#msr ficlet

[actual-changeling]

It's "ice queen" until they're waiting in front of Skinner's office and Mulder makes her laugh so hard she has to half-bury her face in his shoulder to keep it contained. Until she is breathlessly blushing and whispering something that makes him bend over in return. It's the first time any of the agents passing by have heard her laugh.

It's "ice queen" until Mulder brings her a hot coffee and her favourite kind of muffin for an early meeting, and her smile could melt glass. Until a room full of accountants watches them pass the paper cup back and forth without even looking, spilling not a single drop. Until she gives him an undecipherable look and Mulder comes back after their ten-minute break with yet another one to share. Until she leans in like she is going to kiss him before simply bumping her shoulder against his, her lips parted and her cheeks flushed.

It's "annoying" and "insufferable" until Mulder almost trips over his own feet while clinging to every single word spilling from her lips. Until he walks straight into Skinner because he was looking at her and only her. Until he listens to Scully and Scully only, until he silences people with a glare when they interrupt her during meetings, until he starts introducing her as Dr. Special Agent Scully, daring anyone to contradict him or drop an honorific.

It's "ice queen" until Mulder gets injured, and she refuses to leave his side even as they make their way through the crowded building. It's just a hair fracture, Scully, and she almost shoves someone into a doorway to make space for him. Your ankle is broken. Hair fracture. Broken.

It's "prudish" and "prissy" until people occasionally catch them in an empty corridor, watching as Mulder wipes away dark red smudges from the corners of her mouth while the same colour is smeared across his lips. Until there is enough visible adoration in the way their hands brush together that it makes any bystander blush.

It's "standoffish," "uptight," and "unapproachable" until they are no longer in the basement, and no matter how hard she might try, she cannot hide the person she is around Mulder. Until she drags her chair towards his desk more days than not, until they move in sync, sit down in sync, breathe in sync, and they both don't seem to be what everyone else always imagined.

Soft. Warm. Loving. In love.

Scully smiles at Mulder like he's her whole world, and he smiles back like she hung every single moon and star into the sky.

It's "Mr. and Mrs. Spooky" from their very first case right up until the day a ring is glinting on Mulder's finger and another one on a thin gold band around Scully's neck, resting above her heart.

[elstabler]

hear me out

scully shoots donnie and is in shock. mulder goes to her, takes the gun out of her shaking hands, starts whispering “you’re okay, you’re safe now” - a mantra to comfort himself more than her.

soon the cops are swarming the house and it’s loud and messy. he sees her walking into her now torn apart room, and he just want to get them both out of there. he tells her to pack a bag and she confides in him about how she fears some evil force might have acted upon her.

he opens and shuts his mouth a few times trying to find the right words but before he can say anything she’s up on her feet throwing some clothes in a bag and avoiding his eyes.

he takes her to his place, gives her some painkillers, puts bandages on her bruises and she just lets him because she is oh so tired. he tucks her in and kisses her forehead but before he turns to leave the room to crash on the couch she says softly “mulder, i don’t want to be alone tonight”.

there isn’t even a second of hesitation as he hops on the bed on her side scooting her as little as possible and nestling her on his chest.

he doesn’t know how long they go by in the dark. they know they won’t sleep but they don’t talk either. he runs his hand through her short hair and she doesn’t loosen the grip on his arm.

his voice is no louder than a whisper when he finally speaks, his tone ever so gentle and soothing.

“you can do no evil scully”

“mulder-“ she tries to protest but in the dim light of the bedroom he tilts her chin with his finger, forcing her teary eyes to meet his kind ones, just like he had done all those years ago.

“we all can do rights and wrongs but you can never do evil. there is nothing inside you that isn’t goodness and isn’t pure. i know you, scully. i know your soul” he wipes one tear with his thumb “so if you doesn’t trust yourself right now, please, trust me”

she reaches up and places her lips on his - a silent thank you at first - and when his unsure lips become hungry ones, they let their bodies talk all of the things they never knew how before.

i just watched Orison and i’m spiraling this is THEE perfect episode for scully and mulder first night together i wish you could see the whole scenario im watching in my mind goshhhhh

please send me fic recs !!!!!

[thursdayinspace]

post-Milagro ficlet

I got an ask from a lovely anon a few days ago about *the* quote from Milagro: "Agent Scully is already in love." This is part of what will maybe turn out to be a larger WIP, or maybe not. It stands on its own for now. But who knows. Anon: thanks for the ask! I took a bit of a different turn with this, but I couldn't manage post-Milagro fic that didn't have some angst in it. tagging @today-in-fic

Agent Scully is already in love.

A look at the alarm clock tells her it’s 3 a.m. and she hasn’t managed to sleep more than a few minutes at a time. Every time she drifts off, the same thoughts jerk her awake again. She can still feel the hand around her heart, the horror and fear, the absolute certainty in her mind that this was it, she couldn’t fight this, nobody was gonna save her this time.

But she’s okay. She’s not even hurt. There’s even a decent chance that she’ll get the blood out of her clothes, even though she’s not sure she ever wants to wear them again. She’s okay, and yet she’s lying here wide awake at 3 a.m., the past few days replaying on a constant loop in her mind. She has no idea why she ever even talked to Padgett. Quite honestly, she has no idea why she did any of the things she did. She has no idea how she didn’t end up hurt or dead.

She knew the risks she was taking. Interacting with your own stalker—a really fucking terrible idea. But it’s only now that she’s truly afraid. Now that it’s over.

Mulder offered to stay with her. He would have let her stay at his apartment, but she had to get out of there, and he understood. A part of her wishes she’d have let him sleep on her couch the way he wanted. Having him close by might be a comfort now. Or it might not.

Agent Scully is already in love.

One more thing she can’t forget, no matter how hard she tries. Padgett was clearly not well, and she never should have listened to a word he said, but she did. She listened, and she heard things that were never meant to be spoken aloud.

And Mulder was there. Mulder heard. She turns her face into the pillow and squeezes her eyes closed. She doesn’t wanna hear it anymore. She doesn’t want those words.

If it weren’t for those words, maybe she could have let Mulder stay. Maybe it would have been okay.

Deep breaths, she tells herself. Breathe. Relax. Think about nothing. Think about puppies and nice hot baths and the smell of freshly baked cookies.

A hand around her heart, squeezing. She can’t move, the floor hard against her back, and she knows she’s dying, she can’t move, she can’t…

Fuck. She rolls onto her back and covers her eyes with her hands as if that could stop the images from flooding her tired mind.

Jolting back to consciousness, her body tight with fear and shock, and Mulder right there, Mulder with his worried eyes, Mulder’s arms around her holding her close, Mulder, Mulder, Mulder.

She wants Mulder. Oh god. She shouldn’t have sent him away when he dropped her off, when he asked whether she wanted him to come up.

She could call her mom.

She could deal with this on her own like a fucking adult who doesn’t need anyone to hold her hand every time she gets scared.

A tiny part of her brain reminds her that this was bad, that she has every right to be shaken up. But she wants her mind to be wrong about this. She just wants it to be over.

She wants Mulder.

Agent Scully is already in love.

Mulder is the last person she can call right now.

They have worked out a system a long time ago for when one of them can’t sleep. Call and let it ring once, then hang up. If the other one is awake enough to reach for the phone, they talk. Otherwise they let each other sleep. She could do that. He’d understand. Hell, he’s probably lying awake expecting her to call. Which makes her that much more determined not to do it.

The last digits she reads on her alarm clock before she drifts off into a restless slumber are 5:28.

At 7 a.m., her alarm rings. She feels terrible. Everyone would understand if she took a sick day. But then she’d sit here all day with her thoughts, with her memories, with nothing to distract her.

**

When she walks into the office, she doesn’t remember getting dressed, she doesn’t remember driving to work. She’s not sure whether she had breakfast or not. She’s not even entirely sure she’s awake.

“Scully!” Mulder sounds surprised, and she manages to lift her head high enough to look at him as he walks around the desk. He comes straight towards her to put his hands on her shoulders. “Scully, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m fine. Just. Didn’t sleep great.”

He doesn’t let go of her, just stands there biting his lip and giving her that soft look that makes her want to weep.

She doesn’t need this on top of everything. Maybe she should have stayed home after all. She’s so good at keeping her feelings locked away. Today, she barely has the strength to stand upright or formulate a single thought that isn’t Oh god, I’m so tired.

“Go home,” Mulder says. “I’ll drive you.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I need to… I just need to take my mind off things.”

A stranger’s fist inside her chest, forcing the life from her body, merciless, cold. Pain, panic.

Mulder squeezes her shoulders gently. “You shouldn’t be here. I didn’t expect you to come in. I’m sure neither did Skinner. Take a few days. You need rest.”

She shakes her head, regretting the movement as the room spins out of focus for a second. “What I need is to work.” What she needs is to know if Mulder knows. She knows her fear is safe with him. She doesn’t know about all the rest. She needs something to hold onto. Something stronger than the fear. “I’m not going home,” she tells him firmly.

He hesitates a long moment, an eternity. Finally, he nods. “Okay,” he says. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Mulder looks very unhappy, but she can’t do anything about that. She just needs… she just needs something to occupy her mind. Before she passes out on the floor and dreams of a hand around her heart, squeezing the life out of her.

**

“Hey, Scully?”

She blinks her eyes open, disoriented for a second. Her neck hurts and her head is spinning as she sits up. Mulder is standing in the doorway. She’s sitting behind the desk. Right. She wanted to check something. He went to… do something else that she doesn’t remember. “Sorry,” she says, and wipes drool from the corner of her mouth. Falling asleep at the desk is probably not the best way to convince him she’s okay to work. A quick look at her watch tells her she can’t have been out for more than ten minutes. “What is it?”

He waves a file in her direction. “I think we should check this out as quickly as possible,” he says.

“Oh.” She manages a nod. Do they have a case? She remembers talking about something earlier that they decided to dismiss. She can’t even recall what it was. But apparently they settled on something. “Yeah, absolutely.” She pauses, not sure whether she wants to ask. She really doesn’t want him to know that she completely zoned out on all of it. But then again, she can’t exactly do her work if she doesn’t know what they’re even working on. “What, uh. What is the case again? Sorry, I guess I’m a bit… distracted today.”

“Yeah.” He gives her a long look. “The haunted hotel, remember? And it’s just an hour and a half from here.”

“Oh!” she says, pretending to remember, deciding she can read whatever is in that folder on the way to… wherever it is they’re going. “Right. Yes. Okay. And you want us to go there right now?”

“Why not?” he says, shrugging. “No time like the present.”

“Good, yeah, okay.” She suppresses a yawn and tries not to shiver too obviously. She has reached the level of exhaustion where her whole body hurts and she feels like she’s running a fever.

“I’ll drive,” he says. She doesn’t argue.

**

Out of sheer stubbornness, she manages not to fall asleep in the car. She even manages to make conversation. Her speech is barely even slurred. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t notice.

Unfortunately, he put the file in the trunk of the car before she remembered to take it from him, but he’s telling her some ghost stories about the place while they drive, so she feels reasonably well-prepared.

“Here we are,” he says, pulling into the parking lot of an expensive-looking hotel that looks not even remotely like she imagined. But after all these years, she’s come to expect the unexpected.

“This is it?”

“Yup.” He smiles at her and gets out of the car. She follows, her legs heavy, but she gets them moving, gets them to carry her towards the entrance of the building.

The spacious foyer they walk into screams “I’m way out of your pay grade,” and she notices guests and staff who all look very happy and not at all like they’re being plagued by ghost sightings. Business seems to be going well. Which is also not what she expected from a place that is haunted enough for Mulder to open an X-file on it. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says, and something in his voice makes her turn her head and study his profile carefully.

“Mulder, what aren’t you telling me?”

He stops and turns towards her with a sigh. “I may have done something rash and stupid, and please feel free to yell at me if I completely overstepped any boundaries here.”

“Oh god,” she says. “What did you do?”

“I, um.” He directs his gaze at the floor next to her feet and grimaces. “I may have gone to Skinner and told him we’re both taking the rest of the week off.”

“You…what?”

“And I may have called here and booked us a suite. For two nights. A… vacation, I guess.”

“Mulder…”

“Two bedrooms. And there are go ghosts here, don’t worry.” He pauses before he continues, his voice low and careful. “As long as we’re anywhere near the Hoover Building, you’ll work. I know it and you know it.”

“Mulder, seriously…”

“You need to sleep, Scully,” he says, finally meeting her eyes. “You’re dead on your feet. You can barely keep your eyes open.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. She’s so tired. So very, very tired. All she wants is a bed. All she wants is for her memories to leave her alone. All she wants is to sink against Mulder’s chest and cry with exhaustion and the emotional hangover from almost being murdered. Again. “…Okay.”

“Okay?” He looks so hopeful, so relieved. Another thing that almost makes her cry.

Agent Scully is already in love.

Shit. He makes it really hard for her to feel any other sort of way about him. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Good.”

She frowns. “What about all those stories you just told me about this place?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I kind of made them up.”

Her laughter turns into a yawn and he puts his arms around her shoulders as they get their key and find the elevator up to their floor. She leans against him, letting him hold her upright. Now that she’s given in to this, the prospect of lying down and closing her eyes seems so overwhelmingly wonderful.

“Oh no,” she says, suddenly remembering something.

“What is it?” he asks.

“I don’t have anything with me. No clothes, nothing.”

He laughs and pulls her tighter against him just as the elevator door opens and they step out. “I’m sorry. I honestly completely forgot about that.”

“Yeah.” She feels such a rush of fondness for him it makes her aching heart flutter in her chest. “I’m noticing you don’t have a bag with you either.”

“Well.” He lets go of her to open the door to their suite and lets her walk in ahead of him. “We’ll just have to spend the next couple of days in hotel robes.”

“Maybe we should go out and buy a few things,” she suggests.

“Or,” he says, “you go and lie down and I’ll go out and pick up a few things for us.”

“But—”

“Scully,” he interrupts. “Trust me. I think I can manage to find a pair of sweatpants and a couple of t-shirts for you that will fit.”

“Underwear,” she says and blushes.

“I can manage that too,” he says, and she’s too tired to feel embarrassed about anything right now.

Agent Scully is already in love.

“Mulder?”

“Yes?”

“You’re the best partner I’ve ever had.”

“That’s not difficult,” he says, “since I’m the only partner you’ve ever had. There’s not really that much competition.”

In lieu of an answer, she hugs him, pleased when he puts his arms around her in return. She doesn’t feel the hard floor against her back when he holds her, she doesn’t remember what it felt like when her vision went black and she felt herself dying.

She really wants to ask him if he knows who Padgett was talking about. If he believed it. But she won’t. Not right now. There’s time. And maybe she already knows the answer. Either way, it’s true. And she’s too weak to fight it.

“Thank you,” she says.

He pulls her closer and sighs against her hair. “I just want you to be okay,” he says softly.

“I will be,” she promises.

Agent Scully is already in love.

Whether it’s friendship or something else that he’s offering, she knows that whatever shape his feelings come in, she’s never been loved like this before. By anyone. And even with all the ghosts in her mind, she feels like she might finally get some sleep after all.

[mvlderfox]

Home is Whenever I'm With You

a short fluffy fic by yours truly.

“You okay back there?” Scully shouted to Mulder from her place on the couch. He’d been tinkering around his kitchen for the better part of an hour. 

Mulder answered the door when she arrived earlier and immediately directed her towards the living room. He told her to sit and handed her a beer. “Just relax, I got this.” She nodded silently, cracked the top off of her drink and rested her stocking feet on the edge of the coffee table. 

He had caught her before they left work that day and asked her to come over for dinner. When she asked if she could bring anything he shook his head and told it was a surprise.

Now she was one episode of “Murder She Wrote” down and was itching to do something. She didn’t get a response to her question so she padded her way across the apartment and peeked her head into the kitchen. “You sure I can’t help you with anything?”

“I’m about done. Just a few more minutes.” Mulder smiled as he pulled a mitt over his hand and opened the oven door. Inside on the rack sat a large casserole dish. Whatever was cooking was covered in cheese. 

“Smells good.” Scully scanned the scene. It looked like a tornado blew through. The sink was piled with the few pots and pans he kept on hand. On the counter sat a cutting board and a knife with remnants of vegetables left behind. Mulder closed the oven door and turned to her. He placed his hand on her back and gently ushered her back out into the living room.

“It’ll be worth the wait, I promise.”

Scully sat back down on the couch. A minute later Mulder emerged from the kitchen holding two candlesticks and some cloth napkins. He arranged them on the coffee table with the vase of flowers Scully noticed when she walked in earlier. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small matchbook. He struck the matches and lit each candle. Scully smiled happily to herself. This was sweet. She appreciated the effort he was going through. 

Mulder went back into the kitchen and dished up two plates. He brought them out to their makeshift dinner table and sat them beside each other. 

“What do we got here?” Scully asked.

“Cheesy chicken and broccoli casserole with a caesar salad and a toasted roll.” Mulder replied as he tucked his napkin into the collar of his shirt.

“Sounds lovely.” Scully dug a forkful of casserole and took a bite. “And it tastes even better than it looks. Good job, Mulder.”

“Thank you. My mom used to make this all the time for us as kids. Samantha and I were never good at eating our vegetables, so she’d hide them in this dish and we’d gobble it right up.”

“Sneaky, I like it.” Scully smiled.

They both sat and enjoyed their meal in silence for a few minutes. I could get used to this. Scully thought to herself. She loved the domesticity of it all. It was nice to slow down every once in a while and enjoy each other’s company. 

They finished their dinner and Mulder moved to pick up their plates. Scully caught him by the arm. “No, let me. You cooked this wonderful meal, the least I can do is help with the dishes.”

“You wash, I’ll dry.” Mulder winked.

“Deal.”

[slippinmickeys]

More Funfetti please! I'm loving the fluff, but how about something with a little more edge? Love your writing thx

Scully gravid and full. William next to her in the passenger seat. 

It is only when all is said and done that she turns to her son. She should thank him, but she will not thank him for this. For his sake, not this.  

At first, it only comes back to her in flashes. The road worker in his orange vest, the Slow/Stop sign that flips just as their car approaches the sleepy country intersection. 

Three men approach, just as her Volvo rolls to a stop. They are on a road out by William’s school and there are no other cars around. 

One of the men approaches her window and she’s about to roll it down to talk to him when William gives a sharp “Don’t!”

She looks at him and he’s wearing Mulder’s panic face. A dump of adrenaline and the baby inside her surges in response. 

“Ma’am?” says the man at her door, his voice muffled through the closed window. “Ma’am?” 

“Don’t open it,” William says, low. 

“We’ll need you to turn off your engine, ma’am,” the guy goes on. “There’s a gas leak up ahead.” 

“He’s lying,” says Will. 

When the guy reaches for her door handle, she reacts on instinct, slamming the gear into reverse and stepping hard on the gas. 

The tires screech–but behind them, a spike strip unfurls from the side of the road. The car jerks to a halt as the back tires blow out in a deafening pop pop.

“Out of the car!” someone barks. 

She vaguely wonders how many times she’s been ordered to get out of the car. Not once has it ever ended gladly. 

“Who are they?” Scully asks. “Can you tell?” 

William is watching them warily and shakes his head. 

Scully catches movement in the rearview–more men approaching–probably the ones who threw the spike strip. It’s always men, she thinks. It’s always men and never women.

“I have a gun in the glovebox,” she says, feeling sweat begin to bead on her upper lip. 

Her son’s head is doing a slow swivel, cataloguing each threat outside the car. 

“We don’t need it,” he says levelly. 

Something about his quiet certitude in this situation sends a shiver up her spine.

“What’s the plan?” she swallows thickly, feeling impotent and helpless. He’s still a kid. She’s supposed to be the one leading in a crisis. 

“Still working on that,” he says, his eyes following a man who’s crossing in front of the car, a hardhat on his head, silver Oakley’s wrapped around his face. 

A crowbar in his hands. 

Two things happen simultaneously. 

The first: William blinks and the man in front of the car goes flying backward through the air as if he’d had a rope tied around his waist that was suddenly yanked back powerfully and from a distance. 

The second: The driver’s side rear window shatters into the car, and a hand reaches in and grabs for Scully, who tries to duck forward and away, but is restrained by the seat belt. 

A moment later, the hand, which has by now grabbed some of her hair, goes limp. Scully does not look back to see what happened to the man who grabbed her. She does not want to know. 

More men come out of the woods, though they are now more wary as they approach the vehicle, the sun reflecting off of the oiled surfaces of their fully automatic weapons, which are raised. 

“Mom,” William says, eyes scanning, scanning, scanning. 

Then the air in the car shifts. 

“William?” she says, her voice tremulous. 

“Close your eyes,” he says, finally turning to meet her gaze. “Don’t look at me.”

“Will?”

The car begins to shake, some kind of invisible pressure building up. The windshield warps, like a heatwave rippling across it. 

She slams her eyes closed. 

Light bleeds through her closed lids–not natural light–something blue-white and pulsing like a heartbeat. 

Outside, someone screams. 

Then, a crack like thunder. 

Scully flinches, arms wrapped protectively around her belly. 

Silence. 

When she opens her eyes, she turns to find William sitting perfectly still. Hands folded in his lap. Face pale, but calm.

“Are you okay?” she asks. She wants to reach out and touch him, but something in her is afraid to. She does not allow herself to think about this for more than half a second.

He nods. 

Her next question is less parental, more pragmatic.

“Are they dead?” she says, her voice very quiet. 

He turns slowly to look at her. If they are dead, the weight of what he did will be a heavy burden to carry for a person as young as he is. Unlike his parents, he has never taken a life. 

“Yes,” he says, and for the first time, in just that one word, he sounds exactly like his father.

[baronessblixen]

I wish you’d write a fic where mulder and scully are at a restaurant in Rome ! (Am I too late ?)

You were not too late, anon, it just took me a while to finish this! I loved it and I immediately knew it had to be a fluffy fic(let).

Tagging @today-in-fic

There are, he presumes, easier ways to catch Scully in a sundress than whisking her away to Italy on a random Tuesday. Not that he’s complaining; if he could, he’d sit here for hours – no, days – just watching her.

It’s not just the sundress; it’s the way the sun kisses her skin, reminding him of when his lips did the same. He knows how soft her skin is, how her freckles taste against his lips. The smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth is unavoidable. Not that Scully is paying attention to him. While she’s taking it all in, he’s mesmerized only by her. Rome might be beautiful, but it has nothing on Dana Scully. In a sundress, no less.

“Mulder,” she says, her eyes drifting over to him. “Are we really here for a case?”

Ah yes, that.

“We are,” he replies, pretending to look for the waiter. Now would be a good time for their food to arrive. Food that Scully ordered for them both in impeccable Italian. At least Mulder presumes she did. He sat there grinning like the love-sick fool he is when she started speaking to the waiter.

“You told me to bring comfortable clothing,” Scully says, her eyes scrutinizing him. “Is this restaurant being haunted by ghosts?” Oh, he loves this woman. He smiles, matching the amused glint he catches in her eyes.

“No,” he says, leaning forward, as if what he’s about to say was a secret, ”we’re here for the Gata Carogna.” Scully’s eyes widen in curiosity. When he pitched it to Skinner, their boss merely nodded, and Mulder is certain he just wanted them both out of his non-existent hair for a week.

Scully remains quiet, seems to be waiting for him to continue, so he does.

“It’s a cat-like creature,” he says, leaning closer and closer still. The city around them is bustling, but he only has eyes for her. He’s close enough that it would take less than a whisper to close the distance between them. “It has an appetite for children’s souls.” He blinks at her and waits for her to react.

“That’s a fun story,” Scully says in her no-nonsense voice. “There’s just one problem with it.”

“Which is?” Scully takes a sip from her water and Mulder swallows, feeling thirsty himself. Moments slip by as he watches her. Then she leans in, and he’s momentarily distracted by how wet her lips look.

“The Gata Carogna, Mulder, has its haunting grounds in Lombardy, not Rome.” He’s too stunned to reply to her, frozen in his place where their noses are still almost touching. What might people passing by think, seeing them? Would they think they’re a couple on a romantic getaway?

“Does that mean Skinner didn’t buy the story either?” He grins sheepishly at her. “Skinner sanctioned this?” Mulder nods. “This isn’t- oh my God, Mulder, I thought this was- I thought you were only using this as a ruse!”

“A ruse? For what?” he asks innocently. They’re on the same page after all. He can no longer hold his laugh in when he sees color shoot into her cheeks.

“It is,” he admits, finally. “I mean I did go to Skinner and he did sanction it. We’re here on, well, let’s call it an official vacation.”

“We’re not here to chase after ghosts, or soul-stealing cats?” He shakes his head no and smiles at her, knowing the sun isn’t to blame for the warmth running through this whole body. “We’re here to…” she trails off, her eyes searching his.

For this, he thinks. To take a breath. To leave behind the world, the monsters, and their pasts; everything that keeps chasing them.

“For whatever you want,” he says instead. He knows exactly what he wants. Knows that he wants to hold her hand and make happy memories for a change. Knows that he wants to kiss her when the sun sets. And he knows he wants to go to bed with her, snuggle up, and ward off any nightmare that might have followed them here.

Now it’s up to her.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll think of something.” And then, just before the waiter arrives with their food, she leans over the table and presses a soft kiss to his mouth.

For once, he’s done everything just right.

[atths--twice]

A friend posted this picture on Twitter and I couldn’t resist writing a little something. ❤️

They had to fly out to a San Diego for a conference.

“A thought,” Mulder said after William had been put to bed.

“What’s that?” Scully asked.

“What if we stretched the conference into a mini vacation? Your mom could fly out with William?”

“Yes,” she agreed with a smile.

Mulder’s conference ended sooner than hers, and he hurried back to the hotel to change and collect Maggie and William to go to the beach.

Scully had no thoughts of changing, only of seeing her boy enjoying the Pacific Ocean as she had done as a child when she met up with them.

Maggie took picture after picture of them, laughing as William squealed in delight and splashed in the waves, stood with his toes squishing into the wet sand, and toddled after the seagulls, all of them laughing when they took flight and he froze in surprise.

The last picture taken was of the back of them at the shore as Mulder held William in one arm and Scully’s hand with his other hand. Her blazer had long since been discarded and her pants were rolled up. The waves hit their feet and they smiled as they looked at one another.

[sentientsky]

The roads are slick with rain—a car crash waiting to happen. Scully’s nails dig into the steering wheel, and the landscape flies past a little faster. The streetlights kick silver shrapnel-bits of light into her eyes. The sinew of her shoulder blade twitches, and she can feel it: Mulder’s hands in her hair, on her arm, on the slope of her back. His hands pressed into hers, keeping her anchored to the Earth with a pulse she knew better than her own. 

Then, Mulder, letting go, turning away, his body a filament of stars against a guttering sky. A phantom limb. A lighthouse gone dark. 

She remembers the bite of his words, the way invisible jaws closed around her throat and pressed down. She remembers the way he looked right past her, how his gaze sliced clean through her skull— a woman turning translucent under the stale light of an office devoid of touch. 

And just like that, she had become a disappearing trick, an inconvenience better tucked away for when it could be made useful. For the next time he needed an autopsy performed or a shoulder to cry on. For the next time he tugged the leash. She tightens her grip on the wheel. White-hot fury thrashes in her gut.

They’re a car crash waiting to happen.

[azure-firecracker]

Unbroken

An excerpt from Chapter 4 of Raise Your Voices that I’m particularly fond of. Some context may be missing but not enough to affect the crux of the story.

This takes place somewhere between Irresistible and Colony.

Summary: A night staying with a host family while working undercover opens some of Mulder’s old wounds.

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 1,653

TW/CW: Flashbacks

Tagging @today-in-fic

“Where are you from, again?” Mulder asked Dmitri on the car ride back to Derek and Sandra’s house. The couple seemed pleasant enough, but neither were the intrusive type, which meant that it was up to Mulder to keep the conversation going.

Dmitri rolled his eyes. “I have said before. I am from Belarus.”

“What brings you here?”

Dmitri scowled at him. “I am trying to study music. Is harder to do in Belarus.”

Mulder wanted to ask more questions, but could tell they wouldn’t be well received, so he allowed the car to lapse back into silence for the rest of the drive.

“Don’t mind Dmitri,” Sandra murmured to him as they unpacked the car, about half an hour later. “He gets those same questions a lot, as you might imagine. It can be a bit frustrating.” That’s fair.

“I promise I meant no offense. I’m just a curious type.” Though maybe Mitchell the maple farmer wasn’t. Careful.

“When Dmitri first got here, we were, too,” chimed in Derek as he walked out to help. “We wanted to know everything about his past. But the more time we spent with him, the more we realized just how alienating our questions were. To him, it must have felt more like an interrogation than anything else.”

The voices hit Mulder so suddenly that he almost dropped the bag of groceries he was holding.

What happened, Fox?

Why didn’t you call us?

Why didn’t you help her?

Where is she?

It was nothing he hadn’t flashed back to a thousand times before, but somehow it got to him every time. You’re undercover. Stay here.

He nodded as Derek opened the door and they walked into the kitchen. “That makes complete sense.” God, the feeling of being interrogated with the same questions over and over again. He knew it all too well.

You know why you’ve been admitted, right?

We’re just going to ask you some simple questions.

No, you can’t leave yet. You aren’t better.

Why aren’t you better?

Dammit, Mulder, stay here.

“Are you alright?” asked Sandra, breaking through the haze. He forced himself to nod.

“So, how do you know Dmitri? Are you related?”

Derek shook his head. “Dmitri placed an ad in the paper when he got here seeing if anyone would rent out a room. Our kids were long gone, and things were getting a little quiet in our old age,” he and Sandra both chuckled, “so we said yes.”

“So you’re his landlords?” Awfully protective for landlords.

Derek and Sandra exchanged a glance. “It started out that way,” said Sandra, “but Dmitri really became part of this house.”

Derek smiled. “He seemed quite lonely when he got here. Understandable, of course, but it was hard for us to see, so…”

Sandra interrupted, “We made sure to let him know that he belonged here.”

Derek nodded. “He’s family now.”

The whole thing was a little too saccharine for Mulder’s taste, however lovely it might be. “He’s family now.” As if it were that easy to just have a family. As if it were that easy even to keep the family you were born with, to not let them down. As if it were that easy to deserve love.

The room started to spin.

How could you just let them take her?

What do you mean the doctors haven’t fixed you yet?

We’re splitting up. There’s nothing keeping us together anymore.

Your mother’s already lost one child. Make sure you don’t break her heart again.

Stop calling me. I don’t have time for this.

They say they’ve found her.

They’re always wrong.

Why didn’t you do more?

This is your fault. It’s all your fault.

Mulder barely managed to force out an apology mixed with an excuse about not feeling well before he was stumbling up the stairs, his body overtaken by sensations from the past, old words mixing with his thoughts, his memories, and his guilt.

This family had extended their deepest love to a complete stranger. It was so easy, so simple, yet Mulder had still failed to deserve the same sentiments from those who were supposed to provide them to him without question. Even now, he was still trying to make up for everything he’d ruined. Most days, it was all he wished for. But even if he did find Samantha, he knew it would never be enough. Love wasn’t feasible for him, not in the way it was for Dmitri or anyone in the Green Mountain Singers or the rest of the world. It was a fact that Mulder was used to carrying with him, but sometimes it shattered him nonetheless.

Sitting in a stranger’s house, curled up against the bedroom door, Mulder was a lonely child all over again, wishing and waiting for his parents to arrive and tell him everything was going to be alright, burdened with the knowledge that they never would. He felt as he had in the child psychiatric ward: ruined and alone and afraid. He needed to come back to the present. He needed to feel safe, to feel cared for, to feel alright.

It was against protocol, but he picked up the phone and dialed the one person who made him feel like he wasn’t broken.

“Hello?”

“Scully, it’s me.”

“Mulder,” she whispered over the phone, “we’re not supposed to call each other. You know that.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back, trying (and failing) to keep his voice from breaking. “I just…” I needed to hear your voice. You’re the one person who can keep me grounded.

“Mulder,” her voice was much gentler now, “what’s wrong?”

How do I even begin to explain this? “Can you just…can you stay on the phone for a while? Can we talk about nothing?” Bring me back. You’re the only one who ever could.

“Sure, Mulder,” she quipped. “Tonight I spent three hours singing Eastern European folk songs and making potato and cheese casserole.”

“There’s a combination of words I never thought I’d hear from you.”

“You know, Mulder, these people are definitely…strange,” she observed, “but there’s a certain charm to them. Their unconditional support for one another is rather admirable.” He had to stop himself from letting out a bitter laugh. Support is never unconditional. Not really. He gripped the phone tighter, wishing Scully was really there for him to hold onto. Support is never unconditional. But sometimes I can believe that hers is, even just for a second. She was unique to him, in that way and in so many others.

“I get what you mean,” he replied. “The couple I’m staying with basically adopted this kid Dmitri, just because they wanted to, and…” He stopped, not wanting to burden her with his pain while she was already miserable on this assignment. It was too late. He could almost hear her put two and two together over the phone. Though the human mind was his area of expertise, his mind fell within hers. She knew what set him off, and he often caught her trying to protect him from those triggers when she thought he wouldn’t notice. She was naïve in that particular regard. Care was such a rarity in his life that he never failed to perceive it when it graced him.

“Adoption is a wonderful thing,” she said. “Some parents are very compassionate. Some less so. Studies show that the levels of compassion have very little to do with the child.” He knew why she was sharing those particular statistics. It didn’t help, but the fact that she was trying spoke volumes.

“Have your statistics accounted for outliers?”

“Not from Martha’s Vineyard.” Her directness caught him off guard, but of course she’d figured him out. She was too clever not to.

“Scully, I…”

“Mulder, I haven’t met your family, but whatever they made you believe, it isn’t true.” They didn’t make me believe it. It’s the Truth.

“My family did the best they could, Scully. It’s not their fault they didn’t have the mental capacity to raise a kid after what happened. I mean, who would?”

A pause. “It’s just…it’s not productive to blame yourself, Mulder. You were too young.” You don’t blame me. You’re the only one who doesn’t blame me. Why?

“It’s alright,” he replied. It isn’t, not really, but it’s better now that you’re here. Everything’s easier with you here. “I’ve accepted that. It’s just…” he sighed, “sometimes places like this get to me.” They make me wish I had a home to go back to. A real home. A home that feels like autumn sweaters and hot apple cider and warm hugs. A home that isn’t broken. This was the one thing about him that Scully would never understand. She had a home, and always would.

“Well,” she answered after a moment, “it’s no community choir. But you’ve got me, and I’m not going anywhere.” Her words held extra weight after all she’d been through lately.

He thought of days spent in dark basements crouched over files, of long road trips and meaningless back-and-forth chatter, of running into the dark together, of him being pushed to his limit in her name, standing over a hospital bed or wrapping his arms around her at the base of a darkened stairwell. He thought of her going to the ends of the Earth for his sake in Idaho, Washington, Puerto Rico, California, and everywhere in between. He thought of running after the Truth and her running after him, no matter how many times he showed her that he didn’t deserve it.

Maybe he had a home after all.

“I know.” And how lucky I am.

Another pause.

“It’s getting late. We should get some sleep. Especially you. You have band rehearsal in the morning.”

“Don’t remind me,” she groaned. “And Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

“You can call me again if you need to.”

He smiled. “Same to you.”

“Goodnight, Mulder.”

“Goodnight, Scully.”

[thanx-files]

“Language”

A ficlet by thanx-files

This is my first ever fic! (Ever? Ever!) Loosely inspired by a real thing that I managed to fuck up at work. Please enjoy.

558 words | hurt/comfort (but only in the loosest definition of either of those words) | shortly after Død Kalm, before Anasazi | msr | CW: blood, swearing

“What happened to you? I thought you were going to the break room.”

Scully watched Mulder digging through his desk drawer, presumably for a bandage. His left index finger was dripping blood down his palm.

“I was,” he said, not looking up from his shuffle. There was no way he would find a bandage before covering 50 years’ worth of X-files in blood. “I did. I was attacked.”

Scully knew they had enemies. She also knew that there were more of them than Mulder was letting on. But had they gotten so bold as to confront Mulder in broad daylight? And at work? Her job did not allow for panic, so she kept a cool head as she glanced at the door — but her heart might have picked up its pace.

“By whom?” she asked.

“The water cooler.”

The tension in her shoulders dissipated. “What?”

“I went to change the reservoir and the plastic thingy got stuck…” he used his hip to close the last drawer on his desk, finally giving up his search.

“Sit down, Mulder.”

He flopped down into his desk chair, hand held over his head. Blood was running down toward his elbow.

It took Scully less than a minute to locate the first-aid kit in the cabinet. She popped the plastic box open and removed a sanitizing wipe and an adhesive bandage.

She crossed the room to where Mulder slouched in his chair. She was just taller than him like this, as she reached for his bloodied hand. She didn’t ask him to finish his story. She was an investigator, she could infer: something on the cooler had been jammed or unseated, and he got his finger caught in the process of fixing it. She could see a cut, small but deep, in the pad of his finger.

She tore open the packet for the sanitizing wipe, then pressed it to the cut.

“Mother of fuck. Shit!”

It had taken Scully some time to get used to Mulder’s swearing. At first, she wondered if he had forgotten she was there, or maybe, that she was raised Catholic.

Now, though, she found herself fighting a smile at his outburst. It hadn’t been two weeks since she’d seen him nearly dead from dehydration. He’d been shot, encased in a prehistoric cocoon, nearly frozen to death, and more — just in the last two years. Every time he woke up in a recovery room, he smiled and cracked a joke. But a cut on his finger? Unimaginable pain.

She’d hate to see Mulder with a head cold.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she said, sticking the bandage on his hand.

He immediately pulled the injured extremity down toward his face and shook it in the air — inadvertently throwing a drop of blood onto her new blouse, but whatever. He then inspected the bandage as if he didn’t trust her work. She’d seen her eight-year-old nephew do the same.

“You might want to go wash up,” Scully said.

That seemed to snap Mulder back to reality. He glanced up at her and smiled. “You’re not going to kiss it better?” he asked.

“Fuck off,” she said.

He grinned — what a child — and jumped up from his chair, now taller than her again, as usual.

“Watch your language,” he said, and left the office once more.

[agent-troi]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The X-Files Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully Characters: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully Additional Tags: Ficlet, POV Fox Mulder, Fox Mulder Angst, Break Up, Post-Movie: The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008), Pre-X-Files Revival Summary:

Tailights were supposed to be red, he knew, but he couldn’t see them. Just like he couldn’t see the reddish-gold of her hair on the pillow next to him, even when it had really been there and not just in his mind’s eye.

[actual-changeling]

part 1 || part 2 || part 3

———

scully just keeps walking. without looking. walking faster in heels than anyone should be able to. her coat is a bellowing shadow behind her, and her hair a flickering wildfire as cars rush by.

it's a busy street, he knows it's a busy street, he should have known better than to push until she fled. everyone around her is unreal, dizzyingly blurry, and she is sharp and bright in a painful kind of way, like an open wound bleeding wet onto the asphalt. like the sun suddenly breaking through the clouds, blinding you as it burns itself up to live.

he cannot take his eyes off of her, her rage smudging her outline like charcoal, her tears finding tracks through the pain covering her skin like ash.

mulder is right behind her—he has to be—with one hand stretched out, his fingertips gaining form as they reach for her. he is afraid he will run through her like smoke, that he will watch her disappear from the world in a cacophony of screams and screeching breaks, that in running from him he chased her to her death.

she turns in the middle of the crossroad, stopping and becoming a stone in a white water rapid; the crowd parts around her like the sea in front of moses.

to him, she is everything, should be everything. to the world, she is nothing.

to herself, she's a figure of broken glass struggling to keep itself whole.

when his hand wraps around her wrist, he feels her pulse beating desperately to escape, but she doesn't move, doesn't speak a word, simply watches him watch her burn.

"i'm sorry. i shouldn't have—"

they're a car crash waiting to happen.

"yes, you shouldn't have."

except that he did, again and again and again.

i love you.

too late, too early, too loudly and not loud enough. wrong place, wrong time, never to be said at all. he told her a week ago with saltwater in the back of his throat, and she disappeared into the sea then, too.

the street empties, and she slips from his grasp, slowly and then all at once. silently, mulder follows her just closely enough to die with her if the world were to turn on her.

———

me? writing angst? exactly what i should be doing, it's been too long.

[fine-nephrit]

🥏 TXF Fic Rec #22: "C’mon, Mulder" by Defnotmeyo

What an outstanding little post-ep for an outstanding episode, “Pusher”.

Today’s fic captures the emotional states of our duo right after their traumatic Russian roulette perfectly, without indulging in sentimentality. It reveals who Mulder and Scully are, and what they are, with unmatched precision. The overwhelming angst running heavy and thick below the surface is restraint in the episode (which makes it great), and so is it in this story (likewise makes it great). But here we sneak a peek below the surface and get walloped with feels.

Beautiful and brilliant, this 600-word fic is a treasure.

---

🥏 on AO3

length: ficlet, 600+ words season: season 3, 3x17 Pusher pairing(s): M/S UST tags: episode-related, angst rating: G

[thursdayinspace]

So I rewatched "Our Town" last night and when I sat down at my laptop this morning to do something that was not writing, I ended up writing instead. These things happen. Just a silly fluffy-ish little thing because omg that ep is so gross and also Scully has to be getting sick of being abducted all the time. Mulder feels the same way.

She can’t sleep. It’s not every day you almost get beheaded—even after everything that she’s already been through this year, it seems there are still things that can shake her up pretty badly. She rolls over on the lumpy motel mattress and tries to get comfortable. For a glorious moment, she considers quitting. Handing Skinner her resignation and walking away, finding a nice job with regular hours where people won’t handcuff her to radiators, stick her in closets, contort their stretchy bodies through cracks in her bathroom window, or drive her around in the trunks of their cars before handing her over to aliens or the government or whatever theory Mulder’s going with right now. A job where she won’t spend the end of a work day strapped into a metal harness as a guy in a mask raises an ax above her head.

In her mind she pictures a simple life: a nice house with a yard, a dog greeting her as she opens the door and walks inside after a long day at the hospital…no, a private practice? A day of teaching? Whatever she’s been doing, she walks into a kitchen that smells like home-cooked dinner, leaning up to kiss her faceless husband who’s vaguely Mulder-shaped. “Honey, I’m home!” “Dinner’s almost ready! How was your day?” “Fine. Narrowly avoided decapitation. Nothing exciting.” Fuck. Not even fantasy-Scully can escape the absurdity of this life.

The knock on her door doesn’t even surprise her. She already knows who it is. He stopped waking her unless it’s something really important, so she groans and gets up, her bones aching, weeping inwardly as she makes her way to the door. So she can’t sleep; that doesn’t mean she wants to spend the night going over their case report or whatever that infuriatingly charming insomniac wants from her this time.

But when she opens the door, he doesn’t look as if he wants to go over case reports. He looks like shit. As much as that’s even possible for him. Another thing that’s simply unfair about her life, she thinks with a sigh. Even with bags under his eyes and pale as a sheet he still looks beautiful. “Mulder?” she says.

He doesn’t answer, just steps right into her and pulls her into a wordless hug, so tight she’s a little afraid he’ll crack her ribs. She hugs him back weakly and pats his back, not quite sure what else to do since she has no idea what the fuck he’s even doing. She expects him to pull back, but he just keeps holding on, and she’s genuinely having trouble breathing.

“Uh, Mulder?” she says again, a little louder.

“You’re okay,” he mumbles into her hair, and she wiggles in his arms, trying to loosen his grip.

“Not for much longer if you don’t let go.”

“Sorry.” He drops his arms and takes a step back, but keeps looking at her like he’s never seen her before. “Sorry, I just—”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Did you have a bad dream?”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah.” She grimaces. “Me neither. It’s been…a day.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, and she laughs. She’s too tired not to.

“Thanks to your timely rescue, my head is still firmly attached to my body.” It sounds a little bitter, and she’s surprised at herself before she feels another little piece of her frustration clicking into place. Ah, yes, she thinks. There’s that too. Rescued once again. She makes a mental note: fantasy-Scully in her little imaginary suburban nine-to-five utopia will never have to be rescued. She’s gonna be the one doing all the rescuing. Except nobody needs to be rescued in that perfect little world, because nothing bad ever happens to anyone.

“You don’t sound okay,” Mulder says, and she closes her eyes for a second. She’s not annoyed with him, she reminds herself. It’s not his fault that she became part of these townsfolks’ dinner plans, and it’s not his fault that she needed him to keep that from happening.

“I’m just a little tired.”

“I’ll let you sleep.” He sounds exhausted and when she looks at him, she sees leftover fear in his eyes. “No more interruptions, I promise.”

Her hand reaches out for his before she’s fully conscious of what she’s doing. It’s just that he’s here and she’s had enough of being Agent Scully for tonight, and he really looks so much like Doctor Scully’s faceless dinner-cooking husband in her nice little fantasy home. “Come on,” she says.

“What are you—”

“Bed,” she explains, hoping he won’t ask any more questions.

“Oh. Okay.”

She gets in on her side and is relieved when he lies down next to her without another word. She closes her eyes, but she can feel him stock-still as a statue next to her, she can feel the tension radiating off of him, and, hell, it sounds like he’s even trying to breathe without making a sound. So she grabs his arm and rolls onto her side, tugging him with her until he has his back against her chest, and she holds firmly onto his hand and snuggles back into him.

“Scully?” he asks, sounding a little confused.

“Relax, Mulder,” she tells him. “Sleep.”

“Are you sure?”

“About sleeping?”

“You know what I mean.”

She laughs and squeezes his fingers. “No. Of course not. But honestly? I really don’t care right now.”

“Okay,” he says, and he gets it, she knew he’d get it. “Okay,” he repeats, and laces their fingers together. She feels him lift his head, feels his hot breath against the side of her face, and then a gentle kiss against the corner of her eye. “Good night, Scully.”

“Good night, Mulder.”

Behind her closed eyelids, fantasy Scully lies just like this with her faceless partner, who’s just as warm and smells just as good as real Scully’s friend-partner spooned up behind her. The only difference is that her own real Mulder is…well, real. No matter how perfect her beautiful little dream house with her beautiful perfect husband may be, she kind of prefers snuggling with someone who has a face and a name. And maybe she’d actually miss the mess.

Not all of it. Not the ax-swinging, homicidal maniacs or the lumpy motel mattresses. But a partner who knocks on her door in the middle of the night because he couldn’t sleep without making sure she was okay? Who sleeps wrapped around her with his breath ruffling the hair at the back of her neck, knowing this isn’t leading anywhere other than comfort and friendship? And…she kisses the backs of his fingers once she convinces herself he’s probably asleep…a vague hope that maybe this won’t always be all there is between them?

Yeah. She’ll take it.

[catharsisxf]

The Second First Time

Author: catharsisxf

Summary: This time was different.

AO3 link

[slippinmickeys]

Totality

Fiona made me write an eclipse fic.

Scully gently shut the door behind her, the crisp blue duffle with leather handles in her grip; the go-bag she always left in her car, just in case. It had been a just-in case, Mulder had to admit. They’d had to fly to Idaho with no time to pack, and had worked a grueling five days straight on a series of local murders with only enough time to catch maybe four hours of sleep a night and pop into a shabby JC Penneys once for more underwear. They were both overworked, overtired, and their suits–of which each of them only had two–were overworn; ripe with the scents of stale sweat and stale coffee and stale eau de morgue. 

Scully looked weary as she handed over the bag to where Mulder stood in front of their rental car’s open trunk. 

“How far away is the airport again?” she asked, squinting up at him as he deposited her bag next to his and slammed the trunk closed. 

“Only about an hour,” he answered, mentally girding himself for what he was about to tell her. “But, I uh,” he went on, “pushed back our flights to this evening.”

Her posture visibly slumped. “You…what?” 

Mulder bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t made a horrible miscalculation. He knew she wanted nothing more than to get home, slide into a hot bath and pull the covers over her head for three straight days. She’d certainly earned it. 

“Hop in the car,” he said, moving to the driver’s side door. “I have a surprise.”

He was exhausted himself, his nerves shot. He was running on caffeine and cortisol, his skeleton rattling with every step. But this…she would like this. He was sure of it. 

“Mulder,” she said wearily, a whine in her voice that he’d rarely had the opportunity to hear. But she said nothing more and reluctantly dropped into the passenger seat, leaning her head against the headrest and rolling it to look at him beseechingly after she’d clicked her seat belt on. 

Mulder turned the ignition and the sedan growled to life under them. 

“It’s a good surprise,” he assured her. 

She only sighed, and they bumped out of the hotel parking lot and onto town’s main drag, the sun shining on the shabby line of depressing suburbia. Ten minutes and five stop lights later, Mulder pulled into the mostly empty parking lot of a dying mall, the tires popping over stray gravel and broken glass. He cranked the wheel and the car swung over the cracked asphalt in front of a defunct Frederick & Nelson, turning in a reflex angle and stopping when the sun shone in full through the windshield. He killed the engine. 

Scully opened her mouth to say something, but he reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a couple scraps of cardboard, handing one over before she could voice a complaint. 

It took her a moment to register what he was handing her. 

“Eclipse glasses?” she said, sitting up a little in her seat. 

Mulder had found the black polymer lenses next to the cash register at a local coffee shop that morning, the bespectacled co-ed working it disinterestedly telling him he could have two pairs for a dollar. 

The upcoming eclipse had been in the news recently, but he’d mostly ignored it–back east it would only be partial at best, the path of totality only hitting the Pacific Northwest and parts of Canada. Four murders and a rough case later, he hadn’t given it another thought. Until that morning in the coffee shop. 

“We’re in the path of totality here,” he explained. “We’ll only get it for about a minute and ten seconds according to the local newspaper, but I thought you might like to see it.”

A look Mulder couldn’t read crossed over her face and he swallowed.

“The next full eclipse over North America won’t be until 2017,” he went on nervously. “I can probably change the tickets back if you-”

Scully reached out and put a warm hand on his arm, cutting him off. 

“I’d love to see it,” she said delicately. “Thank you.”

Despite the dark smudges under her eyes, the soft smile she gave him quieted any lingering apprehension about his decision, and he gave her a smile back. 

“I figured we could get on the hood, lean against the windshield,” he said.

“What time does it start?” she asked, popping her wrist out from her sleeve to look at her watch. 

“In about five minutes,” he grinned. 

Scully fingered the glasses and then opened her car door. Energized, Mulder did the same. 

“I ask you to avert your eyes,” he said drolly, putting a hand on the warm hood of the car before awkwardly lumbering his way on top of it, the metal plane thumping loudly under him as it dented to accommodate his weight and then popped back into place. 

Scully, opting to watch, looked on primly. 

Once he was settled, he held out a hand. 

“Milady,” he said, and she settled her warm palm onto his, grabbing on while she put a foot on top of the tire and dexterously swung herself up next to him. 

“Nimble,” he complimented her, reluctantly letting go of her hand. 

She shrugged and leaned back gingerly against the windshield, mindful of the smear of desiccated bugs across the face of it. 

“Here, wait,” Mulder said. He sat up quickly and peeled off his suit coat, rolling it into a ball to tuck behind her head, pillow-like. 

“Thanks,” she said quietly. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Mulder could feel something ineffable pass between them. He coughed once awkwardly, and then pressed his eclipse glasses to his face, the sharp cardboard edge digging into the skin behind his ear. 

“How do I look?” he asked. 

“Like a dork,” Scully said, delicately donning her own, in, Mulder hoped, solidarity. 

She looked nothing like a dork, Mulder thought, eyeing the sharp lines of her face. She looked like a space girl, sleek and silver, an otherworldly beauty. 

He cleared his throat. “So do you.”

Scully’s face was tilted to the sky and he turned to follow her gaze. 

“It’s starting,” she said, her voice a little irreverent. 

Mulder looked at the sun, dark through polymer lenses of the protective eyewear. The moon was just beginning to edge itself in front of its celestial sister; incremental, pendulous. 

Lacking the pillow he’d given Scully, he raised his arms up and bent his elbows, resting his head back against cupped hands. Beside him, Scully breathed serenely.  He caught a whiff of his fusty clothing and hoped his jacket had fared better in the olfactory department than his shirt. 

They were silent for long minutes, watching the gradual procession of moon across sun. The day was bright but began to take on a verging luminosity, and Mulder raised his glasses up to take a look at the dark shadow of the car under them, which took on an off-putting sharpness against the dusty asphalt. 

“What do you think ancient peoples made of solar eclipses?” came Scully’s voice, a little dreamy. “What must they have thought?”

It was an invitation to oratory. A small gift. Mulder smiled. 

“Cultures throughout the world had wildly different theories,” he said, and Scully turned her head towards him, her eyes hidden behind the dark lenses. “Most of them, obviously, wildly incorrect.” Despite the fact that he couldn’t see her eyes, her look was encouraging. 

“The sun being devoured was popular,” he went on. “From the Norse mythology of Sköll,” at this she smiled. “To Asian cultures like in Java and Vietnam that variously had creatures or monsters swallowing the sun. It was commonly held in ancient China that a celestial dragon attacked and devoured it. Here in the Northwest, the Pomo people’s name for a solar eclipse is ‘Sun got bit by a bear.’”

The bear, Mulder mused, was widening its jaw. It was getting gradually darker, and he could feel the temperature start to dip. He put his glasses back on and looked back at the sun. 

“The Inca and Ancient Greek believed eclipses were a sign of a wrathful and unhappy god.”

Scully hummed. “The word ‘eclipse’ comes from the Greek word meaning ‘abandonment.’”

“Right,” Mulder said, “though I think I prefer mythologies of a more solicitous nature.”

Scully raised her glasses to give him a look. “Solicitous?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Mulder couldn’t help his grin. “In Australian oral traditions, the moon falls in love with the sun and chases her across the sky. If caught, the sun plunges the world into darkness. Medicine men recite magical chants to combat the evil omen. In German mythology, the sun and the moon are married. One rules the day while the other the night. When the moon is lonely, he’s drawn to his bride and they come together to create a solar eclipse.”

She looked at him frankly. “You know a weird amount about eclipses.”

“I like to impress you.”

“Is this why you were so late getting back to the hotel this morning? Research? My coffee was cold.”

“But are you impressed?”

“I wasn’t impressed by the coffee…”

Mulder gave her a long look, the odd light turning her hair a hazy copper wool.

“I like the German one best,” she finally said, plunking her glasses back on and leaning back to gaze at the sky. 

“Me too,” Mulder said. 

More long minutes of silence between them with the occasional car whooshing past on the roadway. Mall security drove by them slowly and Mulder gave the rent-a-cop a small salute. It was impossible to see Scully with the glasses on, so he kept taking them off. 

“You’re going to permanently burn your macula,” Scully said from beside him, not taking her eyes off the welkin of the heavens above them. 

He ran his eyes over the brushstroke of freckles on her nose. She was goddess-like; as luminous as a star. If he was the moon, he’d chase her through the sky, too. 

“You lose enough photoreceptors you won’t pass your next firearms recertification.”

He was tempted to tell her that in all the years he’d known her, her shine hadn’t damaged anything but his poor, lonely heart, but pulled his glasses back down and looked to the sun. It was nearly covered.

He sighed and felt her hand reach for his. His heart beat hard once against his sternum. 

“You can take them off during the totality,” she said, squeezing. “And should. It’s supposed to be incredible.”

“You ever seen it?” He asked her quietly. She was still holding onto his hand. 

“I missed the one in ‘79.”

“Me too,” he said. 

Around them, the air had taken on a distinct chill and the light shining down had grown metallic. Next to the car, in the long shadows of the trees along the edge of the mall driveway appeared little crescents. The colors on the mall’s signage dimmed and brightened. Mulder sat up and pulled his glasses off and blinked, shaking his head. The world felt odd, he couldn’t properly adjust his vision. It felt decidedly like the moment after someone takes your picture with a bright flash.

Scully still held his hand and squeezed it. 

“It’s called the Purkinje effect,” she said calmly, pulling off her own glasses with her other hand, and looking around with a wondrous smile. “As we near totality and the light dims, our eyes transition from photopic vision–which uses the retina’s cone cells to deliver full colors and fine detail–toward scotopic night vision, which relies on rod cells to detect objects in low light. When the light’s intensity dims in an eclipse, colors with longer wavelengths like red will look darker as the cones become less active. But rods are sensitive to shorter blue-green wavelengths, and those colors will appear to shine. It’s not just you. It’s the rod and cone cells in your eyes trying to make sense of the sudden dimness.”

Scully put her glasses back on and looked up at the eclipse. Mulder felt a surge of something so like love that his eyes burned. 

Scully pulled in a sudden inhale of breath. 

“The totality,” she said, pulling off her glasses and gazing up. “It’s starting.”

Mulder raised his eyes to the heavens. The world was dusk-like, the stars in the top of the dome of the heavens were winking on. In the bushes nearby, crickets began to chirp. 

The eclipse itself was like nothing he’d seen before outside of a big budget movie. The moon was utter blackness, but along the upper edge of the eclipsed sun was a hot pink half-ring that erupted into a single bring spot along the edge of the moon’s shadow like the diamond in a giant engagement ring formed by the rest of the sun’s atmosphere.

And then the flaming plasma of corona as the moon reached complete totality. Second contact. It was a living thing. Streams of white light danced around the ring of the black moon. Scully gasped in pleasure and Mulder couldn’t help but exclaim: “Wow!”

He pulled his eyes from the eclipse itself and looked around. Along the entire horizon, all 360 degrees of it, was in full, brilliant sunset. Everything else was the darkness of post golden-hour. He turned toward his partner and locked eyes with her. Her smile was brilliant, and she held his gaze for only a moment before canting her face back to the eclipse itself. 

“This is incredible,” she said breathlessly. 

He had found, as the years of their partnership wound on, that their job turned them into ecstatics, subject to mystical experiences. This was perhaps the most transcendent of them all. He would remember the moment forever. 

 “It is,” he agreed. 

A sharp flash, and Scully squeezed his hand. 

“Third contact,” she said. “Put your glasses back on.”

He did as she asked, and they leaned back and watched in silence as the moon continued its journey, as the sky relit and the nighttime animals calmed, as the world came back to itself. 

Eventually, Scully sat up. The light was still odd, seeming to come almost from inside her, and she lowered her glasses and leaned in to him. For a heady, divine moment, Mulder thought she was about to kiss him, but instead she pressed her cool lips to his cheek, her hair falling down to brush along the skin of his jaw. 

“Thank you, Mulder,” she said, and then straightened, the cool air rushing to fill the space she’d just been. 

“You’re welcome, Scully,” he said, his voice a little rough. He lowered his glasses slowly and watched her slide off the hood of the car, watched her stretch and smile to herself; a Mona Lisa grin gently stretching the planes of a face with the same faultless symmetry of the celestial bodies sliding across the sky.