#my grandmother just died so like. I'm not at my funniest or brightest rn.

[silhouetteofacedar]

Pearl, Ch. 3: A Yes

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rating pending

She said yes.

Mulder’s world has been upset like an overturned fishbowl, leaving him gasping in biting air. He had presented Scully with an idea that’s crazy, even by his standards, making her an offer that was simultaneously a pathetic fraction of what she deserves and also more than he could possibly give. Her beautiful, keen scientific mind mulled over his bullshit, and instead of arguing with him or trying to make him see sense… she said yes.

She must really be dying.

There are so many things he needs to say to her, feelings he’s been slowly building up the courage to confess; but the idea that he could be running out of time has slowed his progress and thickened the words on his tongue until they stick to the roof of his mouth like cold honey. His throat is tight every time he looks at her.

He knows he’s useless to her in this moment, but he still goes home and stares at the ceiling until the small hours of the morning, tearing his brain apart. His mind loops in endless, shaking circles, as though he could possibly cure her cancer before sunrise or shrink a tumor by force of will alone.

This is all he has to offer her. No science or medicine or clues to the puzzle; just obsession and insomnia and a desperate need for her to live.

When he slumps into the office the next morning he immediately notes that she looks tired too.

Maybe it’s the cancer. Most of the time she seems fairly healthy, save for the odd nosebleed, but he always has a creeping fear that he’ll turn around one day and see she’s half gone, withering to nothing, her strong little hands carved down to matchsticks.

I can’t let you die.

“Morning,” she says, barely hiding a yawn. He could kiss her full, slender fingers. “Sorry, I was- I was up early,” she continues.

Mulder nods, dropping heavily into his chair. His eyes land on a manila envelope sitting on his desk. “What’s this?” he asks, picking it up.

“Just something I’d like your opinion on,” Scully says. “Annotations are welcome. I’ll get us some coffee.”

Before Mulder can reply, she’s up and out the door. Jesus, she practically ran out of the room.

He opens the envelope and finds a sheaf of neat, typewritten papers. He wonders briefly if this is going to end up being her resignation. Or a Dear John letter.

Mulder -

First of all, this is document is regarding your proposition from last night. If you wish to revoke your proposal, please read no further and discard the contents of this envelope in their entirety.

If you wish to proceed with the aforementioned proposal, I think we should outline the terms of our arrangement so that we can both enter into this union with clarity and confidence.

His heart grows heavier as he reads. She’s outlined practically everything, he thinks. It must have taken hours; potential scenarios and how they might handle them as a married couple, financial liability, power of attorney…

Mulder is so engrossed in her document that he doesn’t notice her return until she sets a styrofoam cup of coffee under his nose. He robotically takes a sip, noting that it’s black with one sugar. Just the way he likes it.

“So,” she says, sitting across from him. “I see you’re still reading.”

“This is incredibly thorough, Scully. Did you get any sleep at all last night?”

“I had a lot to think about,” she replies, sipping her coffee. “We have a lot to think about.”

“Is this… something you’re open to discussing in the office?” he asks quietly.

“Briefly,” she replies. “It’s not personal, after all. But discretion is of the utmost importance.”

He nods. “We should dig into this more later, off the clock,” he suggests. “Since there’s evidently a hell of a lot we need to prepare before we ring any wedding bells, though it seems like you covered the gist of it,” he adds, leafing through the pages.

“There is one thing I failed to mention,” Scully admits, absently carving a half-moon into the side of her cup with a manicured fingernail. “The impact of this arrangement on your personal life.”

“Generous of you to assume I have one,” Mulder says dryly. “How do you mean?”

Scully’s face flushes slightly. “If… if you meet someone,” she says softly, “I don’t want to hold you back from that. For however long I have left.”

She speaks so matter-of-factly about dying, and it sharpens the edge of sorrow cutting through his chest. “Scully,” he says gently, “That is the last thing you need to be worrying about right now.”

“Even so,” she presses, “since we’re discussing terms, I want to propose one. That our marriage is a professional matter, a legal safeguard, and not personal. You are free to… to be with someone else, as long as the original purpose of our union is upheld.”

He leans forward, folding his hands atop the desk. “Then that goes both ways,” he insists, holding her gaze. “You're free too.”

Scully drops her head. “Mulder, I don’t think that’s necessary in my condition.”

“Believe what you want,” he says. “But you’re going to get well. The way I see it, you have a long life ahead of you and should spend it with- with somebody you love.” He coughs. “And if you ever find that guy, I’ll step down as husband and let him take over.”

“A divorce?”

“Or annulment, whichever applies. If we keep this marriage a secret it shouldn’t be too much trouble to quietly end it if need be. And as long as we… we don’t consummate it… that should help.”

“So we’re professional spouses,” Scully says. “Placeholders for the real thing.”

Mulder nods. “Same legal status, just a few different benefits.”

Scully’s eyebrow twitches upward, and he gives her a little smile. “Though I’m always open to negotiation,” he jokes.

Scully presses her lips together tightly, and a mask seems to fall over her face. “We can discuss this further tonight, if you’re free,” she says briskly, setting her cup on the edge of the desk. “Iron out the details. And I can set up an appointment for us to get our license, if you have a date and time you’d prefer.”

Mulder chews his lip. “I hadn’t thought of it,” he admits. “Next Tuesday, maybe?”

“You have a dentist appointment next Tuesday,” Scully murmurs, reaching into her briefcase and pulling out a datebook. “We can take a long lunch on Wednesday, March 12th.”

Is there anything about him that this beautiful, stoic woman doesn’t know, any aspect of his life she hasn’t touched?

She has to have some idea by now, Mulder thinks. She must know he wouldn’t offer to marry just anybody.

There’s only room for one.