#unmoved unruffled unapologetic

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Cooking

the series read as follows:

Superman … Monday … Cheezy Pouffs … Bacon … Stumbling … Trail Mix …  Punch … Friday … Preparation … Uncle Mudler … Normal … Backseat … Mudler-sense … The FBI … Unthinkable … Patience ... Elephant Jokes

___________________

The next three days were a blur for Scully. She had to leave Mulder home with Maggie as well as the children, scared and scarred but attempting to front with a calm that gave them away as frightened of their own shadows and everything else in the world. The four parents couldn’t get home without paying exorbitant amounts of money and dealing with three days of layover/circuitous route travel so it was Sam, brave heart and soul, whom, that first morning after Scully went to work, spoke for the group, relaying the firm and utterly untrue message of ‘we are fine and we will see you when you get back.”

Maggie watched him deliver his lie to speakerphone-anxious parents, then hang up, tears shining but unfallen as he sniffed hard, turning to regard everyone shorter than him, “we’re gonna stop crying about our parents. They are on vacation and they need it so we’re gonna let them stay on it. Understand?”

Every one of them from four to eight nodded solemnly, wiping tears with small fists and sleeving running noses until they looked ready for the world again, Jake speaking first, “we should make dinner.”

So out of left field with that one that the rest agreed, moving Uncle Mudler bodily into the kitchen and making a list of foods they needed from the store. They searched cupboards and opened cabinets and debated courses and meats and sides and salads and desserts until they were all starving and drooling and desperate for sustenance. They ate PB&J sandwiches before Mulder and the older two trooped to the store, list in hand and concrete promises that they would not deviate without the sole and express permission of the other three by way of phone call.

Then they cooked, mashed, steamed, buttered, salted, baked and boiled until the entire house smelled delectable and Toby decided that Aunt Dana should come home right then so she could smell the food and eat with them. Mulder gently told him there was a good chance she wouldn’t be home for several days so he instead asked to call her and let her know what they’d made for dinner. It was then that he popped Toby up on the counter to look him square in the eye, as all men do, “if we call her right now and tell her we made pot roast and smashed potatoes and garlic bread, she will immediately quit her job and come home to dinner and eat it all and we will get none. How about we make her a plate and if she gets home tonight and you’re awake, you can help me heat it up for her; otherwise, she’ll have it whenever she gets here.”

Toby accepted this and nodded, sliding down to the floor and going to inform the rest of them that they had to save Aunt Dana a plate.

Mulder hung his head for a moment, hands firmly on the counter holding him, floor staring up cheerfully with its polished shine that defied the hundreds of feet that passed over it daily. Toby wasn’t the only one who wanted to call her.

&&&&&&&&&&

He was exhausted by the end of the evening, helping Maggie, bathing small children, telling non-scary stories to them all before finally getting them to remain in their own beds, upstairs and together, with bribes of stacked pancakes and bacon in the morning. One ear on the sleepers, he pulled open the sofa bed, then sat down, lacking will and energy to do more than stare at the wall for several minutes before finally losing the battle.

Picking up the house phone, he dialed her, wondering which Scully would answer.

“Hi.”

That threw him off immediately, “Scully?”

As she stood in the locker room, forehead against the cool metal of her temporary clothes keeper, looking down at her messy scrubs and stained shoes, “tell me again why I’m a doctor who works for the FBI?”

His voice, tired, strong, satin, soothing, “because you are you and love your job 99% of the time.”

Normally, she held it together just fine, tornadoes, flesh-eaters, homicidal cats, weirdest shit in the history of the world but that second in time, connected only by sound and not touch, she wavered, words cracked, syllables quavered, “I want a hug.”

He fought the urge to get in the car, muscles coiled to drive, foot already pressing the accelerator, “I can’t come down to give you one … I’m sorry.”

She could hear the anguish in his voice at not being able to give her what she asked and it made her feel a modicum better, knowing he would if he had any means possible, “it’s okay. I know you can’t leave right now.” Turning, she sat on the wooden bench between rows, “tell me something good from today instead.”

Mulder, in racking brain fashion, took a moment to unearth something, anything, to make her smile, “Hannah discovered that if you tickle Toby just as he’s breathing in, he belches.”

Her laugh echoed, bouncing off silent walls, giving her enough of a boost not to cry the rest of her life away, “how did she discover that?”

“Total accident. I finally had to make them stop before Toby booted all over the countertop.”

“Booted?”

“Puked, vomited, heaved, tossed cookies, I’m branching out with my verbs, don’t fence me in.”

“Did you give them all hugs from me?” She craved any news of home, anything not related to burned flesh and dead friends, “did you get them all to sleep upstairs or are they down with you still?” Mulder answered, continuing the conversation for another ten minutes until Scully interrupted him, “hang on.” Coming back on the line a second later, “that was the tech saying the room is clean and …”

Her trailing off told him the next victim was on the table and she had to go back to work, “I love you and I’ll call you tomorrow morning. Maybe bring you some breakfast if you’d like.”

The thought of food turned her stomach and wincing, “how about another phone call if I’m not home yet? I don’t know that I can handle actual food right now.”

“Maybe I’ll just bring you some more crackers and yogurt?”

She’d packed a cooler full of them that morning, eating only when her body told her it was calories or collapse, “I’d like that and I love you, too.”

He wanted to ask who she’d identified so far but his heart couldn’t take it, not this late in the evening so he left it hanging there, the question floating aimlessly in the atmosphere, to be plucked down and answered sometime in the future.

Scully heard the unasked, “g’night, Mulder.”

“’Night, Scully.”

&&&&&&&&&

He didn’t sleep, listening for nightmares from all corners of the house, anticipation driving away rest, a blurry-eyed, clumsy Mulder welcoming the day and somewhat better rested children at 7am.

He burned the pancakes.

He undercooked the bacon.

He spilled the milk and dropped the plates.

He tripped the Sam.

He elbowed the Betsy.

He felt so bad he gave them all brownies for dessert and vowed to take them to the movies for double features and extra large popcorns.

Sam patted him on the back and told him to go take a nap, that he would get the dishes done and after Maggie volunteered to spearhead any and all activities for the next few hours, Mulder crashed on Scully’s old bed upstairs, Sam’s presently, snoring before he hit the sheets.

&&&&&&&&&

That second night, around eight, with children tired and yawning, with Maggie insisting and Betty prodding, he packed up food and headed out into the night.

Scully sat quietly against the wall, hidden from view, head back, eyes closed, nearly feeling bad about her television doctor cliché posture and expression but nearly wasn’t enough and since she opted not to give a shit about her appearance after 48 hours straight of identifying bodies, she remained in the dark, wallowing in misery-filled solitude.

Until large, gym shoe ensconced feet appeared in front of her, shoes at the end of skinny legs and low-riding white socks. Crouching Mulder came into view a moment later, stack of Tupperware settling on the floor, hand moving to grip her knee, eyes sad, worried, concerned, take your descriptive pick, whispering into her forehead as he leaned into her, “the kids made you dinner.”

That, of all things, made her cry. Just one solitary tear but still, she swiped angrily at it, reminding Mulder of her nieces and nephews, “they made me dinner?”

“You didn’t get to eat what they made yesterday so they cooked again today and said I had to bring it to you. Maggie and Betty joined in and the pressure was too much and here I am. I left your mom in charge with Betty as backup so I imagine there’ll be a card party going in about 10 minutes.” He could see the second tear revving up at the thought of home and ignoring food and passers-by, he sat down beside her, pulling head to shoulder, lips grazing hair, remaining against her, warm breath into crown of head, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come earlier.”

Shifting, she disregarded the cold tile and scooted until she was lying with her head on his thigh, dirty floor be damned, “I’m so tired, Mulder.”

Hand now on shoulder, he rubbed his thumb over the roundness, trailing her collar bone every so often, “do you want to go find a couch or something to lay down on?”

No answer came.

And he sat patiently … unmoving … unruffled … unapologetic … to the few weary technicians and personnel that walked quietly by, several whispering offers of a futon down the hall or a spare pullout bed but he declined, murmuring back that they were just fine.

[meloday6]

D is for Dic- Dictionary

Reader X Brian

| Masterlist |

Words: 1,470

Warnings: profanity 

You can’t get your work done, but Brian’s always got your back.

/

             As a student, managing work was frustrating. The work itself wasn’t difficult. What was difficult was mustering the sheer amount of patience it takes to not grab the dictionary you’re using and whack a certain dimwit over the head so that he can learn how to define the phrase I’m trying to finish this assignment. The boy only had two classes with you and immediately decided that you were his best friend, following you like a lost puppy.

               “(Y/N)!” He shakes his phone in front of your face as you barely get through your second sentence that night. Perhaps, you think as you reluctantly turn to him for the hundredth time, working at the library was a bad idea. “Look!” He’s playing a video on his phone and he glances at you to make sure you’re watching, “this is the video my friends took after I drank too much.” You wince as the on-screen version of him laughs at a shaky camera. “This is after I dumped my girlfriend,” from the corner of your eyes, you see him glance at you for your reaction, but you’re already squinting at your computer screen and trying to ignore the drunk droning coming from his phone.

               “(Y/N),” he whines too loud because you’re in a library for goodness sake and the last thing you need is to be kicked out. You eye your dictionary because you’re really, really starting to consider how hard you would have to hit him so that the force will knock him out long enough to finish your assignment if it didn’t kill all his brain cells in one hit, but even then, maybe that was for the best considering how he probably doesn’t have an-

               A cough interrupts your thoughts.

The both of you whirl around. Low and behold, there stands your savior in the form of a tall boy who’s ruffling his mop of bleached hair. A frown is embedded into sharp features as he eyes the nonexistent space between you and your classmate.

               “Sorry to interrupt,” he snorts unapologetically, “but can I have some time alone with my best friend please?” He stands unmoving until your classmate falters. The both of you wince at the angry screech of chair meeting floor as he storms out the library.

               “Thanks, Bri,” you’re sighing in relief.

               “Anything for my bestie,” he grins sheepishly at you, tough Brian gone. “You looked ready to pound him in the head with that dictionary.” You tiredly grin back as he takes the chair beside you. “He should be the one thanking me for saving his life.” Your relief turns into a flood of gratitude because here Brian is, mouth wider than the diameter of the moon, eyes watering as he yawns and you’re reminded of how little sleep he gets. 

               “Oh,” he remembers why he came to the library in the first place and wrestles with his business textbook before slamming it open and pointing at a heading, “can you explain this?” You hum as you scan the text and for once your brain is able to hear itself think as you quickly explain the chapter. For the next half an hour you both work in peace, just the way you like. But that’s when sh*t hits the fan.

               Your classmate and three more of his friends come storming back in. His ‘friendly’ persona is gone and he’s red in the face, swearing, and causing an absolutely unacceptable ruckus.

               “There he is!” Your classmates point at Brian and as you watch in alarm as two of them hoist him out of his chair by his arms, dragging him backward. One of his groupies circle like a wolf does a lamb. The stupid f*ck smirks as you stand from your chair, glaring at him.

               “What are you doing?” You hiss as you glance around nervously. “This is a libra-“

               He interrupts you with a laugh so dumb and so ugly you almost lose all your brain cells and go blind. Almost.

               He stalks up to you and leans in so close, you can smell the alcohol in his breath and the stink of his cologne. “I’ll let your bestie go if you promise to go out with me,” he sneers.

You wrinkle your nose in disgust as you tippy toe to peer over his shoulder and exchange a look with Brian. Brian just shrugs back helplessly. You almost miss the look of surprise on your classmate’s face before anger takes its place. “I’m right here,” he snaps as he pushes you back with a little shove.

Just when you’re hoping you can avoid a fight, Jae and the rest of your friends come bristling into the library and you recognize the Superman theme in the song that Sungjin is whistling, that dork.

Dowoon shoves your classmate away from you and Wonpil comes to stand in front of Brian’s capturers, Sungjin in tow. Jae sends you a cheesy grin. Your classmate’s anger grows into a snarl.

“Quit playing superhero. You’re outnumbered,” he’s face to face with an unruffled Jae. You open your mouth to correct that if he could actually count, he was that one that was outnumbered, but no one’s paying attention to you so your mouth snaps shut.

Tension grows as said classmate begins pacing around Jae.

“f*ck off,” Jae snorts coldly. “Can’t take a single no, can you?” He sneers and every hair on your arms stands as you brace for a fight to break out.

“Um, guys, I really don’t thi-“ you start, but your classmate interrupts.

“Shut up!” You glare at him as he raises his arm to punch an unfazed Jae.

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake,” you snap as he grabs Jae’s collar, “listen to me,” but no one pays attention.

“What if I beat you,” he points at you “and take her?” There’s a snort from Brian on the opposite side of the library as he mutters you can try. It earns him a cut on the lip.

Then all hell breaks loose and you’re standing helplessly to the side as people are launching themselves at each other. You spot Brian under a heaping load of dumb*ss and you try to fish him out, but squawk when someone runs into you. You tumble to the ground.

Red. All you see is red. And from the tips of your fingers to every toe on your feet, you feel red, you hear red and all the screaming can. Go. To. Hell.

 Maybe that’s when all the exhaustion from the night really gets to your head. With one stride you pick up the closest book, which happens to be the dictionary, and focus on your target.

One breath in and your eyes narrow with all the concentration you were never allowed to have, chucking it with all the force and accuracy as if you had done it thousands of times. One concussion coming right up with a side dish of fried douche bag and a hefty serving of *sshole.

“TAKE THAT, YOU f*ck NUGGET!” you screech at the top of your lungs and the dictionary goes flying. It hits him square on the back of his head and he drops to the floor with a heavy thud. “This is a f*cking library! Fight to death somewhere else, you inconsiderate dildos!” You’re gasping for breath.

Everyone but Brian is staring in frozen shock. The silence is broken as he grins something suspiciously along the lines of I told you so.

­­___

You brace against the cold winds with your textbook tucked to your side and Brian teasing you on the other.

“Seriously,” he’s almost giggling, “f*ck nugget?” You trudge on miserably as he prances about like a little girl. An adorable little girl. “But, man, you turned into she-hulk back there.”

You ignore him to wallow in your misery instead.

“Brian, I was kicked out of the library,” you whine, “how am I supposed to finish my essay?”

“Yeah, for destruction of property,” he’s wearing a sh*t eating grin. You object. The dictionary’s pages were still intact and technically still could have been used; none of this was even your fault. Each clump of snow is your classmate’s face and you try to kick at them with as little pettiness as you can. Keyword: try.

Another cold wind and you’re shivering so uncontrollably that Brian stops his teasing, catches you by your hand, and tugs you in the opposite direction.

“Let’s go to my dorm to finish up your essay! I have hot chocolate!” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. You don’t protest, rather, let him tug you along and somewhere along the way, you see his eyes soften and cut lip turn up as he teases, “Thanks for saving me back there.”

 You smile back. The warmth of his hands is enough to melt your heart.

“Anything for my bestie.”

______

A fun fact about this piece was that this was completely based on my own experience. The only difference was that I didn’t have a superhero best-friend Brian *sobs*