches,” he says, twirling the red leaf softly against the ends of her hair.

A breeze comes up again and that same whisper and tickle of her ear returns.  She shivers again and moves her hand up to take the leaf from Mulder, but he pulls it back and puts it in his pocket.

“Find anything interesting?” he asks.

“Bagged up some bark and some dirt.”

“You ask the tree if it was cursed?”

“I did.”

“What was the answer?”

“Stop letting your crackpot partner talk you into fruitless jaunts to the forest.”

Mulder chuckles.  “There is some poison oak in the woods up there.  You’ll be happy to know I steered clear.”

“Wonderful,” she says, wincing as her wrist burns slightly when she peels off her gloves.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You think those are storm clouds rolling in over there?”

She nods slightly, rotating her wrist in her pocket.  It’s beginning to itch.

“I guess we should probably head out then?”

“No argument from me.”

*****

They leave New Hampshire with nothing more than the samples and family legends.  Mulder finally accepts there isn’t much of a case to be had, especially when they can’t find any other afflicted locals to speak with, and they return home.  They run the samples through the lab, but the results don’t account for any toxins.

A week passes and Scully’s wrist doesn’t seem to stop itching.  It’s at its worst during the day at work and seems to calm at night when she goes home.  She sees a dermatologist who can’t find anything wrong, but gives her a prescription for an anti-itch cream that does nothing to help.

They’re out of town again, on a case in Iowa.  She shouldn’t be relieved to be doing autopsies again, but it’s been awhile since she’s been in a morgue and not out in the field.  She’s either too busy to notice her itching wrist, or it miraculously ceases to bother her for the day.  When she’s back at the motel, having a pizza dinner over crime scene photos and witness statements, her whole hand starts to feel like it’s on fire.  She excuses herself from the table and shuts herself in the bathroom.

By all outward appearances, nothing is wrong with her wrist.  It’s not inflamed, it’s not scratched, it’s not even red anymore, but her skin crawls.  She holds it up to the light and takes a closer look, running her thumb across the line where wrist meets palm.  There does seem to be a slight bump where there wasn’t one before.  She checks her left wrist in comparison and then the right one again.  When she scratches at the little bump with her nail, she can actually feel a slight pull under her skin.  She pushes at it with her thumbnail and then her skin ruptures and what looks like the stem of a leaf emerges.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.  There is a pair of tweezers in her toiletry kit that she finds and then plucks lightly at the stemp, but it doesn’t budge.  It doesn’t hurt and it doesn’t bleed and no matter how hard she pulls, the stem is immobile.  After only a few minutes she’s nearly in tears with frustration.  She wipes her watering eyes dry and then goes back to the table to rejoin Mulder.

“I need to show you something,” she says.

Mulder pauses with his hands full of photos and looks at her.  He sets them down and then wipes his hands on his pants and leans forward, elbows on the table.  “Okay,” he says.  “Show me.”

Scully pulls the sleeve of her shirt up and drapes her hand across the table, wrist up.  Mulder looks down at her hand and then up at her.  He moves his face closer to her arm and tilts his head from side to side.

“What am I looking at?” he asks.

“When we were in New Hampshire, I scraped my hand on that tree.”

“The Matchmaker?”

“Yes.  It wasn’t a bad scrape, no skin was broken, but since then, my wrist has not stopped itching.”

“What is that?”

“I don’t...I don’t know.  I tried using my tweezers on it, but it wouldn’t come out.”

Mulder picks up Scully’s hand with both of his and runs his thumbs across the bottom of her palm.  Her whole arm tingles when he touches her and she can feel something move beneath her skin.  

“It feels like...I’m not sure...”  Mulder puts a little more pressure on Scully’s wrist and slides one of his thumbs up to her palm.  Suddenly it feels like her whole hand opens up somehow and something unfurls out of her wrist like a butterfly to rest in her palm.  It’s a red, heart-shaped leaf.

They’re both silent, staring down at her hand, at the leaf.  Her arm still tingles and she sways slightly, lightheaded.   “Mulder…how did…?”

“I don’t know.”

“What just happened, Mulder, it’s impossible.”

“Well, there is one explanation.”

“Don’t say it.”

“You touched the tree.”

“A tree didn’t do this, Mulder.”  She jumps up from the table, determined to pull the leaf from her hand, but it’s stuck to the stem and the stem won’t budge.  “I need scissors.”

“Well wait, maybe you should see a doctor.”

“I am a doctor!”  She rushes back into the bathroom to get the small scissors from her toiletry bag.  Mulder follows behind and watches as she attempts to cut at the leaf and the stem, but the scissors just slide right off of the leaf as though it refuses to be cut.

“Stop,” Mulder says, putting his hands on her shoulders.  “Come on.”

“Mulder, there is a leaf growing out of my hand!”

“I can see that, come out here.”

Mulder guides her out of the bathroom back to the table, but she doesn’t want to sit.  She stares at her palm and at the leaf while Mulder sits and then he brings her towards him with his hands on her hips.

“Let me see,” he says.  

Scully reluctantly shows him her hand and he holds it gently, tracing the shape of the leaf in her palm with his index finger.  He pinches the leaf between his fingers and pulls gently and the stem slides out of her wrist without any effort at all.  When it’s completely free of her hand, she feels something wash over her that she can only describe as utter euphoria.  She sways slightly on her feet, leaning into Mulder and putting her hands on his shoulders to hold herself up.

“Scully?”  The leaf flutters to the ground as he grabs her hips.

“Oh, I feel…”

“Sit down.”  He stands and tries to urge her to sit, but she holds onto his arms and shakes her head.

“No, I…”  She feels overwhelmed by something she can’t describe, but the force with which she aches to be as close to Mulder as possible is powerful.  It’s like she can’t breathe, but he is oxygen.  It’s like she’s freezing and he’s a warm fire.

“I really think you should sit down,” he whispers.

“Mulder,” she says, blinking lethargically.  Her voice is slow and her eyes are heavy.  “If it was the tree, then that would mean…”

Mulder puckers his lips a little and his chin juts forward as he swallows.  “It would mean whatever you want it to mean,” he says.

Her heart hammers in her chest.  She tingles from head to toe, but especially where his hands grip her hips and where his arms press against hers.  She opens her mouth a few times, but doesn’t know what to say.

“I heard you, you know,” he says.

“Heard me?”

“When I was exposed to the artifact.”  He lets go of her with one hand to reach up and lightly touch his fingers to her forehead.  “I heard you.  I don’t need an enchanted tree to tell me what I already know.”

She should feel embarrassed, and maybe two months ago she would have, maybe even two minutes ago, she would have, but not now.  She drops her gaze to his mouth and then she looks up into his eyes again.  By some unspoken, mutual agreement, they both lean in.  Mulder bends and tips his head to the right, Scully lifts onto her toes and lets her eyes slip shut just before his mouth touches hers.  The kiss is soft and unhurried.  It’s tender and sweet in a way that makes her feel warm and secure.

“I can’t believe this is real,” she whispers against his lips.

“What part of it?”

“All of it.”

“Of course you don’t.”  He chuckles and bends down to pick up the leaf he dropped.  He twirls it between his fingers and then brushes it against her nose.

“It’s just not possible.”

“All of it?”  He cocks his head a little and his eyes fall to her mouth.

“Maybe not all of it.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m having a hard time believing it myself.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”  He smiles, and bends to kiss her again, but she leans away and puts two fingers against his lips.

“Why did you take me up there?” she asks.

“I’ve owed you a nice trip to the forest for about seven years.”

“Is that all?”  

“Autumn in New England?  I only wish we could’ve found something worthwhile to stick around a little longer.”

“So, you never intended for…”

“For you to start becoming part tree?  Not at all.”

“Oh my god, I just can’t...I can’t wrap my brain around it.  It’s…”  She covers her face with both hands and shakes her head.

Mulder kisses the knuckles on her right hand.  “You wouldn’t be you if you believed it.  Once upon a time there was a very skeptic little g-woman named Scully.”

“You are not allowed to start any stories with ‘once upon a time’ any longer,” she says, taking her hands away from her face.  “Bad things happen in fairy tales.”

“Well you are forgetting one thing though.”

“What?”

“They always end with ‘happily ever after.’”

The End

[scullysexual]

*Prompt request for AU where Mulder gets Scully pregnant in high school and they are “forced” to marry but fall in love.*

A Baby Is Forever: Part Two. 

Read Part One Here. Part One is also on AO3. Part Two will be joining soon.  I’m really enjoying this. Warning for teen pregnancy. @today-in-fic

- - -

“Just fireball him!”

“No, it will kill him.”

“Good. That’s what we want to do.”

“No, it’s better to take him hostage so we can find out there the others are.”

“What makes you think there are others?”

“There are always others,” Mulder says. 

Dana approaches the door to the classroom. Her hunch about Mulder being in the games room was right. He’s there along with Langly, Frohike, and Byers. She knocks against the open door, not wanting to intrude but needing to speak with Mulder.

They all turn towards the door and Mulder’s face lights up when he sees her.

“Scully!” he shouts, standing up from his chair and heading towards her, all long-limbs bashing against chairs along the way. “You want to play?” he asks.

Dana takes her head. “I need to talk to you actually.”

“What about?”

She glances nervously at the Gunmen who sit staring and listening in. This isn’t something she wants them to know yet.

Mulder, realising, turns back to his friends. “I’ll be back in a minute.” 

Once out of the doorway and tucked away in a corner, Dana feels like she can finally tell him. 

“So, what is?” he asks.

She does one final sweep of the corridor, making sure that there was nobody around and sighs. Mulder waits expectantly, all hunched over, unused to his lankiness, hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall, eyes boring into hers. 

Could they do it, Dana wonders? By some miracle, could they raise a baby and do it well? Part of her thinks maybe they could.

“Mulder…” at the last second she pulls her eyes away, focusing upon something on the floor. “I’m pregnant.”

There’s a pause. Dana slowly moves her eyes back to meet his and she catches the moment the floor drops from beneath him, the way his own eyes widen as they move to her stomach. 

“You’re…” He frowns, thinking. “And it’s…It’s mine?” He meets her eyes and Dana nods. She’s 100% certain of that.

“But…we- I pulled out. You said…How?”

“There’s always that chance,” Dana says.

“A baby…” A small smile breaks across his face. “What are you gonna do with it?”

“I’m keeping it.” 

Perhaps she’s a little too quick, a little too certain, but this is her baby and nobody is taking it away from her.

“Okay,” says Mulder, nodding.

They stand in awkward silence for a moment, neither one knowing what to say next.

“So…” Mulder begins.

“I just thought you had a right to know,” says Dana, cutting him off.

Mulder nods again. “Well, …thanks.”

She smiles more awkwardness.

“I should probably get back before the Gunmen decide to kill the Sorcerer,” he says.

Dana nods, amazed at out he’s just going to go back to his life even after this surprise. She guesses he has that option unlike her.

“Have fun,” Dana says.

Before he goes, however, he asks. “Scully, will I be apart of the baby’s life?”

Dana thinks for a moment before answering as honestly as she can. 

“I don’t know, Mulder.”

Mulder nods and they both part their ways.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

There will be no white dresses. No months of preparations, no handwritten invitations. She wouldn’t even be married in a church.

It was a lot to take in at first, just as everything concerning this pregnancy has, but Dana understood, it was a marriage of necessity, and Dana knew better than to argue.

Ahab hadn’t been pleased. The moment Maggie called him he was getting on the first flight back home. When he got home, he took one look at Dana and disappeared upstairs. A few hours later, he came back down with an action plan: Dana was getting married in November, no objections were to be made.

She sits in her living room; she sat on one couch, Mulder sat on the other. Muffled voices drift in from the kitchen, an occasional rise of a voice. Dana plays with her fingers in her lap. It was strange not to be apart of a meeting that concerned you.

“My parents were shocked when I told them,” Mulder says. They had been sat in silence, for the most part, only now choosing to speak. “They thought I was joking.”

Dana smiles slightly, a quick movement of her lips before her expression resumes to how it was.

“Mine was just disappointed. They still are.”

Mulder smiles sadly. 

They fall quiet once more. They weren’t that close but there had been an equal attractive before, that is was lead to this after all but then it fizzled out, they made a promise that it wouldn’t happen again. Yet, now they’re having a baby, now they’re to be married. What does that mean for their relationship? For any future relationships? Dana doesn’t want to think about it…

“I have a doctor's appointment on Thursday,” Dana says.

Mulder looks worried. “Is something wrong?”

She smiles. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s just a check-up. We get to see the baby, too.”

“We?” 

Dana nods. “I want you to come with me.”

“Really?” he almost sounds surprised.

Dana nods again. She decided soon after telling him about the baby that she did want him to be apart of it. Somehow, they’ll work it out. It’s as much his baby as it is hers and she shouldn’t keep it away from him.

Mulder looks to the floor then nods. “Sure,” he says smiling.

The kitchen door opens, with the Mulders exiting first looking unhappy about whatever they’ve just been speaking about. 

“It’s for the best,” Dana’s father says. Mr. Mulder just hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Mulder grabs his bag, says goodbye to Dana with a promise that he’ll be there Thursday and leaves with his parents. Once gone, Dana looks towards her father who smiles.

“They agreed to the marriage,” is all he says before disappearing off.

It’s happening.

.:.:.:.:.:.

He wonders what he’s supposed to wear to these appointments.

Does he dress up nicely or just as he normally would? Should he make a good impression? They’ll be judged because they're young, he shouldn’t make it worse by turning up looking like a scruff. Should he leave his glasses? They make him look younger than he is. But if he does that he might not be able to see the baby.

Mulder stops.

The baby. Their baby to be exact. It still makes him giddy, still has a big grin forming across his face at the thought. He had gone back into the games room with a massive smile on his face after being told the news. The Gunmen had looked at strangely, asked what was making him so happy, but Mulder couldn’t tell them so he made some lie up.

Scully said she liked me.

It wasn’t that far from the truth.

But a baby. An actual little human growing inside Scully that belongs to him. He could laugh.

He wasn’t so cool on the marriage. Some warped arranged marriage that he only ever heard happen in History way back. People have babies unmarried all the time, right? Why couldn’t that just apply to them, too? But if the marriage was to happen then he’d do it, for the little human.

He’s scared, though. Imagines Scully’s probably even more scared. They’re really about to be responsible for a human. Of course, that’s if Scully allows him to even be involved. He has his hopes, supported by being allowed to go to this appointment with her. He doesn’t want to mess it up. Doesn’t want to do anything that will make her think that he isn’t ready. He wants to be ready. He wants to do this.

.:.:.:.:.:.

The doctor is nice enough. If she knows, she makes no comment about their ages, she just smiles at them when they enter and waits for Scully to climb onto the chair.

Mulder has no idea where he’s supposed to go. Mrs. Scully sits on the only other chair in the room and Mulder’s left to stand awkwardly in the middle. He thinks he should stand near the wall, be out of the way, and goes to do that when the doctor begins speaking to him.

“You can stand next to her,” she says.

Mulder looks to Scully, seeking her permission. She nods and he moves towards her chair.

With both hands holding onto the inside of the armrest, Scully’s arm lays on the armrest beneath his wrists. He’s mindful of their skin not to touch as the doctor prepares the gel.

“It might be cold,” she says. Scully jumps when the gel makes contact with her skin and laughs slightly.

Mulder’s eyes flick down to her stomach. She had been wearing baggier clothes recently, Mulder had wondered if it was to hide the bump or something but when he looks down he sees that her stomach is still mostly flat. Maybe it’s because she’s self-conscious or something but Mulder wants to tell her she’s beautiful, carrying a baby or not.

“There it is,” the doctor says.

Scully’s hand grips his. His focus is taken from her stomach to her hand holding his. Briefly struck by the image he forgets about the scan until Scully’s squeezing his hand and his eyes move towards the screen.

And…he sees nothing. He squints and still sees nothing.

“Where’s the baby?” he asks.

The doctor- and Scully- laugh.

“It’s too early to see anything yet but it’s in there.” She points to a dot on the screen.

“Oh,” says Mulder. “When will we see the baby?” 

“Come back in twelve weeks, there should be something to see.”

Twelve weeks, that was ages away.

“And we’ll get a picture?” He remembers the pictures. He saw pictures of Sam.

The doctor smiles, “Yes, you’ll get a picture,” she says. 

They leave the room shortly after the doctor has told Scully (and him) that the baby is fine, everything is where it should be. 

Mrs. Scully walks slightly ahead of them and Mulder takes the opportunity to grab Scully’s hand and pull her to the wall. He’s seen the baby now, knows that there really is something growing inside of her, something that they have made together.

He holds her hands in his own, his thumb absent-mindedly rubbing her knuckles, his head bowed down close to hers.

“I promise I’ll do anything for you and this baby,” he says, really trying to mean it. “I’m not going anywhere. I want to be there every step of the way. Every appointment, every moment, I want to be there. I don’t want to miss anything.” He has no idea where this is coming from but he means it, he really, really means it with every word uttered. “And even after, when the baby’s born and it won’t sleep, I want to be there.”

Scully looks up at him, her big blue eyes wide and trusting, believing every word he’s saying.

“I don’t want you to do this alone, Scully,” he whispers.