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television-overload · 3 days

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of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 8/34 - fish and chips

[Read on AO3]

“So, can I buy my wife some dinner?” Mulder asks. His hands are shoved deep in his coat pockets now as they descend the steps of the courthouse, fighting back against the chill in the air. The tie comes untied practically as soon as they walk out the door, hanging listlessly around his neck.

Scully looks over at him, the word ‘wife’ somehow sounding different coming out of his mouth now that they’re outside in the real world. It does something funny to her heart.

“What do you have in mind?” she asks, maintaining her calm composure.

They’ve eaten together countless times before, in cities and towns all across the United States. On occasion, Mulder would even pick up the check, when he was feeling particularly chivalric. But this feels different. Not overtly so, but just enough to be noticeable.

They eventually settle on walking down by the harbor, where a few vendors are selling food to tourists visiting for the holidays. With a greasy basket of fish and chips each in hand, they continue walking until they hit the end of the pier, claiming for themselves a wooden bench overlooking the water.

“Some day, huh?” Mulder remarks, slathering a fry in ketchup before putting it in his mouth.

He’s a master of understatement, her partner. He would describe almost dying as a “minor injury” if she wasn’t there to give him the unwavering doctor stare. But his wry humor is one of the things she loves most about him. Among other things.

“No turning back now,” she comments, nudging his side with her shoulder. “You regret tying yourself down yet?”

He looks at her at that, his expression one of disbelief. “Never,” he answers. “You?”

“No, Mulder. I– I’m more grateful for this than you can imagine.”

His lips pull back in that easy smile she doesn’t get to see often enough, and he relaxes back against the bench. The wind coming in from the harbor is brisk, occasionally bringing a spray of mist with it. It makes his hair stick up in adorable little spikes, and she just wants to run her hands through it and smooth it down.

They’re the only ones crazy enough to be all the way out here for longer than the time it takes a tourist to snap a quick picture. The temperature is dropping quickly as nightfall approaches, and it wasn’t all that temperate to begin with, it being so close to January. Somehow, Scully still feels perfectly warm.

“So, why did you really want to get married on Christmas?” Mulder asks, after a few minutes more spent contemplating the darkening horizon.

He’s looking at her now, one arm draped casually over the back of the bench, now that he’s finished eating.

“I guess I just liked the idea of having something to remember this holiday for other than bad memories,” Scully answers, thoughts of her father and Emily filling her head. “And…”

“What?”

She pauses, wondering if she should share this somewhat embarrassing, personal detail with him. One look in his eyes and she feels her tongue loosening, and suddenly she wants to share everything with this man.

“Well, I always used to imagine a December wedding when I was a little girl,” she admits, preparing herself for the teasing she’s come to expect from her partner.

She and Missy had loved cutting pictures out of magazines and putting them in binders, concocting the perfect futures for themselves. Over the years, the specific details of her imaginings changed as her taste did, but one thing remained the same. A winter wedding, maybe with snow. Evergreen branches and little white and red berries adorning the bouquet. Lace sleeves on an elaborate wedding dress, its long train dragging behind her in a beautiful cathedral.

Missy was the complete opposite, filling her book instead with pictures of hot summer weather and wedding dresses that were just a little too revealing.

It’s been a long time since she’s thought of those binders, maybe still collecting dust somewhere in Maggie Scully’s house.

Mulder’s knee tilts toward hers, knocking against it affectionately. “Sorry it wasn’t quite the majestic fantasy wedding of little Dana Katherine Scully's dreams,” he says, giving that shy, apologetic half-smile she knows so well.

“I don't know…” she shrugs. “It wasn't too far off.”

He shakes his head, breathing a humorless laugh through his nose. “You don't have to lie to make me feel better,” he says.

“No, really,” she starts, turning toward him. “It– Maybe it wasn't in a big cathedral with lots of flowers and people there, but…” She looks into his eyes and then quickly glances away, hiding a blush. “Well, in a way, I married my knight in shining armor, didn’t I?”

She chances another look at him, and he’s smiling a big cheesy smile. Great, she inflated his ego.

“Oh yeah? And what armor would that be?” he asks, laughter in his voice.

She rolls her eyes. “A parka not quite warm enough for Antarctica and two layers of pants,” she answers dryly.

He tosses his head back, looking heavenward for a second and smiles. “Ah, don't forget my valiant steed: the Sno-Cat Model 2000.”

“Valiant,” she agrees, “but not the most dependable.”

As time passes, the sky fades into an inky dark blue. The harbor sparkles with the lights of countless boats, some far out on the horizon.

It’s funny. Sometimes when she looks out there, she can almost believe her father is on one of those boats, just waiting to come back to shore. She’d always thought Ahab would be there with her on her wedding day, smiling and proud of her and walking her down the aisle.

Now, she sort of feels like he was.

She looks over at the man next to her, contemplative as he usually is when he has nothing to say. Her father would have liked him, she thinks. Well, eventually. She has to think he would respect Mulder’s drive, and the way he cares for her. Maybe it’s foolish and idealistic, but the alternative, she doesn’t even want to consider. She’s said before that they are alike—devoted entirely to their cause. The important thing is that she’s happy, and their unconventional partnership works for them.

Nobody else’s opinion matters, only theirs. That’s the biggest lesson she’s learned in her time with Mulder.

On the way back to their car, he hands a couple dollars over to a vendor and procures two steaming cups of hot chocolate, citing that the unpleasant memory of the bone-deep chill they experienced in Antarctica was making him cold. When Scully brings the warm liquid to her lips, she catches sight again of the sparkling ring on her finger, and she stops to admire it.

“If you don’t like that one, we can trade it in,” Mulder says, taking a sip of his cocoa and watching her expectantly over the lid of his cup.

“It’s perfect, Mulder,” she says, hopefully putting any worries he might have to rest. “You didn’t have to… Just a simple wedding band would have been fine.”

He shrugs noncommittally, bouncing restlessly in place to keep warm, or maybe out of discomfort with this particular conversation. It’s a nervous tic she’s come to love, unless she’s extremely overtired, in which case it gets on her nerves quick.

“I figured it would be good to have them for interviews and stuff,” he adds, glancing around. “I mean, obviously we can’t wear them all the time, but—”

“Oh,” Scully says. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

She can only imagine what the rumor mill at the Hoover building would say, if they waltzed in one day wearing matching rings. Only this time, there’d be some undeniable truth to the claims.

“Not that…I don’t want to wear it, Scully,” Mulder assures her, absentmindedly twisting his own ring with his thumb. “It’s just—”

“Yeah.”

It’s a shame, in all honesty. She likes the weight of it on her finger. It feels right, somehow. And she likes the sight of him with his on, too. It’s a tangible thing, something to remind her that he’s made a commitment to her.

She can’t help but think that if, God forbid, another Diana ever arose, that ring would provide an assurance that would get her through it without the emotional distress she experienced the first time around. A token that validates the possessiveness she feels, warranted or not.

Mulder shifts his cup of hot chocolate from one hand to the other and digs in his pocket again. “I did pick these up, too,” he says, pulling out two long, silver chains and depositing one in her hand, “if you want to keep it somewhere safe when you’re not wearing it.”

For some reason, the fact that he’d thought of this ahead of time makes her throat clog up and her eyes sting with tears. He’s always been a bit of an odd gift-giver, bestowing her with bizarre little trinkets that either mean nothing or everything, and it's never easy to tell which. But this… It’s hard to picture him standing in a jewelry store, contemplating her taste in jewelry and the practicality of wearing it in their situation.

How much money had he spent on it? Did he worry he was being presumptive? Had it taken five minutes or five hours to make his decision? These are questions she never thought she’d be asking herself, and it’s just proof of how crazy her life has turned out.

She wonders if he’ll take his ring off now and slide it onto his necklace, but instead he places the chain back in his pocket, a choice that seems heavy with perceived meaning. She follows his lead, tucking hers away for the time being as they continue their walk.

Later. For now, she can enjoy the way it sparkles when the Christmas lights all around them catch it just right.

“Hey, Scully?” he says, glancing down at her beside him while they wait for the crosswalk to tell them to cross.

She looks up at him, his earnest expression setting off the butterflies in her stomach.

“I’m glad you said yes,” he finishes.

She smiles wistfully, looping her arm into his and leaning against his shoulder.

“Me too,” she agrees.

-.-.-

Bill is waiting up for them when they get back to Maggie Scully’s house well after it has gotten dark. The original plan had been to go their separate ways after their “errand” at the courthouse, but time had gotten away from them. She wasn’t about to send him home at this hour, only for him to have to drive back in the morning, no matter how much he protested that he would be fine.

After a brief confrontation in which Scully has to defend why her partner is still with her (“Mom invited him to Christmas, Bill”), he begrudgingly fetches a spare pillow and quilt and sets them on the couch in the living room, warning him that he’ll need to be up bright and early for present opening. Mulder salutes him sarcastically, earning a look of scorn that fizzles at Scully’s challenging stare.

“How’d the case go? You smell like seawater,” he says gruffly, hanging around far longer than needed or wanted.

“Nothing much we could do to help,” Mulder answers with their pre-prepared response. “They let us off the hook early.”

After a few more questions, which they expertly dodge, Bill disappears up the stairs to the room his family is staying in, and Mulder breathes a sigh of relief.

“Well, you did it, Scully. You successfully snuck back in without your mom finding out,” he says, cracking a smile.

“Didn’t even have to climb through a window or anything,” she adds with a straight face. “I’m kind of disappointed.”

The room falls silent, save for the sound of the heater running to keep the house warm. Somewhere in the kitchen, the ice maker rattles.

“Will you be okay down here?” Scully asks, looking over his shoulder at the couch and worrying her lip.

He glances behind himself, then turns back to her with a tender smile. “I think he probably found the quilt that smells the most like mothballs, but yeah, I’ll be fine,” he says jokingly.

She frowns. “I can get you a different blanket. There has to be more in the closet upstairs, I’ll just—”

“Scully, Scully, I was kidding,” he says, stopping her retreat by placing a hand on her upper arm. She immediately freezes, her eyes landing on the spot where his hand touches her, seemingly realizing for the first time how close they are standing.

For an instant, he reflexively pulls away as if burned, and she feels the loss like a phantom limb. But then he’s back, this time softer. Hesitant, but purposeful.

She shifts her gaze up to meet his.

“I’ll be fine,” he reiterates, his voice dropping to a murmur. It’s all she can do to nod, lost in the dim light of the room reflected in his eyes. His eyes scan her face, lingering for a moment on her lips, and then he whispers, “Goodnight, Scully.”

Before she knows what’s happening, he’s lowering his head, and she feels his lips press against her cheek. Although it’s not an altogether unfamiliar gesture, tonight it feels… significant. He pulls back with a soft smile and releases her, not that she could move if she wanted to. It’s like her feet are glued to the floor, and her cheeks burn at the thought of getting stuck in a daze like this from such a simple action.

Fortunately, her brother saves her from further embarrassment. “Dana, you coming?” he calls from upstairs, shaking her from her stupor.

“Yeah, be right up,” she answers distractedly, eyes unable to stray from Mulder’s. She blinks a few times and frees herself from his spell, taking a step back toward the hallway. “Um. There’s towels in the bathroom,” she states, taking another step. “I’ll be in the first room on the left upstairs, if you need anything.”

He nods quietly, smiling at her in that way that makes her stomach flip.

“Goodnight,” she says.

“Night, Mrs. Mulder.”

-.-.-

Sleep proves difficult, which probably shouldn’t surprise her. It’s a combination of things, really. The ceremony, the brief touch of his lips to hers in the courtroom, the kiss on her cheek before bed. ‘Mrs. Mulder,’ which is frankly, ridiculous, but endearing nonetheless. And a whole host of other moments from the day that she wants to commit to memory.

It hits her, as she’s lying in bed after her shower, that this is her wedding night. It’s not at all like she grew up expecting it to be, but given the circumstances, it would be weird if it was. Things are strange enough as it is, and that—well, that would complicate it even further.

She watches the clock on the nightstand turn to midnight, the blinking display of red numbers ushering in Christmas Day while the other side of her bed lays empty. His presence is felt, though, in the cool press of her ring to her chest, now looped around a chain and hidden beneath her clothes.

She tells herself she’s wearing it still because she doesn’t want anyone else to stumble upon it in the morning, but then she’s always been good at lying to herself. Her hand travels to it unconsciously, clutching it in a fist, reminding herself that it’s real.

She sighs, rolling over. Maybe Mulder’s insomnia is rubbing off on her. With another frustrated exhale, she sits up, lowering her feet to the floor. She gathers the knitted blanket from the foot of the bed and drags it with her, creeping to the door and prying it open slowly.

Maybe he’s still awake. They can stay up and just talk, or sneak some Christmas cookies from her mother’s tupperware. Either one would be preferable to laying awake up here all alone.

When she gets to the foot of the stairs, however, she hears the sound of steady, gentle breathing coming from the direction of the couch.

Figures, this is the one time he actually manages a good night’s rest.

She rounds the corner into the living room and glances down at the figure on the sofa. Sure enough, his arms are tucked up against his chest, his face relaxed and tranquil. He looks so young, like this. Younger even than the day she met him.

Oh, she loves him. Of course she does. How could she not?

The way his cheek is pressed up against the pillow makes her want to curl up next to him, but she settles for the worn La-Z-Boy recliner across the room. After draping her blanket over her lap, she tugs it over her shoulders and curls up, the overstuffed chair rocking back and forth with every movement. She watches him, in the dim light from the Christmas tree in the corner. His knees hang over the edge of the too-small couch, and yet he’s as peaceful as ever, his chest rising and falling in measured increments.

Beneath his thin, pale gray t-shirt, she sees a small, circular outline. His ring, resting right over his heart.

She closes her eyes, sending a wish to whoever might be listening that one day, that heart might belong to her, and hers to him.

~~~

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#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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thursdayinspace · 23 hours

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There is something about the way Mulder learns to accept and seek out emotional support and comfort throughout the course of the seasons. With all the casual physical contact that they have going on from the beginning, he seems ready to reach out, but doesn't seem to expect others to do the same. He feels deeply, but he keeps it to himself; something he seems to have learned from an early age. He's had to build his life around other people's pain since his sister disappered. He doesn't want to burden others with his needs.

Scully's "I wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you" in "Tooms" is met with a joke immediately to lighten the mood -- a flirty joke, but still. He doesn't think he deserves how much she cares about him. Caring is his job. It's everyone else's job to disregard and dismiss his feelings and not take him seriously.

Scully setting up their secret meeting in "Little Green Men" -- he seems almost a little confused that she really just wanted to see him. He doesn't react when the touches his hair before she leaves. He doesn't react when she briefly takes his hand at the end. I don't think those little gestures of comfort don't register with him. They do. He simply doesn't quite know how to respond to them. He doesn't hesitate to gently cup her cheek and offer comfort when she wants to come back to work after her father's death. But he would never expect her to do that for him.

In "Anasazi" when he says "Thank you for taking care of me," it seems like he has to think about that sentence for a long time. Not because he isn't grateful, but because he doesn't really understand why she did it. Nothing more embarrassing than thanking someone and hearing "Oh, I didn't do it for you." And he said some pretty rude things to her when he was drugged, accusing her of betraying him. Who knows how much of it he remembers, but apparently enough to feel mortified. He never wanted to hurt her, but he must have, and then, after all that, she saved him and risked so much for him?

The scene in "Detour" comes to mind, the night in the forest when she tries to pull his head into her lap so he can get some rest and so that she can keep him warm, and he jokes "I don't want to wrestle." She doesn't have to do this, he's fine. He's not being a manly man who doesn't need anything, it's just that she's offering something that's hard to accept for him. She offers him a place to let go and stop pushing on. And he doesn't think she needs to do that, he is not fatally injured or anything, he'll be fine. But she wants him to be comfortable. She sees him, and is there for him.

At his mother's hospital bed in "Herrenvolk," she reaches for him and he lets himself cry into her shoulder. It's not just an emotional scene because of what he's going through. It's that he's allowing himself to truly let himself go in front of her. She reaches for him and he gives in and leans his face against her shoulder, holds onto her, letting her hold him. Letting her hold him. That's the really crucial point. Who has ever done that for him before? Who has ever allowed him his pain and told him it's okay, I know you have to feel like this right now, I know you're hurting, and I will be your tether for as long as you have to lose yourself in this?

"Sein und Zeit" -- he clings to her so tightly, lets her be his lifeline in this moment, as he knows she wants to be that for him. Letting go like that is so, so scary. There is always the fear that it will change someone's opinion of you. Make them think you're weak. Let them know what gets to you, and then you will always always always have to deal with them looking at you trying to asses how okay you are in stressful situations. It leaves you wide open and vulnerable. Learning that she doesn't expect him to be strong, that she doesn't believe that things don't affect him, that's a new concept. It requires so much trust.

Being able to take an offered hand is really fucking difficult, especially when you've been conditioned to be the one doing the reaching out. Leaning on someone is terrifying. Some patterns are hard to unlearn. But her steady presence finally allows him to show weakness and trust her to catch him when he falls. It lets him understand that he's allowed to fall sometimes.

#txf #the x files #fox mulder #msr #mulder and scully #they teach each other trust in a way #such an important skill to have

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