#msr prompt

[aloysiavirgata]

Prompt! Vulnerable post-case Scully. She can be prickly (because I love your Scully) but also delicate. Case-related vulnerability is my most favourite vibe in the series and every so often I get sad that there are no more moments to watch. Thank you 💜

By the time she gets around to taking it off, her blood-soaked starched blouse has all but melded with her skin. They have to peel it from her body with a crackling sound. Her jacket is already stiffly tented in the corner.

He will burn those items later, he will burn and burn and burn.

***

Acrid scent of gunpowder in the air still. Blood like pennies baking on hot tarmac. Cortisol, adrenaline.

Terror.

Her grasping fingers, her grasping hands, her wracking sobs even as he pried her away to check for wounds.

***

Mulder helps her to his bathroom, holding her elbow as she staggers beside him like a fawn. Her hair is dried in ragged, bloody clumps.

He settles her onto the toilet lid, gets the bath running at her preferred level of scald. He squirts in a few blobs of his pine-scented body wash, which begin to foam. Scully smiles a heartbreaking smile in thanks.

“Bubbles,” he says, inanely.

Scully’s chest is caked with blood, even with her shirt removed to reveal the stained satin of her bra. Her belly is streaked with it, her black trousers rusty and stiff.

How is there any blood still inside her? How is she still here?

She has her arms crossed at her lap, her head bowed. He cannot see anything but her white shoulders and her draggled hair and her dark, narrow thighs.

“Scully,” he whispers.

She gazes up, hollow-eyed. “He didn’t…” she begins. “We never….”

She looks away, lower lip between her teeth.

“Oh, Scully.”

His hands are gentle at the clasp of her bra; he turns his eyes from her breasts even though he’s seen them.

He unbuttons the fine wool trousers at her waist, slides them down with her dark panties. He doesn’t look or touch or breathe more than he has to because the idea of connecting any of this to lust makes him sick.

Her hips, the dark triangle of sunset hair between her thighs, are also sticky with blood. The lace clings a little and she winces. Her trouser lining tugs. Finally, she is nude. She is so small and so bloody and so bare, like a newborn creature.

Mulder guides her towards the tub, averts his eyes like she is Artemis bathing. Tries not to think the name Diana.

Scully, breast-deep in bubbles. Scully dripping rusty rivulets in the steam. Her tears are silent now, streaking paths down her blood-smattered kidskin face.

Mulder fills a scuffed blue plastic Knicks cup with water, curves his palm around her eyes. “Look up,” he murmurs, and she does, distant, outside of herself.

He sluices water over her head until it runs clear, until she is sleek as an otter, a siren, a goddess. She gasps a little, spreads her fingers against her skull.

Her freckles are magnified by the falling water, her eyes a little too big. A little too round. Her nose is straight and queenly throughout however; her lips parted like a budding tulip.

He massages pearly-blue Head and Shoulders shampoo into the rare, persimmon beauty of her hair. He massages her scalp until she purrs a little. He touches her until his nerves are settled.

“Mulder,” she says, and grasps his forearm in her fine, pale hand. Her face is pre-Raphaelite. Her face is like a D below middle-C; a plucked bowstring, still quivering.

Agent Mulder is already in love.

“Padgett was crazy, he was -“ she begins.

“Sshhhh,” he says. “I have conditioner.” He holds the bottle out, a drugstore brand promising THICKNESS!!! and SHINE!!!

She laughs and it warms him like a hot toddy, like the sun in August, like the sand at Ninigret Pond.

***

Scully is clean, finally, even her smudged makeup rubbed away. They’ve drained and refilled the tub with fresh water, with fresh bubbles. She seems like herself again, not so dazed.

He passes her his robe, turns his head to hold it out when she stands.

“You’re so Victorian.”

“Oh, you know how much I love to lie back and think of England.” He glances over. “The memories are so nice, Phoebe and all.”

Scully ties the too-long belt in a big square knot. “It was kindly meant.” Her smile is soft.

“I know.”

They shift awkwardly for a moment in the small space. Scully looks like a kid dressed up as an angel for a Nativity play in that enormous robe, her bare face and bare feet and tumbled halo of hair.

“Thank you,” Scully begins finally. “I couldn’t have-“

“I’m sorry,” he says at the same time.

Scully frowns. “Why on earth are you sor-“

“My neighbor. So I feel like I..I don’t know. I led him to you.” He picks at a non-existent hangnail.

Scully sighs. “Oh, Mulder.”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t… I didn’t mean to make it about me, I know these are your choices, that you’re not some damsel in distress. I just hate when these things hurt you.”

Things is such an inadequate word, but no word ever could be adequate.

Scully blinks. She opens the door, wafts into his bedroom with the steam. Trails his bathrobe like a court gown.

Mulder follows after, wary. Watches her sprawl on his bed, far from the blood stains in the living room. He’s already called the crime-scene cleanup company.

Again.

She pats the bed next to her. “I promise I won’t take advantage of you.”

He laughs a little at that, remembers her looking a lot like this years ago in Bellefleur, in that awful motel with that terrible brown Clairol wash on her hair. He flops next to her. “Any mosquito bites you want me to check, Doctor Scully?”

She thumbs his cheek. “I was a child.”

He kisses her nose so that he doesn’t kiss her mouth. Though why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t they?

“I was a child and she was a child in this kingdom by the sea…” he quotes. Trails off. What are they doing, this isn’t a partnership. This is strange and awful and gorgeous. Her dying baby in his arms, her ova, her-

“In her sepulchre there by the sea…” Scully murmurs. “In her tomb by the sounding sea.” She closes her eyes.

They breathe one another’s air. They breathe artificial pine scent, dryer sheets, warm nitrogen. Faded cotton, old paper.

“Are you okay?” he asks, so he doesn’t slip a finger between her thighs. So he doesn’t say I love you the way oysters love the morning tide.

Her finger at his lips, her breath on his lashes. Her sweet, warm skin and her extraordinary brain and the scarred palimpsest of her body right here.

“No,” she says, stroking his jaw. “But I will be.”

****

She stays with him all night and he stays with her all night and they are arranged like the Lovers of Valdaro.

His coffee pot is programmed. His carpet is soaked in her blood, her gun is going to be the subject of an investigation.

He and Walter will protect her.

***

She loses the robe at 2AM, mumbling something vague about being tangled and too hot. Her naked body is now asleep against his chest and he lets go, finally, in the sweet vulnerability of her slim arms that can heal and kill.

[leiascully]

what about… a short msr bathtub fic, but only if you feel like it.

It got a little out of hand, so have 1300 words of bathtub fic. TW: infertility mention/IVF arc.

She answers the door wearing a robe. He steps in quietly and she locks the door behind him. She looks soft and small despite the bulk of the terrycloth, her bare feet silent on the floor. She takes his hand without speaking and leads him across her apartment.

The bathroom is full of steam; it swirls out when she opens the door. She draws him in. With the door shut, it’s as if they’re sealed away in another world. Water thunders into the tub, capped with a thick layer of quivering bubbles. He can see particles of mist in the air. Sounds seem muffled. She turns away, lets the robe slip off her shoulders. He turns his back hastily, but he can see a sliver of her side in the mirror: pale skin, a compact curve from rib to hip, an arc of lurid ink. He closes his eyes and unbuttons his shirt.

She called him earlier, an exchange of mostly breath. It wasn’t out of character; they’d both picked up the phone before just to know the other one was on the other end. At last, she said, “Please come over”, and the smallness of the request broke something in him. She should have known he’d do anything for her. He’d been to Antarctica and the graveyard and the IVF clinic for her, sat in filthy rooms and sterile ones, waiting for news.

Now he stands in her bathroom undressing. He can hear the taps creak off and the water swirl as she gets into the tub. There is an air of unreality to it: the steam, the heavy scent of bergamot, the unaccustomed glimpses of skin. He’s seen her naked before, but those moments were dictated by circumstance. This is her choice.

He toes off his shoes, folds his shirt and his jeans over them, drops his socks and his boxers on the top of the pile. When he turns, she’s tucked herself into the end of the tub, sitting with her knees drawn up. He climbs into the other end, hands braced on the sides. The water rises according to the principles of Archimedes, brimming toward her knees. Their toes touch in the center of the tub. He loops his arms around his bent knees, holding himself together, giving her space.

They sit like that in silence, quarantined at their separate ends. Together but not. She lets out a long shaky breath.

The water is hot enough to prickle at his skin. Scully is already flushed, tendrils of hair curling around her face. He’s trying not to look, he swears he’s trying not to look, but he’s always been transfixed by her.

“I’m tired,” she says at last.

“I know.” He studies her, keeping his eyes above her neck.

“I wanted….” Her voice breaks. She swallows. “Mulder, I really wanted it to work.”

“I know.” He rests his hand on the side of the tub, there if she’s ready to reach for it. She tangles her fingers with his.

“Did you?” Her eyes search his face. This is the moment, he understands. This is what could make or break them, after everything they’ve endured. Total honesty or nothing.

“Yeah,” he says, nearly choking on the word. “Yeah, I did.” He closes his eyes against the swell of emotion that makes his chest ache. A child. With her. He wanted that. He wanted it so badly he never allowed himself to know how much it meant until it wasn’t plausible anymore. He wondered about it from the moment he found her ova, wanted it badly from the first time he saw her with Emily.

In a way, he’s ashamed he feels this way. It’s such a cliché, to want to see her bear his child. It feels old-fashioned, even chauvinistic. There’s something primal about how territorial he felt about her during the IVF process. He felt larger, heavier, sensitive to her relative delicacy. He prowled at her side, showing his eyeteeth to Skinner, sensitive to any attempt to invade their pride of two.

He had some secret knowledge of her then, despite the fact they’d never made love. His seed inside her made her his woman. He hates that he enjoyed the thought: she belongs to herself first. But a baby would be a shared responsibility, immutable in a way their assignment to the X-Files isn’t. It would change both of their lives irreversibly. It would link them forever. He wants it so badly he can’t breathe.

The water ripples. He opens his eyes. She’s kneeling now in front of him, a supplicant. She puts her hands on his knees, her hot palms cupped over his skin. Scully has touched him everywhere, maybe, but not here.

“Will you kiss me?” she asks, and his heart breaks all over again.

“Anything,” he says, the way he should have years ago, the way he should have months ago when she first asked him. “Scully, I’d give you anything.”

He’d been terrified then. He’s terrified now. They have been standing on a precipice for so long, their backs to the abyss. The road has been steep and rocky; at times they’ve had to blaze their own trail. There are higher peaks, perhaps, higher truths, but they’re weary of climbing to the pinnacle to find more mountains beyond. He thinks that a paradise might await, if only they can take a leap of faith. She’s the only thing he has faith in, these days.

He leans forward, takes her face in his hands, studies her. Her eyes gleam. She’s got that little crease between her brows that bespeaks great internal turmoil. She studies his face.

“Scully,” he says tenderly. He strokes her hair back. His fingertips find her jaw and gently draw her forward. She leans closer, her weight supported on her hands on his splayed knees. He angles to meet her halfway. His lips brush hers. A butterfly’s wing, the lightest breathless touch.

The world shifts. In his heart, a hurricane forms.

How could he have been afraid of this? How could he not have been?

He can count the number of times they’ve kissed on one hand before tonight and not even use all his fingers. It’s magic every time. This time, it transforms them. The leaden tension that’s hung heavy between them since Diana’s return is transmuted into gold, pure and soft and shining. Her mouth opens in sudden hunger, asking urgent questions, and he answers, pulling her close.

It all feels like a dream. Their hands slide smoothly over slick skin, leaving trails of bubbles. He stretches out his legs and it seems she floats into his lap. Everything is easy. Everything is simple. He touches her breasts, her hips. She balances herself with a hand on his chest as she sinks onto him. They draw pleasure out of each other with lips and fingers, with hot breath and sweet words. She rests her forehead against his as she comes and pants against his mouth. The water sloshes as his body shudders under hers.

They towel each other off, after, moving slowly and gently. Scully’s towels are warm and soft as a Downy commercial, or maybe it’s just that everything feels like a miracle. Her mattress yields to their combined weight as comfortably as if they’ve slept together every night for years. Her bare skin against his is heaven. She exceeds his expectations, always. He knew she would. Still, this kind of solace seemed unimaginable. Fictional. They had written themselves out of happy endings. Now here it is, some blissful twist to their story. He can give up his holy quest: the Grail is in his arms.

“One more round,” he says. It’s a question and a promise. His fingers are splayed over her belly. He tries to ignore the softness of her, tries not to imagine a fecund swell instead. His imagination has always run wild.

“I’ve exhausted my resources,” she says in a small distant voice.

“I sold my father’s house,” he tells her. “Let me do this for you.”

“For me?” she asks.

His heart swells. He pulls her closer, nuzzling into her hair. “For us.”

“For us,” she whispers. She clutches his hands to her breast.

“I love you,” he says, and the once-bitter words are honey on his tongue.

[numinousmysteries]

24 - He/she called for him/her in his/her sleep.

super quick and dirty. no edits, just need to grease the old writing gears. s8 for some reason even though i hate it.

She’s not afraid of flying. Being afraid would be irrational and she’s not an irrational person. Commercial air travel is orders of magnitude safer than driving, she knows. Especially safer than driving in the middle of the night on unlit backroads with a Mulder who hasn’t slept in 36 hours behind the wheel, which she’s done on multiple occasions. Experience does nothing to allay her fears. Even before arriving at Quantico, she’d racked up thousands of international air miles as a Navy brat. Seven years as Mulder’s partner tacked on thousands more. 

And yet. And yet, she can’t rationalize away the surge of adrenaline she feels every time the engines start to fire up for takeoff. Recalling statistics doesn’t calm the drop in her stomach whenever the wheels rise off the tarmac and she feels the ground recede beneath her feet. 

Early in their partnership, she cursed Mulder for being able to drift off to sleep in a cramped coach seat while she was left alone to white knuckle the armrest and monitor every rise and fall in altitude as if she knew enough to assign any significance to them. Of course, as the years went by, their hands would find each others and she’d be able to rest with her head on his shoulder.

Don’t fall asleep, she wills herself now. She doesn’t want to show any weakness in front of her new partner. She doesn’t trust Doggett yet. But somehow the first trimester fatigue catches up. Where is this deep exhaustion when she’s lying awake in bed in the middle of the night, her mind racing with fears for her child and guilt that she hasn’t found Mulder yet? 

She twists the air vent all the way open hoping the cold air will keep her awake. The flight attendant offers coffee but she’s already had the single cup she’s allotting herself these days at home this morning so she asks for water instead which does nothing to allay her exhaustion. 

As much as she despises turbulence she wishes this particular flight hit a few more bumps but instead it’s a smooth ride over a cloudless Midwestern sky that only makes her eyelids feel heavier and heavier.

Now she’s lying on Mulder’s couch, leaning her back against his chest. His arms wrap around her and he’s resting his hands on her belly, now heavy and round. His long fingers dance across the taut skin chasing a protruding foot or elbow. “Incredible,” Mulder says quietly, not so much to her or their baby but to himself. Slatted sunlight filters in through the window shades and she feels warm all over. Warm from the sun, Warm from her partner’s body wrapped around her own, warm from the life growing within her. She brings her palms to cover his, holding him in between herself and their baby.

Suddenly, the ground starts trembling beneath them. The window is wide open now and the soft sunlight has been replaced with an unnaturally bright glaring white glow. She feels Mulder’s body rising from behind her and watches helplessly as he drifts toward the window. She’s paralyzed on the couch, the weight of her belly pinning her down. “Mulder!” She tries to scream, but no sound escapes her throat and he keeps being pulled away from her. “Mulder!” 

“Mulder!” She calls again. This time she hears her voice as her hand involuntarily reaches out for him. 

But it isn’t Mulder next to her. His living room has dissolved into the cabin of a plane quaking with turbulence and she’s immediately mortified to find her fingers gripping John Doggett’s dry-skinned hand. She gasps and pulls her hand away but his eyes are already locked on hers. 

“I’m sorry,” she mutters under her breath. 

He gives her the grace of a silent nod and then turns back to the newspaper in his lap. 

She’s too keyed up to sleep for the rest of the flight so she just stares at the casefile she brought to read. She can’t absorb a single word, though. Her mind is running in a loop berating herself for being stupid enough to let her guard down. 

She avoids looking at Doggett the rest of the flight. When they land, he retrieves both of their bags from the overhead compartment and she whispers a quiet thank you. 

“We’ll find him,” Doggett says stoically before turning his back to her and walking up the aisle as she follows behind. 

She still doesn’t trust him, but she wants to believe him.

[baronessblixen]

Fictober Day 16: The Space Between Words

Prompt: "No, I'm not okay"

A moment in "Per Manum" after Scully breaks the bad news to Mulder. Rating: T, wc: 913

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober24

“Never give up on a miracle.” His voice sounds loud to his ears, and he hopes – no, prays – that she hears them, understands him. Whatever she wants to do next, whatever she wants to try, he’s by her side. He’s not giving up on this, or her. On them.

They cling to each other like castaways after a shipwreck. Mulder bites back his own tears, wanting to give Scully the chance to grieve. This was her dream long before it became his, too. He holds her as tightly as she lets him, wishing he could take the pain away from her.

“It’s okay,” he whispers into her hair, needing to say the words as much as she needs to hear them. She squeezes his neck, her face pressed against his chest. She takes a deep breath, as if taking him in, and loosens her grip on him. He searches her face, playing it by ear. She sniffles a few times, avoiding his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.” She steps away from him, using her thumbs to wipe away her tears. “It was- well.” Her words are heavy with pain, and he doesn’t just hear it—he feels it. Feels the weight of her disappointment. The anger, too. This has been stolen from her.

“You don’t have to stay,” Scully goes on, and as hurtful as her words are, he chooses to ignore them. He stands there like a prop, watching her pace. There’s nothing she can do. There’s nothing to plan, to execute. There’s just nothing.

When she lost Emily, he watched her channel her emotions into signing forms, arranging the funeral, and everything that came after. After losing her father, he couldn’t stop her from throwing herself into work. He tried, only to realize that all he could do, was extend a hand, hoping that she’d reach for him. All he can do tonight, is do the same. He’ll stay here, waiting. He’ll be here for her when she’s ready.

“Mulder, I’m fine,” she says, the words a needle prick on his skin. He’s heard it before, countless times. He’s come to loathe the word. She mumbled it when she lay dying. Screamed it when he couldn’t stop staring at her, blood dripping from her nose.

“Thank you for waiting, I appreciate it.” Her voice is cool and smooth as steel. A shield she’s put up in front of herself. Like he’s not her friend or her partner. Like he’s not the man she asked to be the other half of the equation. He’s had a part in all of this, too. A piece of his heart is woven into her loss, into her pain.

“I think I’ll just go to bed.” She nods at him as though he were a stranger. “I’m just-” She doesn’t finish the sentence, leaving it hanging just like she leaves him standing there. His eyes follow her to her bedroom and his legs twitch, prepared to follow her. The bedroom door clicks shut behind her and the silence that follows tears the air from his lungs. He bites down hard on his lip, drawing blood. He no longer tries to stop the tears from falling.

*

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when his cell phone lights up, flashing Scully’s name. His head throbbing, he reaches for it and presses the phone to his ear.

“Hi,” he says softly, his tone full of tears and dreamless slumber.

“Hi.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, trying to get comfortable. He may be used to sleeping on a couch, but he’s not used to sleeping on one that’s designed for someone much shorter. His muscles protest as he sits up.

“No,” is all she replies. She’s quiet for so long that he wonders if she’s fallen asleep. It wouldn’t be the first time she falls asleep on him. How often has he told her stories on the phone late at night, only to notice that her reactions become fewer and fewer until all he could hear was her even breathing or even a soft snore.

“Do you want me to tell you a story?” he asks.

“No.”

“I have good stories,” he teases, hoping to elicit the smallest of giggles, a reprieve. There’s only silence on the other end. The pain sits too deep, is still too raw.

“I shouldn’t have called.”

“No, I’m glad you did,” he says quickly, trying to keep her on the line. She could hang up any second, and he’d still be here, waiting. “Scully, I know that you- but I need to know, to really know… are you okay?” The silence pressed down like a weight on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. The second stretches like a piece of old gum.

“No,” she admits, her voice trembling. “I’m not okay.” He gets up from the couch and tiptoes around the couch, hoping for a sign. “Can you- come back?” And there it is. He’s at her bedroom door in an instant, knocking softly. She opens it, her face tear-streaked and her eyes puffy.

“You didn’t leave?” Every word is soaked in tears.

“I didn’t leave.”

“Can you…” but her voice breaks before she can finish and he understands. He opens his arms wide and waits for her to step in. Once he has her, he starts rocking her gently.

“Thank you for letting me in,” he murmurs into her hair.

[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.

[thursdayinspace]

Fic prompt: Mulder wearing Scully’s clothes!

Does he stay the night and need something to wear on his morning run? Does the airline lose his luggage? Does he ruin his shirt cooking dinner at her apartment? Does he find an old pair of sweatpants she wore while pregnant and decide they’re his now? (It’s not the first time I’ve given someone this prompt but I’d be interested to see your take on it 👀)

FIC!! This took me a while, but I finally figured out how to put a twist on it that I liked. Thank you for this prompt, I had so much fun writing it.

Summary: “Is it a bit cold in here?” He wraps his arms around himself, looking at her in her thick cardigan next to him on the couch.

“The heating’s broken,” she says. “I’m sorry, I should have called you before you came over.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

[enoughslices]

fic prompt: "if your knees are game then so am i" from this post from @laurencem (thank you so much for the prompt!!) (omg i guess we're really doing this lollll okay everybody buckle up)

try it bite it lick it spit it

Author: thefinestmuffins on AO3, enoughslices on tumblr Rated: E Word Count: 5150 words Status: Complete Some Tags for Vibe: Smut, Oral Sex, Humor, PWP, Feelings, Banter, Happy Ending Summary:

In the course of an investigation, Scully ends up perched on Mulder's shoulders. One thing leads to another... _______

There isn’t a ladder in the old warehouse.

Local law enforcement taped off and cataloged the crime scene weeks ago, but they’d somehow overlooked a little loft space near the ceilings. It’s just a small, shadowy nook, easily missed, at least ten feet up off the ground.

“No ladder,” Mulder says, hovering unnecessarily close to her ear.

“No ladder.” Scully shines her flashlight up at the ledge, but the beam of light reveals nothing but motes of dust.

“Maybe I could, uh…” Mulder scrunches up his face in consideration, then shrugs. “Boost ya?”

“Boost me?”

“If you climb up on my back, piggyback-style, then sit on my shoulders, chicken-style, and get your hands planted over the edge, then I’ll help push up your thighs so you’re —”

“So help me God, Mulder, if the next words out of your mouth are doggy-style —”

“Scully!” Mulder whistles a low, scandalized whistle, but his eyebrows are delighted. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I was going to say no such thing!”

She rolls her eyes. “So that’s your best idea? Boosting me?”

He simply smirks. “I’m game if you’re game.”

“If your knees are game then so am I.” Before she can overthink it, and before Mulder can say any more about animal-based body positions or make any quips whatsoever involving game or livestock, Scully starts to hike up her skirt.

Keep reading on AO3!

tagging: @today-in-fic

[mindibindi]

[saintshivann]

i recently watched "what happens later" meg ryan's romcom with david duchovny where theyre like two ex-lovers that got stranded in an airport overnight because of a snow storm... and i cant help thinking about middle aged mulder and scully reuniting exactly like this after scully went to utah post ftf

LIKE CAN U GUYS IMAGINE THE ANGST AND YEARNING? I DO

[benoitblanc]

everywhere is the middle of nowhere when you're losing your lover

on the road. hostess snoballs. nosebleeds. the interrupting mothman.

read middle of nowhere on the ao3 or below the cut:

“Hey, Scully.”

“...”

“Scully. You awake?”

“Well, I am now. What is it?”

“Knock knock.”

“Mulder, I swear, if you woke me up just to tell me a knock knock joke—”

“Humor me. Knock knock.”

“...Who’s there.”

“The interrupting mothman.”

“ Mulder .”

“Come on, Scully, haven’t you ever wondered what noise the mothman makes?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“Well, today could be your lucky day.”

“Where are we?”

“About one level up from the middle of nowhere. You’ve been out for a while. I stopped at a gas station, got you one of those godawful pink coconut things. Seriously, Scully, I don’t understand how a medical professional such as yourself can in good conscience put that crap in your body.”

“Says the man who ate a full sleeve of Oreos for dinner last night.”

“Touche.”

“Thanks anyway. I’m not that hungry.”

“You said that last night too. When was the last time you ate?”

“I’m fine.”

“Scully—”

“I’m fine , Mulder, quit asking me if—oh, damn it.”

“Tissues in the glove compartment.”

“Thanks.”

“...”

“...”

“Scully.”

“Don’t look at me like that. The doctor said there was no change from my last scans.”

“Would you tell me if there was?”

“What do you want me to say, Mulder?”

“Ideally ‘yes, of course I would, because I understand that you as my partner care about me, and I also understand that I don’t have to prove anything to anyone by doing everything all by myself.’”

“...”

“Ah, jeez, Scully, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you—”

“It’s fine.”

“I swear to God—”

“No, it really is fine. I just—Mulder, of course I know that. It’s just… it’s hard.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“Scully, I know you better than anything. Take all the time you need, okay? I’ll be here, however you need me, whenever you’re ready.”

“...I know.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“The interrupting mothman who?”

[aloysiavirgata]

Unremarkable house, Brother Bill, rooster

Mulder is in the big hammock out back, sprawled like a Roman Emperor. The chickens are out, pecking for bugs among the goat droppings. He has a lemon shandy in a frosty glass. He has a tomato sandwich with tomatoes from their garden and homemade bread. He has Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell next to him.

He has misgivings.

Scully enters his field of view, stage left, “Mulder, you’d better put those damn chickens away before he gets here, especially Francisco. That rooster is a complete menace.���

She glares at the enormous bird. They’ve had a few scuffles, she and Francisco. There have been Band-Aids and three stitches.

He slurps at his drink. “You don’t think your brother wants to see my big cock?”

She is silent for a long moment. Then, “I swear to God I will literally kill you, Mulder. I will shoot you and I will bury you out here and I will put a big gazebo over your grave and every time I sit in it I will think about how much you had it coming.”

She stalks back to the house.

“Jesus,” Mulder says to the chickens. “Someone is in a mood.”

***

It’s an awkward greeting, but not as awkward as he’d imagined. He and Bill have always hated each other, which makes it easy to pick up where they’d left off, like two enemy pirate captains running into one another at a bar in Tortuga.

Bill, per usual, looks like he was waiting for the Dulcolax to kick in. Douchebag plaid shorts that Rob Petrie wouldn’t have touched with a ten foot golf club.

He sweeps his sister up in a massive hug and she got rather teary and Bill, to his credit, looks a bit pink around the eyes and nose as well. He puts his sister down after a moment, smoothing her hair.

Bill and Mulder then acknowledge one another’s undeniable existence on the material plane. Shake hands like sulky but well-mannered children after a baseball game.

***

Now they’re on the deck while Mulder tends the grill, three gorgeous steaks from a neighbor’s cow before him.

“It’s beautiful out here, Dana,” Bill says.

“Mostly Mulder’s doing,” Scully replies, sipping at the wine her brother had brought. “He’s honestly a wizard with this property.” She glances at him when she says it and he smiles back.

“Really?” Bill says. “Well, color me impressed. Mulder, I had no idea you were such an adept little homemaker.”

Mulder moves the steaks to a serving platter. “Oh, sure. Dana just uses me for cooking, yardwork, and sex.”

Bill chokes on his beer and Scully closes her eyes for a beat the way Anne Boleyn must have when they led her from the Tower.

Mulder sets the platter on the table, uncovers the potato salad and the asparagus. Sourdough rolls and goat-milk butter.

“Now Bill,” he says, “you tell me if that steak is too rare and I’ll pop it right in the microwave for you. Let me know if you need anything else, some A-1 or ketchup or anything at all. I want you to feel at home.”

Absolute daggers in Scully’s eyes.

Bill coughs lightly. “Everything looks fantastic, thank you both.”

“It was good of you to make the drive, Bill,” Scully says, loading up plates with food. “I know it’s a bit of a haul.”

Bill smiles indulgently. “Couldn’t be this close to my kid sister after so long and not swing by!”

“Though we would have understood,” Mulder says, warmly. He butters a roll and passes it to his brother in law. “Never feel obligated.”

Bill narrows his eyes as he accepts the bread. “Thank you.”

“I’m going to need some new pictures of the kids,” Scully says brightly. “Matthew must have grown six inches since that school photo you sent, Bill! And Mom says Claire has lost two teeth.”

“I’ll tell Tara to send some,” Bill says, puffing up.

They eat in silence for a time. Knives cutting through the tender steaks and stabbing into waxy potatoes and young asparagus. Butter dripping down chins.

“It’s a shame William isn’t growing up here,” Bill says, wiping his plate with another roll. “Dana, how could-“

Her fork clatters to her plate and he shuts up.

A roaring silence like an event horizon.

“Bill,” Scully says, sweetly. “We have the most beautiful rooster to show you.”

[leiascully]

Smutty fic prompt? Established MSR. Mulder and Scully are on a case, Mulder is being serious, Scully is amused but not convinced - and just wants to stay at the hotel and have sex for the week because the case is a total waste of time. Mulder telling her everything he wants to do to her but ultimately rebuffs all advances, and it’s all fun and games because Scully thinks he’d rather chase monsters than put his money where his mouth is. Anyway — he ends up being a man of his word which takes her by surprise

I think this fills your prompt, anon.

9000 words; M/E for sexual situations including pegging; good little agents don't consort while on assignment, but they really, really want to. (ao3 link)

“You’re serious.” She fixed him with a level gaze over the roof of the rental car.

“I’m always serious,” he said, and they both ignored the inherent fallacies in that statement. “Are you serious? You thought I brought you up here to play house?”

“What else was I supposed to think?” She gestured at the forest around them and the quaint bed and breakfast standing in the clearing. “That you brought me up to an adorable B&B on the wooded shores of Lake Champlain for a week to hunt another sea monster no one’s ever actually seen?”

“There have been over 300 eyewitness reports of a snake-like creature in the lake, dating back to the Iroquois,” Mulder told her. “That doesn’t even include the latest series of reports. I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to investigate it.”

“First of all,” she said, “your last lake monster ate my dog.”

“It wasn’t my lake monster,” he muttered.

“Second of all,” she said, fixing him with a steely eye, “last time you took me on a trip that was so obviously a wild goose chase, we hadn’t yet escalated our relationship. So yes, Fox, I thought you brought me here to play house.”

He raised an eyebrow. “We’re back to Fox?”

“I think I’ve earned the right to use your first name now and again.” She smirked. “After all, I’ve been inside you.”

To her surprise, he blushed.

“How many rooms did you get?”

She heard his feet shuffle. He wouldn’t look at her. “Two.”

She sighed. “Lake monster.”

“Lake monster that’s been frightening tourists,” he said. He came around the car and stood a little too close to her, the way he always did. “The tourism bureau asked around. Someone told them we were the people to solve their problem.”

She leaned against the car and tipped her head back to look at him. “Two rooms.”

“Come on, Scully,” he said in a low voice that made her tingle. “You know the people in finance already share our expense reports around. I want to win the betting pool.”

“And what will you do with your thousands?” she teased.

He shifted even closer. She felt her lips part in anticipation as he leaned down, but he skimmed past her mouth to whisper in her ear: “Take you on a real vacation.”

She reached out past the loose lapels of his suit jacket and hooked her finger into the waist of his trousers. “You better.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stepped back, taking her with him like they were dancing. They’d always been dancing, she thought. Two steps forward, three steps back, but rarely entirely out of sync. He reached behind him to pop the trunk and pulled out her suitcase, pretending to strain against the weight of it. “Maybe you won’t need this many clothes for our vacation.”

“Hmm,” she said, “maybe I’ll bring something less bulky than a suit.”

“You could wear one of those little t-shirts,” he suggested. “Some cutoff jean shorts.” He paused, clearly caught up in an intriguing possibility. “You could wear my boxers.”

She smiled at him. “Maybe even something more abbreviated than that.”

He dropped his voice even more. “Scully, are you holding out on me? Do you own lingerie I haven’t seen?”

She leaned into him, slipping her fingers further into his trousers to graze the elastic of his boxers under his shirttail. “I guess you’re not gonna find out this week.”

He groaned.

She gave her fingers one last wiggle and extracted them from his waistband. He heaved his own suitcase out of the trunk and closed it. They trundled their luggage along the brick path and up the stairs. She looked at him one last time as they stood on the porch in front of the lobby windows.

“Two rooms?”

“Don’t worry, Scully,” he murmured. “I’m sure I’ll be able to hear you through the wall.”

Heat flooded her body as he opened the door and ushered her in with one hand at the small of her back. This time, she didn’t mind that he’d gotten the last word.

+ + +

When they were checked in and settled, she went to his room and sat on the bed. All the furniture in the place seemed to be charmingly mismatched antiques. Mulder’s bed had four posters and it creaked picturesquely when she shifted her weight. “Tell me about our suspect.”

“Champ?”

She sighed and rubbed her hand over her face. “Of course it’s called Champ.”

“We’re dealing with a protected species here, Scully.” Mulder leaned against his dresser. He’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “The lake was declared a safe haven for its resident monster in 1981. In 1984, 58 different people claim to have seen Champ. Early reports declared it to resemble an enormous serpent with the head of a sea horse, a white star on its forehead, and a band of red around its extremely long neck.” He stepped forward to pass her a fuzzy copy of a photograph. She studied it. “This is the Mansi photograph. No one’s ever been able to debunk it, but Sandra Mansi destroyed the negative, so nobody’s ever been able to authenticate it either.”

“Naturally.” She got up and went to the window. The lake was visible as a blue glint through the trees. “And what crimes has Champ perpetrated?”

“Overturning small watercraft, biting fish off people’s lines, that kind of thing.” He joined her at the window. “No human casualties.”

She let her shoulder brush his chest. “So what are we doing here? It doesn’t sound like there’s anything for us to investigate. If anything, this level of activity would draw in tourists and benefit businesses like this one. The loss of a fish here and there seems negligible.”

“No human casualties yet,” he said, “but there have been reports of people feeling something large brush against them in an area where there was no underwater debris.”

“Are there fish in the lake?”

“Big ones,” he said. “Sturgeon and gar, for starters.”

She gestured. “Ta da. There’s your suspect.”

“Neither sturgeon nor gar are capable of disappearing multiple swimmers and boaters.”

She rolled her eyes at him. ���You never lead with the most pertinent information.”

“Impertinence is my middle name.” His eyes twinkled as he grinned at her.

“I think I read that in your file.” She turned to face him. “So what are we supposed to do about it?”

“We do what we do. Dredge the truth up from the depths.”

She looked longingly at the bed. “Wouldn’t local law enforcement be better at this? We know nothing about the area.”

“Local law enforcement hasn’t turned up anything.” He sat on the bed and took her hands, drawing her close to stand between his knees. “Help them, Scully-Wan Kenobi. You’re their only hope.”

She softened, gazing down at him. By default, they’d become two of the foremost experts in American cryptozoology, and their solve rate on missing persons cases was the envy of the Bureau. Maybe it was Mulder’s intuition; maybe it was her eye for detail. She couldn’t deny that their expertise was unparalleled in cases like this, paranormal or not. “I want a nice vacation after this.”

“I promise.” He raised her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“And not to Loch Ness.”

He laughed, soft and low. “I promise that too.” He looked up at her and his eyes were like a forest fire. The blaze in them kindled an answering flame in her belly. “I’ll make it up to you.”

She pouted a little. “How?”

“Very, very slowly.” He licked his lips, making his meaning clear. Scully squirmed and he pressed his knees into her hips, pinning her there.

“Did we ever decide if we can consort during a case?”

“Go against the regulations?” He turned her hands over and rubbed his cheek with its incipient stubble over the soft skin of her wrist. “Why, Agent Scully, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

She curled her fingers around his jaw and ran her thumb over his lips. “And if we solve this thing tomorrow?”

He lifted one shoulder. “Then I guess I’m buying plane tickets and you’re buying lingerie.”

“This B&B could be haunted,” she suggested. “Then we’d have to stay and investigate.”

He squinted up at her fondly. “Why didn’t I know you were susceptible to the charms of creaky floors, Scully?”

“Maybe you don’t know me very well.” She tilted her head, challenging him to challenge the patent absurdity of the statement.

“Then I’d like to know you better,” he said in a voice like velvet. Damn him, he always understood exactly how to disarm her.

“Not until we solve this,” she scolded him, and stepped away. “I’m going to freshen up.”

“Hey, Scully?” he said from the bed.

“Hmm?” She turned in the doorway to face him.

“How big a box of condoms do you think the drugstore will sell me?”

She thought for a moment. “I don’t know, but buy two.”

She heard him exhale in a rush as she slipped out the door.

+ + +

As it turned out, they shared a bathroom. She’d been too distracted to think about the geography of it when she’d glimpsed the door in his room. The B&B was an old house with a lot of additions. She doubted there was a true angle in the place. But it was charming. There was a clawfoot bathtub that she was definitely going to get better acquainted with.

She freshened up and changed into her small-town uniform of jeans and a windbreaker. People in places like this often distrusted suits. She’d learned over the years that she needed all the credibility she could get. For some reason, showing up armed with federal credentials and factoids about cryptids didn’t garner much respect.

Mulder was also wearing jeans when she found him downstairs. Scully was suddenly glad he’d cut his hair. If he’d been looking like that with his hair falling over his forehead, she would have dragged him straight back upstairs, and let anyone missing stay missing. His ass, hugged by denim, was a more compelling force than anything previously discovered in her known universe.

Instead, she took the file folder he offered here and spent the drive to the local police station reviewing the details. Behind a thick stack of garbled reports of enormous, half-visible underwater shadows and unexpected friction, she found the reports. Most of the people who’d gone missing had been found a few hours or a day later, including a group of teens who’d been stranded when their boat ran out of gas. Fortunately, they’d been in shouting distance of Burton Island State Park, and someone had spotted them the next morning. There was the occasional death by drowning, but the bodies turned up with marks of predation that didn’t indicate anything bigger than fish. Frankly, Scully didn’t know why most of them were included. A nine-year-old who’d wandered away in search of ice cream and been rediscovered sleeping in his parents’ car didn’t deserve a missing persons report. But it was a small town. Maybe local PD didn’t have much else to do.

There were two people who had disappeared the previous week and hadn’t been found. Both women in their thirties. A place like this would need seasonal workers, but when Scully checked their addresses, they were both townies. Grown and raised here, graduates of the local high school (go Panthers). One worked in an antique shop (of course). One managed an ice cream parlor and its attendant roster of high school employees.

“Just these two actually missing persons?” she asked.

Mulder drummed on the steering wheel. “So far.”

“Mmhmm,” she said. “And you’re sure this isn’t a joke case? Something you dreamed up so we could dillydally on someone else’s dime?”

“This is a legitimate investigation,” he assured her. “Cassy Miller and Naomi Diaz are gone. No one’s seen or heard from them. They were fishing buddies. Their boat was found washed up on shore halfway across the lake with all their tackle in it.”

“I take it this was uncharacteristic behavior.”

He nodded as he flipped on the turn signal. “Neither of them’s missed a day of work in years without a doctor’s note. Never late. Reliable as the sunrise.”

She examined Naomi’s photo. A young-looking thirty-something with dark wavy hair. She was smiling in the photo, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “And now…what, devoured by a mythical creature?”

“It’s a possibility,” Mulder said. “However extreme. The boat wasn’t far from one of the areas where frequent sightings have occurred.”

Scully flipped the page and re-read the sparse details of Naomi’s life. “Allegedly.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment. It was a familiar push and pull between them. No case would have felt complete without it.

They reached the edges of the town, and then, very quickly, the center. The police station was easy to find. When they walked in, Scully knew jeans had been the right choice. It wasn’t the kind of place a suit would garner any kind of respect.

“Gosh, we will be glad of the help,” said the police chief. Her name tag said Hughes. She seemed earnest enough. “We do stay busy around here during tourist season. Not just people going missing, but petty theft, the occasional fire, all that. A lotta DUIs, if I’m honest.”

“And you’re…experts?” Chief Hughes’ second-in-command was standing in the corner of the room, thumbs hooked into his pockets. “In…Champ?”

“We’ve done extensive work in cryptozoology,” Scully said coolly. “Champ, as you call it, is just one example of a larger clade of hypothetical marine reptiles. If these women were consumed by such a creature, we would be able to verify that predation occurred. If there are other, less fantastic explanations, we’ll find those.” She glanced at Mulder, who was lounging in his chair. “Isn’t that right, Agent Mulder.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth, Agent Scully.” He smiled at the police chief, who blinked back at him, her mouth open just slightly.

He was such a little shit sometimes.

+ + +

They spent the day on the lake. It might have been romantic, if it hadn’t been for the trio of deputies assigned to them. They kept looking at Mulder and Scully, nervous or envious or skeptical or some combination of all three. She was used to it. Big city feds in their sunglasses and windbreakers inspired a variety of interesting feelings in their less cosmopolitan counterparts. She’d seen it all.

“Bet I could bully them into letting me drive the boat,” Mulder whispered to Scully, leaning in so the deputies couldn’t hear them.

“You’d have to dump me in the lake first,” she whispered back.

“And let you get eaten by Champ?” His eyebrows crimped together under his sunglasses in an exaggerated expression of woe. “Scully. I would never.”

“I would,” she told him.

“I accept my fate.” He sat back, stretched his arms along the side of the boat.

The deputies showed them where the boat had been found, the boat, the intact tackle. Scully examined it all dutifully. Mulder examined it less dutifully, gazing out over the water. He had one hand on his hip, the other shading his already shaded eyes. He looked like a statue.

“Does he see something?” one of the deputies asked Scully. Her voice was hushed, almost worshipful.

“I’m sure if he does, he’ll let you know,” Scully told her.

The purported victims’ boat having yielded nothing, the deputies herded their federal charges back onto their own departmental boat. Scully peered into the depths, Mulder’s hand braced on her back. No serpents emerged. There wasn’t so much as the silver flicker of a fish, although that was telling, in its own way. But they’d disturbed the waters with the wake of their boat, coming and going. The fish had fled the limnetic zone because of the noise of the motor, not because of some primordial beast.

Still, it was nice: the sunshine on the water, the convivial throng of tourists on the beaches. She and Mulder talked to the assistant manager at Cassy’s ice cream parlor, a young man clearly flummoxed by his brevet promotion.

“I don’t know,” he said, bewildered. “She’s great. Runs this place - ran this place - really well. I mean it’s hard to deal with a bunch of kids sometimes, right? But she started working here when she was a kid and just never stopped. I don’t know. I don’t know.” He put his face in his hands. Scully patted him on the shoulder, a little gingerly.

Afterward, they got ice cream: strawberry for Scully, butter pecan for Mulder. They carried their windbreakers folded inside out over their arms to hide their credentials. They might have been anyone. They walked along the lake shore and he smiled down at her and they could have been an ordinary couple. The sunshine gleamed on his skin and brought out gold flecks in the green of his eyes. She couldn’t stop looking at his mouth.

“What?” He licked his lips exaggeratedly. “Ice cream?”

She shook her head.

“Then what?”

She squinted up at him. “You’re just really pretty sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

She smiled. “Sometimes.”

“Well, you’re really pretty all the time.” He bumped her with his arm. “And that’s my professional opinion, by the way. I’ve been working on your profile a long time. I don’t want to brag, but I’m known for my powers of observation.”

“That’s not what profiling is,” she said sternly.

He tilted his head at her. “Sometimes.”

She huffed: not a laugh, not a sigh, but happy. “Sometimes.”

+ + +

They got dinner at a little restaurant. The fish was fresh, the coleslaw was crisp, and the fries were hot. There was homemade pie on the menu and Scully indulged in that too. If she couldn’t have Mulder, she was going to treat herself in other ways. It had cooled off by the time they finished dinner. Scully shrugged her windbreaker on. On the drive back to the B&B, they rolled down the windows of the rental car.

“This is summer,” Mulder said with satisfaction. “T-shirts in the afternoon, sweaters in the evening.”

“Not like DC,” Scully said. She put her arm out the window and spread her fingers to feel the breeze push through them.

“Not like DC,” Mulder agreed. “Unless you like being wrapped in a wet wool blanket.”

Scully let her head loll over on the headrest, gazing at him. “I can think of other things I’d rather be wrapped in.”

Mulder flicked his eyes at her. “Or maybe you’d rather be unwrapped?”

“Maybe I would.” She tipped her hand so the breeze washed over it. “But someone put a note on me that says ‘Do not open until Christmas’.”

“Not until Christmas, Scully,” he said, amusement in his voice. “Just until we’ve wrapped the case.”

“Wrapping begets unwrapping. I see.”

“A little motivation for us,” he suggested.

“You know, I always thought that I’d be the one who insisted we separate work and play,” Scully mused.

He chuckled. “I did too. Turns out you’re not the good girl you play on tv, Agent Scully.”

She wished that didn’t send a little thrill through her. “Aren’t you glad I’m not?”

“Desperately,” he said, with a raspy edge to his voice that sent another frisson up her spine. He pulled into the little lot of the B&B and turned the car off, then slung his arm over the steering wheel and turned to her. “Don’t think I wouldn’t unwrap you right now, Scully.”

“Haven’t we paid enough cleaning fees to the rental agency?” she said, leaning toward him just a little. Mulder’s event horizon extended too far - she’d been pulled in unexpectedly so many times.

“Not for this.” His voice strummed a chord inside her. “Variety is the spice of life, Scully.”

“Uh huh.” She tipped her chin up. “And what would you do with me, if you unwrapped me in this rental car?”

“Obviously, I’d start with kissing,” Mulder told her. “I’m a gentleman. I’d never jump right in unless you asked for it.”

“Mmhmm,” Scully said.

“Oh, sorry, I misspoke,” Mulder said. His eyes glinted. “I meant I wouldn’t jump right in unless you begged for it.”

Scully licked her lips. “And under what circumstances do you think I’d beg for it?”

“If I kissed your neck for long enough, you might,” he said. She was staring at his mouth, half-hypnotized. “That spot behind your ear. If I put you on my lap and played with your tits and you could feel how much I wanted you.”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I’ve always considered myself to be a stubborn person. I don’t think that would do it.”

“Maybe if I stretched you out in the backseat. Braced myself over you. Stroked my way up the inside of your thigh,” he suggested. “Never quite touching exactly where you wanted. I’d use my hands, my leg. Maybe my lips. Just teasing until you can’t stand it any longer.”

“Mulder.”

“Yeah?”

“Is that what you were doing for the past seven years?”

“Metaphorically,” he said, twinkling at her. His eyes were dark. “Are you ready to beg?”

She leaned forward, her lips nearly touching his. “Good night, Mulder.” She climbed out of the car and left him in the dark surrounded by the song of crickets.

+ + +

Later, in bed by herself, she touched herself just like he’d imagined, drawing her fingertips up the soft skin to brush her curls over and over until she was shivering with need. She didn’t stifle her cries. When she finally dragged her thumb over her clit, she said his name. She thought she heard a groan from the other side of the wall.

She was glad it was a small B&B. That meant fewer eavesdroppers. The other guests all seemed to be adults, at least. Maybe their vacations would be improved by this kind of soundtrack. It was her turn to be the one gasping in her tangled covers, even if she was doing it alone.

+ + +

The next day, she fell in the lake.

They’d borrowed the boat and the deputies again. Mulder was studying a map of the lake. It was all marked up with places of particular interest. Maybe that’s what he’d been doing while she was raking just the edges of her nails up the crease of her thigh.

“Right down there,” he said, peering over the gunwale. “There’s a deep spot. Maybe that’s where its den is.”

“Its den?” Scully said, joining him. “Doesn’t it have to breathe? Or is that part of the myth?”

“There could be pockets of air underwater,” Mulder said. “An intricate system of caves. Or maybe it can hold its breath.” He turned to look at her. Scully glanced over his shoulder. The deputies were watching them breathlessly. “Some whales can hold their breath for hours. Maybe Champ can too.”

“Maybe something cold-blooded needs less oxygen,” she said. “It might have a slower metabolism. And the red band around its neck - that could be a primitive system of gills. That could allow it to stay underwater, even in the benthic zone.”

“I love it when you come out to play,” he murmured, just quiet enough that the deputies couldn’t hear.

She opened her mouth to reply to him and then the boat rocked on a huge swell of water and she went over the gunwale before she could reach for the railing.

“Scully!” Mulder shouted, and grabbed for her, but she was past the point of no return and his grip on her ankle just meant she banged her side hard on the boat as she splashed into the water. It was cold in the lake. She was soaked instantly, water pouring into her shoes and down her collar. The current swirled, tugging at her, pulling at her until she couldn’t tell which way was up. Scully opened her eyes. She was deeper than she’d thought. The darkness under her rippled. She kicked toward the surface. Mulder was reaching toward her almost as soon as her head broke the water. He and one of the deputies hauled her into the boat while the other two braced themselves against the other gunwale.

“Are you okay?” he asked. A deputy passed him a towel and he blotted her face gently with it.

She spit out a bit of lake water and took the towel from him to squeeze water out of her hair. “I lost my sunglasses.”

“Tragic.” He took off his own and settled them on her nose. They were too big and slipped down, but she loved him for it all the same. She patted her pockets. She still had her badge and her wet brick of a phone and her wallet. Fortunately, Mulder had the keys to the rental car.

“Agent Mulder?” said one of the deputies. “What made the boat tip?”

“Heavy wake from another boat,” Scully said automatically. “A gust of wind that created an abnormally large wave. Unregistered seismic activity.”

“Or a lake monster,” Mulder said, still looking her over. Seemingly satisfied with what he found, he turned to the deputies. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” said one.

“Not a boat big enough to pull that kind of wake,” said another. “You’d need a ferry.”

The last one shuffled her feet. “A shadow,” she said at last. “I think. Maybe nothing.”

Scully coughed. Mulder rubbed her back. He was pressed against her side. Her wet clothes were soaking him, but he didn’t move away. “Sorry to say, Deputy, you’re going to spend a lot of time investigating shadows if you stick with this job.”

The deputy’s brow was furrowed. “Do you think that’s what happened to Cassy and Naomi? A wave? But they could swim. Everyone here can swim.”

“All their gear was still in the boat,” Mulder pointed out. “They fell out and the tackle box didn’t?”

“I guess not.” The deputy looked troubled. “The lake’s too deep to dredge and too big to dive.”

“Then all we can do is our best,” Scully said. She shivered. The sunshine was bright, but the breeze ruffling the water kept it from warming her.

“Let’s get you somewhere where you can dry off,” Mulder said, and the deputies took the hint and powered up the engine.

+ + +

Scully ran a very hot bath in the clawfoot tub. Her clothes had dried a little in transit - they were definitely going to get a cleaning fee for the rental car, and not for any entertaining reasons - but she was still too wet and too cold to be comfortable. She peeled off her clothes and hung them on the towel bar with her damp towel from the boat underneath to catch drips. It was a relief to climb into the steaming foamy bath. She sighed, her whole body relaxing into the warmth as she tipped her head back to rinse her hair.

When she thought of the lake, she got fragments of memory. The breathless moment going overboard. The splash. The cold. The dark. It had only been an hour or two and yet it slipped away from her. She was glad she’d given a report before they’d come back to the B&B. Had there been something looming below her in the darkness? Even in the moment, she hadn’t been sure. Had she been brushed by a tangle of floating weeds? Had the water been agitated by cross-currents from boats speeding over the busy lake?

Had a monster tipped her into the water, or was it a silly mistake on a slippery deck?

She sighed again, sinking into the water up to her chin. For a while she drifted, eyes closed. The window was open for a crossbreeze and the smell of lake and pine mingled dreamily with the lavender scent of the bubble bath. She lay there, imagining the life of a prehistoric creature trapped in the modern world. If there were a monster, what had it seen? How much did it understand about the changes in its habitat? Did it long for the past? Had it eaten Cassy Miller and Naomi Diaz? Had there been other victims?

The adjoining door creaked open. Mulder walked in and knelt by the tub, pillowing his arms on the side.

She opened one eye. “I thought we weren’t consorting while on assignment.”

“We’re not consorting.” He brushed a wet strand of hair off her forehead and resettled his chin on his arms. “We’re conferring.”

She made a skeptical noise. “How collegial of us.” Most of the bubbles had popped, and what remained didn’t provide much modesty. They’d had less-clothed conversations about work, but not many.

“What happened at the lake?” she asked.

“You tell me.” He gazed at her. “You were the one in the drink.”

She pushed herself up a little in the tub so they were face to face. His eyes dropped predictably to her breasts and dragged back up to her face. “A larger-than-average wave rocked the boat. I fell in. There was some kind of current that pulled me further under than would usually result from a fall of such a short distance. I can’t speak to its origin. During my brief time under the water, I thought I saw movement below me, but it could have been anything, Mulder. A shadow. A log.”

“An ancient reptile.” The sun had shifted and the bathroom was draped in shade. What light there was reflected patchily off the bathwater to dapple Mulder’s face. She wondered if there had been a time in her life when she hadn’t known how beautiful he was. She couldn’t remember that either. Her life before Mulder felt somehow insignificant.

“What did you see?” she asked him.

“I only had eyes for you,” he said.

“You’re losing your touch,” she said lightly.

“I’m all right with that.” His eyes searched hers. “As long as you’re all right.”

“I’m fine. I’ve been wet before.” Her lips quirked. “You of all people should know that.”

“I had a suspicion.” He tipped his cheek onto his bicep.

“I have a suspicion of my own,” she said. He raised his eyebrows, inviting her to continue. “Cassy Miller and Naomi Diaz ran away or disappeared through otherwise un-supernatural circumstances.”

“Going out on a limb there, Agent,” Mulder told her. “I don’t know if I can present that kind of wild theory to Skinner.”

“If, and I stress if, there were a mysterious reptile that had been inhabiting this lake for centuries if not millennia, I don’t think it would target humans. We’re too noisy, too fast. Increased activity on the lake would likely drive it deeper, not provoke it.”

“Unless it were desperate,” Mulder said. “A drop in the population of fish. Rising temperatures in the lake.”

“A species would take generations to adapt to the changes that have occurred in the local environment, but this is one hypothetical individual, Mulder. One organism can alter its behavior on a timescale far more rapid.”

He nodded against his arm, just a little. “They were last seen in a boat.”

“So the report says,” Scully said. “But Cassy Miller’s car is missing.”

“There are actually a surprising number of car thefts for a town this size,” Mulder told her. “Something about teens and tourists.”

Scully opened her palm above the water. Her fingers were pruny. “That’s my theory.”

“I respect it,” Mulder said. “But I haven’t decided yet whether I agree.”

“Why am I not surprised.” She cupped water in her hand, let it pour over her breasts. The bubbles sluiced down the slope of her chest, pearling around her nipples. She watched Mulder watch her. His breath caught a little and his pupils darkened. “Are we still conferring, or have we moved on to consorting?”

“You know there’s nothing I want more than to climb into that tub with you,” he said in a low voice.

“I can recommend against wet denim,” she said. “The chafing ruins the mood.” She thought of straddling his lap, feeling the friction of the sodden fabric against her skin, and rubbed her thighs together in anticipation. Up until the chafing, it would be delicious.

“I think I learned my lesson today,” he told her. “No clothes. Just you on top of me, skin on skin. You could take your time. I’d worship your tits.”

“I think your vision ends up with water all over the bathroom floor.” She let her hand drift down her body.

“Worth it.” Hunger flickered in his eyes.

“Is it consorting if I’m pursuing solitary pleasures while we’re discussing a case?” she asked.

He laughed. “If so, we’ve been consorting for years.”

“I knew it,” she said. Her fingers wandered down her belly, strayed lower.

“Fuck, Scully,” he said roughly. “You know I can withstand anything except temptation.”

She toyed with her curls, imagining the slow swell of his erection. He shifted a little on his heels as she pushed her fingers between her folds and stroked slowly. She let her head loll against the porcelain. Her other hand rose to stroke her breast. Mulder took a deep breath and let it out in a slow hiss.

“You know there’s nothing but your own conscience stopping you from getting into this tub.” She arched her back, pushing her breasts out of the water.

“I told you,” he said. “I’m trying to take this seriously. I take you seriously. Everything we’re doing deserves our full attention, Scully. The work. This.” He gestured between them. “Whatever you think about my lake monster theory, there are two women missing. People are worried about them.”

“I know that,” she said, an edge creeping into her voice. Her hands slipped away from their pleasant tasks.

“We crossed a line together,” he said. “I don’t regret it. I’ll never, ever regret it. But there are other lines we shouldn’t cross.”

“You’re the one who keeps telling me all the things we’d be doing if we weren’t working,” she snapped.

“And I mean every word of it.” It sounded like a vow. “When we’re done here, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your name. But we’re not finished.”

“I’m finished.” She toed the stopper out of the train and hauled herself up out of the water, too cranky to finish what she’d started. He rocked back on his heels, looking wounded. “With this bath, Mulder. I’m tired. I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up for dinner.”

“I will,” he said. He handed her an enormous fluffy towel and helped her out of the tub.

“Scully,” he said as she opened the door to her room, and she turned just enough to indicate she was listening. “I’ll make it up to you.”

She went back to her room, dried off, rolled naked into the bed. She was too keyed up to sleep. She rolled onto her stomach and thrust against the ridge of her hand until pleasure spiraled tight within her. She moaned into the pillow, suddenly boneless as release hit her, and drifted into sleep.

+ + +

The rest of their investigation yielded nothing. They dutifully went in each day to work with local law enforcement. They searched a few other areas of the lake. The deputies made Scully wear a life jacket, but there weren’t any other mysterious waves. They followed leads to dead ends. Wherever the women were, they weren’t using credit cards. Cassy Miller’s car was found a few miles away. It wasn’t far from a bus station, Scully noted, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Subsequent trips to the lake produced no evidence of a lake monster or any foul play. No bodies. No torn clothes.

“We’ll keep following up,” Mulder assured the chief of police. “I’ve added their names to our list. If anyone turns up matching their descriptions, we’ll let you know.”

“I appreciate your help.” Chief Hughes shook their hands.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t help more,” Scully told her.

“We’re grateful anyone showed up,” Chief Hughes said. “Not a lot of feds would care about our small-town problems. But two of our own disappear, that’s something we feel here. Like a missing tooth.”

Mulder looked away. Scully clasped Chief Hughes’ hand. “We won’t stop looking.”

Chief Hughes’ smile was watery. “Neither will we.”

+ + +

“I thought the breakfast at the B&B was excellent,” Mulder said as they walked to their gate at the airport. “Those scones were homemade.”

“The beds were also excellent.” Scully glanced up at him. “At least, mine was. I can’t speak to the quality of any other accommodations.”

“I’d stay there again,” he said. “Recreationally.”

“Oh? Are you seeing someone?”

He stopped suddenly in the middle of the passageway. She stopped too and looked at him curiously. He took her face between his hands and kissed her. It was profound. It was passionate. It was making her weak in the knees in the middle of a fucking airport. She put her hands on his waist to steady herself.

“It wasn’t because this is a secret, Scully,” he said. “I’d get your name tattooed in five inch letters on my ass tomorrow if that’s what you wanted.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “I know. The work matters. It was just weird not to be on the same page.”

“It was,” he agreed. His eyes searched her face and he smiled at whatever he saw there. “Should we go home?”

“Are you conferring with me in a professional context, Agent Mulder?”

He shook his head, the smile turning into a grin. “I’m not interested in your professional opinion at this time, Agent Scully.”

“Then yes, we should go home.”

He slung his arm around her shoulders as they walked and she leaned into him.

+ + +

In the DC airport, Scully caught a glimpse of curly hair and a familiar profile. “Naomi,” she said quietly to herself, and then louder. “Naomi!”

The woman turned, blanched, tried to push through a crowd. Scully swore. It was the suits. It was always the suits. Scully pursued, Mulder at her heels.

“Naomi! You’re not in trouble. We just want to talk.”

Naomi turned at last, eyes bright but her chin held high. She was clutching the hand of a blonde woman Scully had seen in a dozen photographs.

“Naomi Diaz,” Mulder drawled. “Cassy Miller.”

“How do you know our names?” Naomi demanded.

“We’ve been looking for you.” Scully showed them her badge. “Police Chief Hughes called the Bureau to follow up on a missing persons report.”

“And here you are, remarkably unmissing,” Mulder said. He was enjoying himself too much for someone who had been completely wrong, Scully thought.

“We shouldn’t have left the way we did,” Naomi said. Her mouth trembled. “I know that. But we couldn’t stay.”

“Why not?” Scully asked, and then looked again at the women’s clasped hands and understood.

Cassy stepped in front of Naomi without letting go. “It’s a small town, ma’am. Everybody knows everybody there. The kids at my store, I watched them grow up. I babysat half of them. Their parents are the older siblings of the kids I went to high school with. If I changed shampoo brands, the whole town would know by the end of the week.”

“I see.” Scully put her hands in her pockets. A week looking for two women and no one had mentioned they were lovers. The picture drew itself.

“I have loved this woman for a decade and everyone pretends they don’t know that,” Cassy said fiercely. “They just look right past me. It’s almost worse than if they were hateful.”

“It was like we were already dead,” Naomi put in. “We can’t get married. Landlords kept losing our application when we tried to get an apartment together. So it seemed easy. Everybody knows that people get drunk and stupid on the lake and nobody ever sees them again.”

“We read the reports,” Mulder told them. “Nobody in that town thought either of you would be drunk or stupid.”

“It was better than staying,” Cassy said in a firm voice. “Now we can start over. We can have a life that’s real. I’m thirty-two years old. I can’t spend the rest of my life playing pretend. Not about her.”

“They think you were eaten by the lake monster,” Scully told them.

Cassy laughed. “Champ? That’s just a legend.”

“No, it’s not,” Naomi muttered.

Scully exchanged a look with Mulder. “Regardless,” Scully said smoothly, “I think in this case, we can file a report saying that all evidence was inconclusive.” She paused. “Being eaten by a lake monster isn’t the worst way to go.”

Mulder was scribbling on a piece of paper. He passed it to Cassy. “Go to this address. The attendant in the Metro can show you the best stop. Tell them Mulder sent you. They’re weird guys, but they’ll help you.”

“And that’s it?” Naomi asked. “You’re not going to turn us in?”

“Leaving town isn’t a crime,” Scully told her. She started to turn away, and then turned back. “This may sound strange but…it’s never too late to start living the life you want. For what it’s worth, I think you’re both brave.”

“Thank you,” Cassy said.

Scully nodded and walked away with Mulder at her shoulder. They were quiet as they picked up their backs at the luggage carousel. She said nothing as they got into Mulder’s car. She waited until they had exited the airport road and merged onto the highway.

“Mulder?”

“Hmm?”

“I told you so.”

+ + +

He parked in front of her apartment and carried her bag in for her. “What a gentleman,” she started to say, but before she could get the words out, he was pressing her into the door, his hot mouth descending on hers. She tugged at his lip with her teeth and then surrendered, opening her mouth to the insistent slide of his tongue. Their hands tangled trying to get to each other’s buttons. But finally, fucking finally, his hands were on her bare tits and she was digging her nails into his back. She could feel his erection against her belly. She cupped it with her palm and he groaned.

“Fuck, Scully.”

She dragged his head down and nipped at his ear. “Time to put your money where your very active mouth is, Mulder.”

“Anything you want,” he promised.

“Tease me,” she said. “Worship me.”

He pressed his body into hers, fumbling at the closure of her skirt. After a moment he gave up and just pushed it over her hips. His hands ghosted over her skin, barely touching, until her nerves crackled and fizzed like a plasma globe. By the time his thumb traced up the damp gusset of her underwear, she was almost panting.

“What do you want, Scully?” he whispered, his tongue flicking at the shell of her ear.

“I want to give it to you,” she gasped. His hips jolted against her and she moaned.

He bit gently at her shoulder. “I’m confused but very turned on.” His thumb grazed her underwear again and she arched into the touch for a moment. It was difficult to wriggle out from between his body and the door, but she had the fuel of a week’s worth of frustration. He followed her, shedding his pants as they slid off his hips.

She dragged her suitcase into the bedroom and tipped it onto the floor. She unzipped it and pulled out a bundle of straps wrapped around a slender purple dildo.

“That was in your suitcase the whole time?” he said from the doorway.

“I thought it was a different kind of trip,” she told him. She shook out the straps; they resolved into a harness. The dildo fit neatly into it. She’d practiced assembling it. There was no fumbling here. She shed her skirt but didn’t bother with her underwear, stepping into the harness and buckling it tight.

“I thought you were going to be the one begging,” he said, sauntering closer. “Looks like you’ve turned the tables on me again.”

“Say ‘please’,” she told him.

He knelt in front of her, gazing up her body. As she looked down at him, he lapped slowly at the head of the dildo. She shuddered at the way his eyes closed in pleasure. He opened them again and stared up at her. “Please.”

“Clothes off. Get on the bed.” She ducked into the bathroom and grabbed a towel. He caught it when she tossed it and spread it under his hips. “You’ve done this before?”

“Not in a while,” he admitted. “I didn’t know if you’d be into it.”

“It’s got more reach than my fingers,” she said. “And honestly, Mulder, I’ve wanted to fuck you speechless for years.”

“Is that a challenge?” His eyes gleamed.

“It’s a promise,” she said, pulling a latex glove out of her suitcase and snapping it on.

She took her time preparing him. A single finger up his ass in the heat of passion was different from the dildo, even if it was the smallest of the set she’d bought. He lay on his belly on the bed. She knelt between his legs, pushing his thighs wide with her knees. The marks of her nails were pink half-moons up and down his back. She liked seeing them: proof he was hers.

She worked him open slowly, slicking him with lube until he was dripping, rubbing her fingers up and down and up and down between his ass cheeks. One finger, slow and steady. Her pussy throbbed under the base of the dildo, aching for him. Two fingers and he was groaning, lifting his hips toward her. Three fingers - that was probably the same girth as the dildo, and he rocked against her eagerly.

“Are you ready?”

“God, Scully, please.”

“Turn over,” she commanded. “I want to watch you while I fuck you.”

He flipped himself over with a surprising amount of grace. She gestured and he tossed her one of the pillows. She dragged the towel over it and helped him wedge it under his hips. He looked so vulnerable like this, splayed out before her. His cock banged his belly and she couldn’t resist dragging her tongue up it to taste the salt. Her thumb stroked the tender skin under his balls, sliding back and back to push inside him. More lube. More pressure at his entrance. She circled it with her thumb, slicked the dildo with yet more lube, let the head of it rest against him.

“Scully, please,” he said in an urgent hush.

“Please what?”

“Pretty please,” he said. “Pretty please, please fuck me.”

She checked her watch. “It’s only 4:58 p.m., Mulder. Are you sure we’re off the clock?”

“Please,” he said. “I swear we’ll talk about it next time we take a case that looks like a vacation.”

“In that case,” she said, and pushed into him oh so slowly. He took the toy an inch at a time. She would have sworn his eyes got greener the deeper she pushed. He made a noise like she’d touched his soul. When she started to pull out, he whimpered. The naked need on his face floored her.

“I’m not done,” she assured him, and thrust again. Fuck, it was hard not to just snap her hips into his. She wanted to fuck him rough. Maybe once he had graduated to something bigger, she’d bend him over her couch. Maybe she’d pull out her most indulgent dildo, the one that was almost too big, and let him gag on it. Not tonight, but maybe if he pulled a stunt like that again.

For now she fucked him slowly. The base of the dildo ground against her pubis, not quite the contact she needed, but good. And his face while she fucked him, God - she could have come just from the way he looked at her.

“Enough,” he gasped when she was so on edge she was gritting her teeth to keep going. “Fuck, Scully, enough.”

She pulled out of him and he reached for her and dragged her up the bed. He undid the buckles on one side of the harness and she undid the other side and the straps fell away. She tossed the dildo to one side. And then she was straddling him and his beautiful fucking cock was pressing against her and how was she already this goddamn close? She was seeing stars and he’d barely touched her yet.

Mulder wrapped his hand around his cock and rubbed it against the wet cotton that separated her skin from his. She reached down and pushed it aside and moaned. His shaft slid between her folds. Fuck, yes, that was what she’d needed. She wasn’t waiting any longer. She cupped her hand over his and used her other hand to pull her underwear away and then she was sinking down onto his cock.

“Not yet,” he said. His hands grabbed her hips, urging her higher until she was sitting on his face. Her underwear had slipped back into place, but that didn’t seem to bother Mulder. He licked at her through the fabric, lips and tongue working together. The cotton blunted the edges of his teeth when he scraped them over her clit. She moaned, a high urgent sound, and he pulled her down hard and sucked her clit until she saw stars.

“Mulder, yes,” she was saying, over and over. Her legs shook. He lessened the pressure, then swirled his tongue in rapid circles until she was coming again, grabbing at the headboard. He slid out from under her and pressed up against her back, his big hands on her tits, thumbing at her nipples until she was almost coming again. She turned her head to kiss him hungrily as his fingers slipped lower, spreading her folds so that he could push two fingers inside her. His thumb circled her clit and she came again, a warm wave of pleasure that surprised her.

“I think these need to come off,” he said, and helped her wriggle out of her panties.

“Now will you fuck me?” she panted.

“However many orgasms that was wasn’t enough for you?” He grinned.

“It’s different,” she said. “It was good - it was fantastic - but I need you inside me, Mulder.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that. He surged up behind her again, nudging her knees apart roughly, and pushed into her, filling her pussy in a way that immediately soothed the ache inside her and made it worse all at the same time. His arm locked over her shoulders as he heaved up into her, holding her in place on his cock. She whimpered and sank her teeth into the corded muscle of his forearm. She was clinging to the bars of her headboard. The motion of his hips rocked her up and down. His other hand was braced next to hers, his fingers curling over her fist. She leaned her head against his shoulder. Fuck, she loved him.

The pressure of him inside her made her desperate. She freed one hand, touched herself with trembling fingers. She was coming undone, again, her muscles clutching around him. He moaned and pulled out of her. She cried out in protest, still shuddering, but he put his back against the headboard and hauled into his lap, thrusting up into her like he’d never stopped. She braced her knees wide and took him as deep as she could, grinding against him. His thighs were tensing under hers. She was amazed he hadn’t come yet, and grateful, and determined.

“I want you to come inside me,” she whispered, and his whole body shivered. “I’ve been so good, Mulder, please.”

He bent forward and took her nipples into his mouth, first one, then the other, his mouth hot and desperate. She kissed his forehead, scraping her fingers through his hair as he squeezed her tits. And there, so unexpected, another orgasm building inside her. She rubbed herself against him in a frenzy. She’d never come this many times in a row, with a partner or a toy, but a week’s tension had wound her tight.

“I’m close,” he warned her. He rubbed his cheek over her nipple and the friction of his stubble made her gasp. “Scully.”

“I’m coming,” she said, and it was true. Sparks burst behind her eyelids and he held her hips down and pounded up into her and she could feel him inside her, the wet heat of his pleasure. It seemed to last forever as he surged into her and then finally, finally, she was back in her body, wrapped in his arms. When he eventually pulled out of her, it felt like a loss.

“I want to lick you clean,” he said. His voice was shaking.

“Next time,” she promised, wincing just a little. She was too sensitive everywhere, but it had been worth it. Fuck, it had all been worth it. They eased down together. Mulder flopped on his belly, ass in the air.

“Did I make it up to you?” he asked.

“I believe I got the rewards I was promised,” she said.

“If I’d known you’d brought your own equipment, I don’t think my conscience would have won,” he told her. “It was hard enough seeing you in that bath, all flushed and damp.”

She patted his ass. “You took it like a champ.”

He huffed a laugh into the crumpled sheets. “I would have absolutely bought a novelty t-shirt that said that.”

“I know,” she said.

He pushed up on one elbow and gazed at her. “And you would have stolen it to wear to bed.”

“With no underwear underneath,” she agreed.

He swore under his breath. “We could go back.”

“Let’s go somewhere else,” she suggested. “I don’t want you getting distracted by the local legends. Do you think I can find you a t-shirt that says ‘Rode Hard And Put Away Wet’?”

“We’ll have to get matching ones,” he said.

“We can do that.” She smiled at him. “You can wear it to work.”

“I think that would leave Skinner with some questions.”

She shook her head, yawning. “I think that would answer most of his questions.”

“You’re probably right,” he said.

“Mulder?”

“Hmm?”

“I changed my mind,” she told him. “Lick me clean.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and settled between her legs like it was his job. His mouth was gentle on her tender skin. His eyes were closed like he was praying. She pushed her hands through his hair and let herself drift into a dream of a life where they could do this anytime they wanted, forever and ever, amen.

[agent-troi]

I've always wanted to read a fic where the IVF works but they don't start a relationship right away, still somehow thinking "it's cool, we're having a baby together, but we're just friends." And then them eventually having to sit down and tell Skinner that Scully is pregnant and explain the whole situation.

Idk, the idea of him sitting there like

highly amuses me

LMAO it amuses me too🤣 I hope I did your prompt justice!

Platonic Procreation (1386 words) by AgentTroi Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The X-Files Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully, Fox Mulder & Dana Scully Characters: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, IVF Arc (X-Files), Friendship/Love, Idiots in Love Summary: The IVF is successful, but Scully and Mulder insist they still aren't anything more than friends. Skinner is confused.

[baronessblixen]

A Ring and a Promise

Today's the first day of the Eight Nights of Mulder. We're starting with: gold.

I snuck in a 24 Days of X-Mas Files Challenge prompt: family heirloom

Summary: Mulder has a very special gift for Scully. (Fluff, set in season 7; wc: 1,097)

Tagging @today-in-fic @eightnightsofmulder

With the last snow melting and Spring tiptoeing in, Mulder decides it's time for a change in his life, too. For weeks, he's been trying to find the right moment. Seeing Scully lift her face to the sun, a small smile playing on her lips, he can't wait any longer.

"I have something for you," he says.

"What did you say?" Scully turns to him, shielding her eyes from the sun.

"A gift. For you. Maybe... consider it a very late or very early Christmas gift."

"Is that becoming a pattern with you?" He loves her teasing. Lately, she's been doing it more often. And she's smiling more. A sight Mulder can't get enough of. "Christmas was months ago. I've had a birthday since then." She gently nudges his side.

"My present wasn't ready then."

"I admit I'm curious," she admits. "Where is this present?"

"In my pocket." It's been there for months. A few years ago, he considered giving it to her for the first time, afraid he was going to lose her. This time he's not afraid. He's not going to lose her. This is just to show her that she's his choice. That no matter what, he wants to be by her side. Wants her with him. For always. His smile is as shaky as his hand as he reaches into his pocket to take out the small box. Scully looks at it, then back at him.

"Mulder, I'm not sure that-"

"Relax," he says, "I'm not asking you to marry me. Unless you want me to." His wink is met with an amused eye roll.

"But I want you to have this." He puts the small box into her palm and closes her fingers over it.

"Can I look?" she asks him.

"Of course." He waits, watches her as the box comes open with a soft squeak. Scully gasps and stares at him open-mouthed.

"This is a- I can't accept this."

"It's yours."

"Mulder, this is a ring."

"Oh, is it? I thought it was sunflower seeds."

"This isn't funny."

"No, it isn't. I- Scully, I meant what I said. I want you to have this ring. After last year and the whole thing with Diana, with us doing IVF and- I found this again after my mom's death. Have I ever told you about my grandmother?" Scully, still staring at the ring, shakes her head.

"Let's sit down on that bench over there." His hand lands on the small of her back and they walk the small distance together, the golden ring catching a ray of sunshine as they do.

"My grandmother on my mother's side was Jewish. She and my dad never got along and after Samantha... I didn't see her often. The last time I did was shortly before I went to Oxford. She was old by then and sick. I was too young, or too much in denial, to understand that she was dying. She gave me this ring, making me promise that I wouldn't sell it, and would never let my dad have it. I thought she was crazy." He chuckles softly.

"She said this ring has been in her family for ages. I wasn't listening. You know me. I just wanted to get away from everything, even her. She'd always been good to me but I was young and dumb. What I remember is that she wanted me to give it to someone special. Someone I consider my family. I took the ring with me that day, barely looking at it. I left it with my mom. She asked me once if I wanted it back."

"Diana?" Scully asks, reading between the lines.

"Yes," Mulder admits. "But I laughed it off. I never wanted Diana to have it. My mom gave it to me after her stroke. Said it was time. Said that maybe I'd need the ring soon. And I almost did." Tears shimmer Scully's eyes when he glances at her face.

"I almost gave it to you back then." His voice cracks. "I would stare at this ring, thinking I should give it to you. But I was scared, Scully. I wasn't ready to admit it. I wasn't ready to stop fighting. It seemed too final. I could have - maybe should have - given it to you after you beat your cancer. But I- I didn't. But it's time, isn't it?"

"You said this wasn't a proposal." Scully sniffs and he puts his arm around her, pulling her into his side.

"It isn't, it's... a promise." Scully laughs and when their eyes meet, all he sees is love. It's no surprise to him. They don't need to speak the words to know they both feel it. Though he has said it. Even if Scully never says them, and he never dares to repeat the sentiment, it's there in everything they do. And he wants her to have something tangible to remind her.

"A promise to never ditch me again?" There she is again, teasing him.

"A promise to always come back if I do?" he offers in return.

"If I wear this, people will notice," Scully says, taking the ring out of its box. "I still can't believe it, Mulder." When she tries it on, she gasps, realizing it fits perfectly.

"I had it fitted. But I don't expect you to wear it. I just want you to have it. No matter how we define this - us -, you're my best friend, Scully. You're my family. There's no one else I can imagine giving this to. I don't want to either. It's you." Forever, he adds in his mind.

"I did not expect this," she says. "But- I love it, Mulder. The ring is beautiful and I appreciate the thought."

"Do I hear a but?"

"No buts, Mulder," she says, observing the ring on her finger. He does, too. It looks good. More than that, it looks right. His grandmother was right. There was a special person waiting for him all along.

"Thank you." She touches the side of his face and presses a long, lingering kiss to his cheek.

"No kiss on the mouth for a ring?" he jokes, grinning.

"Not in public."

"Does that mean I'll get another one later when we're alone?"

She gets up, the ring still on her finger. She offers him her hand and he takes it. Neither lets go as they start walking.

"You'll get another thank you later," she promises him, and he can't wait. For later, for tomorrow, and for every day he gets to spend with her.

[slippinmickeys]

Got a sort-of prompt on Twitter, and went with it:

“Daddy, what is war like?”

Mulder looks at his son across the Formica table. There are action figures standing at the ready amongst the silverware, salt and pepper shaker stand-ins for Bad Guys. It is just the two of them, Emily and Scully off shopping for back-to-school clothes.

“War is loud,” he says to his son. “And scary.”

The waitress comes by with their order, chipper and smiling, clanking down a short stack of pancakes in front of William, and an order of sausage Mulder will insist he eat for the protein. A Denver omelet for the gent and a refill of hot coffee, so thin and weak that Mulder is pretty sure it’s on its second trip through the filter—barely worth the $1.50 he’ll pay for it.

Mulder reaches forward to cut the pancakes for the first grader, reminds his son to lay the paper napkin over his lap. The boy pours far too much syrup onto the plate in front of him and it spreads over the side and onto the tabletop, leaving a quarter-sized circle of brown liquid goop that his father eyes warily. They will both be sticky by the time they return to their car.

“Did you kill people?”

Mulder is taken aback by the question and the forward way his son asks it.

“William?”

“Mommy says you shot people.”

Mulder breathes out, a little relieved. He takes a bite of his breakfast, chews.

“‘Shooting’ is another way of saying I take pictures,” he explains. “I never hurt anyone. I…I documented what happened during the war.”

“What’s ‘documented’ mean?”

His son takes a huge bite of pancake, and the raw, animal part of Mulder’s brain waits to see if the child will choke.

“It means I photographed things that happened. So that people remember how bad it was.”

William considers his answer thoughtfully. His hair is the same color as Scully’s but more wiry and thick. It grows out of the crown of his head like a copper helmet. It takes everything Mulder has not to constantly run his fingers through it.

“Will we go to war?” William asks matter-of-factly.

“No,” Mulder answers quickly. “No, bud, that won’t happen here.”

The green pepper in his food is crunchy and cut a little too big. He fishes a piece out from the pocket of his lower jaw with his tongue.

“Can you take a bite of sausage, please?” he instructs.

William makes a face, but complies.

“Emily says she wasn’t your first baby. That it died. Because of what happened in the war in Africa,” the boy says with his mouth full.

The bite of the omelet gets stuck in Mulder’s throat.

“Was it my brother or my sister?” William presses, blithely unaware of the emotional impropriety of his question.

Mulder is too stunned to speak for a moment. He had honestly never before considered the child he and Scully conceived in Africa as a sibling to his children, though of course it was.

“I don’t…we never…we don’t know.”

William has no idea the earthquake he has caused in his father, the tectonic plates that have shifted under the hardened crust of Mulder’s memory, of his heart.

“I think it was a boy like me,” William says innocently. He takes a drink of orange juice which leaves a watery mustache above his lip. The boy sets the plastic cup down on the table with conviction. “And I think war is bad.”

Mulder can only nod his agreement.

“If I finish my sausage, can we get ice cream later?” The child has already moved on though his words have left rippling eddies of feeling sloshing through his father’s pneuma, his declaration like a rock thrown into a pond.

Mulder’s eyes wander over the table, land on the kids menu which is smeared with the blue wax of a cheaply made crayon; a connect-the-dots dinosaur, an abandoned game of tic-tac-toe.

He finally finds his voice. “Yeah, we can get ice cream.”

William brightens, happily stuffs an entire link of sausage into his mouth.

The waitress swings by to check on them, tops off Mulder’s coffee without asking. Her apron has faded to the same eggshell white of the walls of 1055. There is a smear of berry jam on it that looks to Mulder, for a very long moment, like blood.

[thursdayinspace]

prompt fic masterpost

I'm just going to compile all the recent fic title prompt ficlets into one masterpost here, now that they're finished!

--

the ginger invasion - G, 723 words (AO3 link)

Mulder is sick. He never gets sick, and it's awful. It's terrible. Scully will be wondering why he isn't at work. He should call her. He just about manages to lift his head and there she is, Scully, in his bedroom doorway.

starstruck - G, 671 words (AO3 link)

"So, I guess she's sticking around, then?" Frohike asks, and Mulder looks up from . . . whatever it is Byers just put on the screen in front of him and nods. "Seems that way. At least for now." -- Mulder has a crush. The gunmen know it.

how many stars - G, 472 words (AO3 link)

"What are you thinking?" she asks, and he turns his head to the side, looks at her. "The universe," he says.

had you big time - G, 540 words (AO3 link)

"I've thought about our weekend away," he whispers against her lips, before he kisses her again. "I've had the perfect idea."

tasting raindrops - G. 385 words (AO3 link)

She laughs with him and can't look away, raindrops clinging to his lashes, water dripping from his nose -- not kissing him in this moment would defy every law of the universe.

what time do you call this? - G, 495 words (AO3 link)

He stirs as she carefully lowers herself onto the mattress and she pauses, not wanting to wake him. It's way after midnight and it's enough if one of them will be entirely sleep-deprived the next day.

distractions - G, 1,181 words (AO3 link)

He wants to ask if she’s okay, but he knows the answer to that. And she’s told him more than once that she doesn’t want to talk about it. She says she has no memory of what they did to her. Sometimes he’s not sure he believes her.

heaven and hell - T, 996 words (AO3 link)

Hell doesn’t burn. There is no pit of fire. Heaven isn’t a green garden under a cloudless sky. Everything is made of moments, and they don't happen on schedule. But often, they happen with his hand in hers.