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silhouetteofacedar · 3 years

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Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 21: Body Talk

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder’s thirty years past kindergarten, but the anticipation he’s feeling in his body is reminiscent of the excitement he felt as a child over bringing his new model airplane to school for show-and-tell. Except the context is very, very different.

He’s got an envelope tucked into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, and he’s highly aware of every crinkle it makes as he strides through the halls, making his way down to the basement.

He’d expected to receive a clean bill of health, so the contents of the envelope weren’t a surprise. Even so… he’s fuckin’ thrilled.

“Morning, Scully,” he says cheerily, waltzing into the office and peeling off his jacket. “Another hot one out there, huh?”

“Mhm,” she responds, already elbow deep in paperwork. She’s always got her nose in some pile of documents, his Scully. God, she’s so cute, it’s unbearable. He thinks of when they first met, how rosy and round her cheeks were. He regrets not having done something earlier; he missed out on kissing her adorable baby face.

He really wants to kiss her now, but they’re at work, and she’s made it abundantly clear that At Work Scully is not open to the physical demonstrations enjoyed by Off Duty Scully. Instead he sidles up beside her, holding out the envelope in front of her.

She takes it, clearly noticing that it’s already been opened. “What’s this?” she asks.

“Just a little something, from me to you,” Mulder replies, going around the desk and plopping into his chair. He clasps his hands behind his head casually, grinning at her as she slides the folded paper out of the envelope.

Scully unfolds the page and scans it, nodding to herself. “Congratulations,” she says, glancing up at him. “This is… welcome news. But you didn’t need to bring me the physical test results, Mulder. Your word is enough.”

“Oh, but I know how much you enjoy solid evidence,” he says with a wink. “So, uh… do you have your results back yet?”

“This is definitely not an office-appropriate conversation,” she warns him, slipping the page back into the envelope.

“Sorry,” he says, lowering his voice. “But…”

“Yes,” she says quietly. “Last week. I’m in the clear.”

He smiles even wider at her. “So, given this new information, what do you suggest we do, Agent Scully?”

She holds the envelope out to him across the desk. “Right now, our jobs.”

He licks his lips, nods. “Of course.”

Ten minutes later, she gets up to put a file in the filing cabinet. As she closes the drawer, she lets out a soft cough.

“Friday,” she says in a low tone. “My place.”

Mulder feels a thrill roll through his stomach. “Now how am I going to get a single thing done around here ’til then?” Mulder asks. “All I can think about is-”

She gives him a warning look.

“-You,” he finishes. “Every moment, Scully.”

Scully gives him a little pout. “I’m sorry, Mulder. That must be very difficult for you. You know what you need?”

“What?”

She picks up a stack of folders out of their in-basket and drops it in front of him on the desk. “A case.”

Mulder doesn’t find them an actual case, but he does manage to annoy Scully with conjecture and conspiracy for two whole days until it’s closing time on Friday night.

This could be the most important romantic encounter of his life, and he wants to make sure he’s adequately prepared. He takes a cold shower when he gets home, scrubbing every inch of his body until his skin tingles. He clips and files his nails, plucks some stray hairs, trims a few scraggly ones down south. He almost shaves his face before deciding to leave it be. He suspects Scully likes a little stubble, after all.

It’s a warm evening, so he throws on a gray t-shirt and jeans and bounds out the door with damp hair and crisp, soap-fresh skin.

As a rule, he doesn’t sing while driving; but today, he’s humming just a little.

He knocks on her door at quarter to seven, bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying to shake out a little anxious energy. This isn’t a prom date, he chides himself. Calm down and be an adult.

The lock is turning and the door is swinging open and there Scully is, looking soft and inviting and dangerous all at once. “Hi,” she says, giving him a little smile.

“Hi,” he says softly, eyes drawn immediately to the low neckline of her simple wrap dress. He snaps his gaze back up to her face again. “Hi, sorry, I’m-”

“A little distracted?” she asks slyly. She opens the door wider. “Come in,” she says, beckoning.

“I, uh, didn’t bring anything,” he says awkwardly, following her into the apartment. “And now that I’m here that feels kinda thoughtless.”

“What would you have brought?” Scully asks.

He shrugs. “Flowers, wine, something that says ‘I want to get laid but I also respect you’,” he says.

“Well, that’s unnecessary,” she says, going into the kitchen and opening her junk drawer. “I already know that.” She pulls out a small stack of takeout menus. “I’m assuming you haven’t had dinner yet?”

I was kind of planning on having you for dinner. “I have not,” he replies.

She hands him the menus. “Pick a place, we can call something in,” she says. She takes a box of matches out of the drawer and walks over to the fireplace.

Mulder glances over the menus, but he’s mostly watching Scully. She seems relaxed and comfortable, lighting a few candles atop the mantlepiece.

“You want a little music?” she asks, blowing out the match.

“Sure,” he replies. “Surprise me.”

“Promise you won’t tease me for this,” she says, flipping through a stack of CDs.

“Any of those restaurants sound appealing?”

“The Italian place sounds good, but I don’t want my garlic breath to put you off,” he admits sheepishly.

She glances over her shoulder at him, giving him a little smile. “That restaurant usually sends a few mints in the bag; and you have a toothbrush here, if it’s that big of a problem.” She puts a CD into the stereo.

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” he says. “You want me to call it in?”

“Sure,” she replies. “You can order me a chopped salad and some of their spinach ravioli. And get garlic bread,” she adds.

When he hangs up the phone, he sees her standing by her stereo, nodding her head in time to the music. The song is slow and sensual, and somehow familiar. He goes to her, places a hand on her lower back. His spot.

“Marvin Gaye?” he guesses.

“Mm, no. Al Green,” she replies.

“Ah,” he says, nodding. “Never took you for a Motown fan, Scully,” Mulder says, pulling her in by the waist. “You always keep me guessing.”

She closes her eyes, sways in his arms. “I save this one for very specific moods,” she admits.

“And what moods are those?” he asks, running a hand up her back.

She opens her eyes. “I’ll show you later,” she whispers.

She’s looking at him with so much heat and adoration, and her lips are so full and soft, he can’t speak; only lean down and kiss her.

They drift together, interlocking shapes moving through space, rearranging patterns of hands and lips.

“We’re going to get interrupted by a delivery guy again,” Scully says against his cheek.

“Mm… kinky,” Mulder whispers, lips brushing her ear. “This is gonna become a pattern for us. Are you an exhibitionist, Scully?”

“Baby steps,” she says, patting his chest as she pulls away. “I need to leave a few mysteries for you to discover later, right?”

They sit cross-legged on the floor next to her coffee table, knees touching companionably as they eat their dinner.

“You know,” Scully says around a bite of garlic bread, “This makes me think we should go on another picnic. Since the weather is more appropriate.”

“What, sitting on the frozen ground at night in February wasn’t your idea of a good time?” Mulder jokes, tangling his fork in linguini.

“I didn’t say that,” Scully points out. “In fact, that was one of my better birthdays in recent years.”

“Really,” Mulder says, surprised. “Why?”

She absently toys with a hole in his sock. “Because… because I’d had a rough year,” she explains, “And you put thought and care into doing something special for me. And it was perfect, in all its perceived imperfections. It made me feel that for once… you were finally paying attention. You saw me.”

“Saw you?” he asks softly, turning his head to look at her.

Her eyes shine into his. “Yes. You were there for me through my cancer, with Emily… you were becoming more attentive. And I felt like you were considering me, caring for me, knowing what I needed. Seeing.”

“I-I think that’s called love, Scully,” he says, chewing pensively. Part of him is surprised this is even happening; them sitting on the floor in her apartment, eating pasta out of styrofoam boxes, talking about their feelings. Hell, he just said the ‘L’ word without breaking a sweat.

“You’re right,” she says, leaning over and resting her head on his shoulder. “It is.”

Supper completed, containers emptied, candles burning down to stubs on the mantle, Scully sitting across his thighs as they kiss slowly. She was right about the mints, it turns out.

“Mulder, I’m a coward,” she sighs, running her fingers down his jaw. “I’ve been in love with you for years and I still haven’t said the words.” She presses a kiss to his lower lip. “Even though I know you reciprocate.”

“Take your time,” he replies, carding his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck. “I already know. And you technically did just say them,” he adds. “Besides, there’s more than one way to have a conversation.” He smoothes a hand over her kneecap, inching a finger beneath the hem of her dress.

“Mulder,” she murmurs into his neck, his name sweet in her mouth. “I’m ready. I want to be with you tonight. Completely.”

He can feel his pulse throbbing beneath her lips. “I… God, Scully, I want you so badly,” he sighs. “I can’t think of any other words. I'm all out.”

She kisses his nose, untangles herself from him to stand. “Come on,” she says softly, holding out a hand. “I think it’s time for a different kind of conversation.”

#oooh gurl they gonna DO IT #fmcr #xfiles #txf fic #msr #fox mulder closet romantic #my fic

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atths--twice · 3 years

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An Unexpected Discovery

An alternate universe in which Mulder and Scully are college professors working in buildings across from one another. They have become close, but one day, he learns something about her he never would have expected.

A couple of days ago, @msgilliana posted a tweet about an AU involving Mulder and Scully which led to a mini story being created by both of us. People asked for a REAL story, but it wasn’t my baby, I had only added a bit to an adorable idea. I suggested she and I collaborate and we two women, who were “too busy right now,” cranked out a 7,700 word story in two days.

Hope you all enjoy!

Fox Mulder knew the start of the new academic year could be daunting for new faculty: Am I teaching this class correctly? Is my syllabus adequate? Where the hell do I park?

When he saw one person in particular however, he knew she meant business. They never technically met, but it was more of a ‘we parked next to each other and your building is right next to mine, so we might as well chat’ situation.

“Hi,” he’d said when he saw her, the first of them to speak. He had been drawn to her beauty, her red hair causing her to stand out.

“Hello,” she’d responded.

“Are you new?” he’d asked.

She pushed a stray piece of that beautiful red hair behind her ear. “Is it that obvious?”

“Oh no, I just have an eidetic memory and haven’t seen you before.” She was impressed, and her face revealed as much before he asked another question.

“What do you teach?”

“A mix. Some general physics, some intro to modern physics. You?”

“Wow, that’s quite impressive. I teach psych. Intro, abnormal, and social. Most people think it’s a ‘soft’ science, but I think it’s pretty important.”

“Psychology is interesting to be fair. Why do people do what they do, what determines our likes and dislikes, or even hyperfixations. And that’s just scratching the surface.”

“I have never met anyone from the science department who sees it that way. It’s quite refreshing, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Well, my sister’s very into feelings, the energy of the planets, all that kind of stuff. She and I are very close. Well… this is my building.” She pointed to the one right next to the one he would be entering.

“And this is mine. How convenient. I’ll see you around Dr…”

“Scully. Dana Scully.”

“Fox Mulder.” He offered his hand and she shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Mulder.”

“Oh please, no ‘Dr.’ That’s so boringly formal. ‘Mulder’ is fine,” he had joked with a mock shiver.

“Then you can call me ‘Scully.’” She chuckled and then smiled at him. As he stared at her, he couldn’t help but notice the presence of a beauty mark above her top lip. She had covered it with makeup and he didn’t understand why she would, it was adorable and also incredibly sexy.

Oh, maybe that’s why, he thought, knowing how men could behave.

Pushing aside those thoughts, he smiled as they reached their respective buildings and separated, walking to their offices.

Over time, they’d gotten to know more about each other. He knew she was twenty six and had received her doctorate two years prior. She was Catholic with two older siblings, a brother and a sister, the latter of whom had an interest in all things extraterrestrials, and she also had one younger brother.

Before the end of her first teaching year, they’d managed to park next to each other almost every day. They would chat for the few minutes their walk to the building afforded them, until they had to separate to their own offices. They both looked forward to that time together each day.

At the year's commencement, they had sat next to each other, and she looked extraordinarily extravagant in her doctoral robe and cap. She would say the same about him.

The following school year, they had gone from their morning chats to leaving at the same time as well. It quickly turned into one accompanying the other to their office and continuing their conversations. While almost polar opposites, they felt comfortable with each other and talked about any and everything.

Of all the little things he knew about her, the one thing Mulder knew Scully prided herself on most was punctuality. He knew she arrived in the parking lot at exactly 8:05 every Tuesday and Thursday before her first class began at 8:30. The other three days, she arrived at exactly 9:25 am for her 10 am class. His classes were all later in the day, but he came in early for office hours and to get work done before his classes.

A couple of months later, however, it was 9:27 on a Wednesday morning and she was nowhere to be found. In the nearly one and a half years since she’d been teaching, Scully had never been late. Though he was curious, he decided to head into his office and start his day.

His work, however, didn’t hold his attention. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. What was she doing? Was she sick? Was there a family emergency? She had mentioned that her siblings lived all across the country. Her older brother Bill was in California where he was stationed with his wife Tara. Melissa was traveling, “finding herself” Scully had stated with a slight eye roll, and Charlie was in New York with his girlfriend Elaine. Her parents were in Annapolis, about an hour's drive from the school.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he decided to email her, something he’d never done nor had any need to do.

Scully,

Are you okay?

Mulder

He forewent formalities because he felt they were on friendly enough terms, or at least he had assumed so. They hadn’t ever socialized outside of school events, but he had lost count of the high school and college friends he no longer spoke to or had only seen on campus.

He was about to get ready to teach his first class of the day when he checked his email one more time and saw a reply from her.

I’m fine.

Nothing further, not even her name, but at least he now knew she was okay. Or at least, Mulder hoped so. She would’ve said if something was wrong.

Right?

He didn’t sleep well that night, his brain unable to stop thinking and wondering if she was okay.

The next day, she still hadn’t arrived on time. He was in his office, about to send her another email, when he heard a car door slam around 8:15. The building was fairly soundproof, but the windows were not.

Curious, he got up from his desk and looked out the window. Seeing Scully’s car, he immediately smiled. She was a little late, but she was there. His brows then furrowed when she opened the door to the backseat. Bending inside, she was there for nearly a minute.

When she pulled back, he let out a gasp as she had reappeared with a small child in her arms. He could see the little girl was limp and appeared to be asleep. Observing Scully’s struggle to get her bags from the front seat while also carrying the child, he quickly left his office.

He tried to keep his pace slow, so as to not disrupt his colleagues, but his mind was racing with a million questions. Mulder made it outside, but didn’t see Scully. Assuming she must’ve gotten to her office already, he hurried up the stairs; he was out of breath when he reached the third floor.

Looking around, he heard a ding, announcing the arrival of the elevator down the hall. The doors opened and he spotted her shining red hair as she exited the elevator, and turned toward her office. Speed walking, he made it to her office at the same moment that she did.

“Oh, God. Mulder, you scared me,” she whispered when she saw him, breathing quickly as she reached for her keys.

“Sorry,” he whispered, matching her volume.

Scully took a minute to find her keys, only having one hand free for the action. She finally got her office unlocked, the little girl sleeping through it all. Propping the door open, she left the light off and set her bags down, a bright pink Dora the Explorer backpack standing out. She picked it up and held it out to him.

“Can you…” she asked him, nodding at the child in her arms.

“Oh. Um, sure. What…”

“Her blanket, please.”

He unzipped the bag and pulled out a small blue blanket with Thomas the Train across it. Versatile, I like it, thought Mulder. He couldn’t help but feel his heart grow as he watched the way she was with the little girl he assumed had to be her daughter.

“Mommy…” the toddler suddenly croaked.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay.” Scully’s voice was soothing and soft for the girl as she ran a hand across her daughter’s long loose curls. It was different from her no-nonsense, low-pitched professor voice, and it made his heart ache.

She mouthed a thank you to Mulder and took the blanket from him. The little girl whimpered as she was covered in the blanket and snuggled closer to her mother. Scully rocked her and smiled at Mulder.

“I’m sure you have some questions.”

“Just a few.”

She sighed and looked at her child. “Please, sit.”

He obeyed, watching as she carefully sat in her leather desk chair.

“How old is she?” Mulder asked.

“Almost three.”

“Wow, you’ve got your hands full. What’s her name?”

“Emily.” Scully smiled as she rubbed Emily’s back over the blanket.

Awkward silence washed over them as they both ignored the elephant in the room. Scully wasn’t married and didn’t wear a ring. She had never talked about her child before, let alone a partner that could be the child’s father.

“You’ve shared so much, why not her?”

She sighed again. “I don’t know. I guess I thought… that you would judge me. Everyone else sure does, except Missy and Charlie.”

“You know I’d never.”

“I do, but I was also worried. And I guess I wanted to keep her secret for as long as possible.” She avoided his gaze as she spoke.

“I don’t want to sound insensitive, but I do have one more burning question…”

“You want to know about her dad,” Scully guessed and he looked at her sadly and shrugged, not speaking the words, but obviously curious.

“His name’s Ethan and he had been my boyfriend since grad school. I found out I was pregnant the day I defended my dissertation. We broke up about halfway through my pregnancy. He hadn’t ever wanted children, but also didn’t want to use protection. I… well… now Em’s here. That’s the extremely simplified version.”

Mulder’s eyes were wide as he took in the information. He thought she was pretty badass to be able to raise a kid on her own. He could also hear how she may feel shame about it, because of others' comments and also how society tended to treat women who were single parents.

She sighed and he realized that he hadn’t said anything in response. Feeling like a bit of a jackass, he opened his mouth to speak, but she suddenly stood up and shook her head.

“Sorry to cut this short,” she said, glancing at her watch. “But my first class starts soon and I need to get her stuff to bring.”

He shook his head and stood as well. “I can watch her, if it would make it easier for you.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t-“

“I insist. Besides, I don’t think she’ll like listening to her mother talk about super smart science stuff.”

“It’ll probably bore her to death,” she agreed with a chuckle.

“Then it’s settled then.”

“Are you sure?” Her expression gave away her uncertainty, her eyes searching his face.

“Really, I’d love to. I promise we’ll just stay in here while you teach.”

“You need to be in your office, Mulder. I can’t do that to you.”

“Then we can go to mine. Look, Scully, I promise we’ll be okay, okay?”

She sighed for the third time. “Okay. I should wake her though, let her know I’m leaving and let her see you. I don’t want her waking up without me and crying. Hey, Em,” she said softly, gently patting her back, waking the child.

“Mama…”

“Hey honey, Mama has to teach her class now. You’re going to spend some time with Mulder today, okay? He’s mommy’s friend.”

The toddler lifted her head and looked at him fearfully, tears running down her cheeks.

“Hey, Emily,” Mulder greeted. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you like Dora? She’s pretty cool.” Emily didn’t answer, but embraced Scully tighter.

“I know baby, but Mommy really needs to get to class. Mulder is a very nice man and he will take care of you. He has fish in his office. Do you want to see them?” She nodded, her eyes still full of tears.

Emily was gently passed to Mulder, Scully making sure she was wrapped in her blanket. The little girl sniffed and whimpered as she watched her mom blow her a kiss and then leave the room, thanking him once again.

“Would you like to go on a trip, Emily?” he asked, hoping to ease the tension. She looked at him, her expression unsure and still slightly fearful. “Let’s go see the fish, okay?” She nodded and he beamed.

He grabbed her backpack and swung it onto his back, closing the door to Sculy’s office as they walked out. He locked the door with the keys he’d taken off her desk, knowing she would come to his before coming back to her own.

Emily was trembling slightly in his arms and he held her closer as they walked to the elevator.

“Would you like to go outside? It feels nice out today.”

Emily slowly nodded her head, her thumb on the tip of her bottom lip, as she put her head on his shoulder. He stepped out of the elevator and then the building. He walked into the little courtyard separating the science and education/psychology buildings. The little girl lifted her head just enough to look around.

“‘Nola,” Emily said quietly, as she pointed with her little finger.

“What was that, Em?” Mulder asked, at a loss of what she was trying to say.

“‘Nola,” she repeated louder.

He looked at the direction she was pointing and chuckled when he realized what she meant. “Oh, you like the magnolia tree?”

Mulder was impressed by her intelligence. Of course, her mother had gotten her doctorate at twenty-four, which was not common amongst the other faculty. Even he hadn’t received his until just before she had started teaching, and he was thirty, nearly thirty-one.

“You’re very smart, Emily,” Mulder praised, but the little girl was uninterested. She put her head back on his shoulder, falling asleep before they made it to the office.

As he arrived at the door, he realized he had left his door unlocked when he found it hanging open and one of his teaching assistants, Tyler, was grading papers.

“Oh, sorry Dr. M, but the door was unlocked and…” Tyler started, but was confused as he saw Emily in his arms.

“I’m watching her for a friend,” Mulder said simply, putting her backpack down on the desk. Tyler nodded and went back to grading papers.

Emily continued to sleep, Mulder holding her as he sat down at his desk. Even as he held her, he managed to send a slowly-typed email to a student about the midterm, enter the test grades Tyler had given him, and sent out an announcement to the class about their extra credit assignment.

Looking down at Emily, he smiled. Other than her blonde hair, she was a mirror image of Scully and he couldn’t imagine anyone but her having a sweeter child.

Tyler left soon after he was done grading, smiling and nodding silently as he walked out the door. Emily began to stir, her eyes slowly opening and taking in her surroundings.

“Hey there, Em,” he said softly, and the toddler mumbled, clutching her blanket closer.

“Do you want to see the fish now?” She nodded and he stood up, his back protesting at the position he had been in for the past forty five minutes. He shifted her to hold her better and walked across the room to show her the fish.

“Oh!” she said, watching the fancy guppies he had bought swimming around the tank. “Fishies!” She pointed at the tank and he grinned.

“Yup! Those are fancy guppies. Can you say guppy?”

“Guppy.”

“Good job,” he said, smiling again and rubbing her back. “See that one there? The blue one with the red spotted tail? That’s my favorite one. Watch how fast he swims.”

“Fish swim fast,” she agreed with a nod and he chuckled, shifting her again.

“They are fast. Good job, Em! Gimme five.” She laughed as she lifted her tiny hand and met Mulder’s large one.

“Having fun?” Scully asked and they turned to look at her, standing in the doorway with a smile.

“Mommy!” Emily said, trying to scramble out of Mulder’s arms. He laughed as he set her down and she ran to Scully, who lifted the squealing toddler in her arms.

“Hey, baby.” Scully kissed Emily’s cheek and looked at Mulder. “Were you good for Mulder?”

Emily vigorously nodded her head while Mulder laughed. “She was very good. She’s a smart kid.”

“She takes after her mother.” The two adults smiled and Emily wrapped her arms around Scully’s neck. “Thank you for looking after her. I only had the one class today, but she was sick yesterday and I had babysitter problems and-“

“I promise it was no trouble and completely my pleasure. She slept most of the time, but she liked the fish. The guppies, right Em?”

“Guppy,” she said with a nod, pointing at the tank. “Guppy fish, Mommy.”

“Yes, I know. I knew you would like them.” Scully smiled. “Hey, are you free tonight?”

“Umm. I… no, I mean yes I’m free.”

“Well, let me buy you a drink. It’s the least I can do to thank you for your help.”

His heart raced. This was the moment he’d been waiting for since he had first looked at her.

“Um, sure, I mean… yeah, I’d love to,” he stammered.

Great job, doofus, he admonished himself, inwardly rolling his eyes.

“Great. I’ll sort out a babysitter for tonight and I’ll see you at six? I’ll send you my address.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Scully was inviting him out on a date. Did she see it that way? They’d never spent time together outside of university functions, but he hoped she’d see it as a date, as he would love for it to be so.

He smiled as he nodded and she smiled back. She lifted Emily a little higher, telling her about her class as Emily continued staring at the fish. The way she doted on her daughter and how her red hair shone in the light, he could feel he was already falling for her.

Yeah… he was in big trouble.

#The X-Files #XF Fanfic #Fanfic Collab #Dana Scully #Fox Mulder #Emily Sim #Modern AU #College Professors #First Meetings #Getting to Know Each Other

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debbierhea · 4 years

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19 or 63 msr? 💖

19. “What are you doing?” “Hiding.” and 63. “You’re so cute!!!”

He’s standing outside her door, not really sure why he’s there. That’s not true, he knows exactly why he’s here. He’s been fighting the pull of her presence, the joy of her company, the warmth she exudes and makes him feel, for weeks. So many people know her as The Ice Queen of the Hoover Building with her scalpel sharp shoulder pads and critical gaze. They’re all so wrong about her. She’s warm and kind, compassionate with her words and gentle with her hands. She is as trustworthy as she is stubborn and devoted to those she loves. Scully doles out pieces of herself sparingly and only to those she trusts implicitly and he feels like the luckiest son of a bitch alive to be one of the few she has chosen.

Summoning his courage, he raises his hand and knocks and she’s at the door in record time. Usually he’s forced to wait, fidgeting with the zipper on his down winter jacket or scuffing the tip of his shoe over and over her impossibly clean welcome mat. Sometimes he even has to fight the urge to walk away, amble down the stairs and straight back to Alexandria. His psychiatrist would tell him that his urge to run is fueled by his anxiety over the uncertainty he feels in their relationship - that is, if he still saw his psychiatrist with any regularity. But this time, he doesn’t have time to fiddle with his coat or dirty her mat or ponder his generalized anxiety disorder because seconds after he raps on her door, she’s swinging it open and pulling him inside by the cuff of his sleeve.

He’s surprised to say the least, and his face must show it because once she shuts the front door, she’s looking up at him with a bright smile on her face. He can hear a child counting lackadaisically in another room, skipping numbers and inventing new ones.

“Hi Mulder,” she whispers.

“What are you doing?” he whispers back.

“Hiding.”

She darts into the kitchen, squeezing herself between two chairs and settling beneath the kitchen table. And he has absolutely no idea what is happening. She beams at him from her hiding spot and brings a finger to her lips, a silent command.

Then, he hears a small voice giddy with excitement yell, “Ready or not, here I come!”

And just like that, Scully sees it click for him. He grins. His eyes dart around the living room, still standing next to her front door. Leaving his shoes on, something he would never do in any situation less dire, he clambers into the small coat closet, folds his limbs around himself, and shuts the door. From the sliver of light let into the dark closet, Mulder can see Scully’s camel coat, her leather and suede and down. And tucked in between them is a tiny purple rain coat, a blue winter jacket with mittens attached to the sleeves. He smiles, his heart warm.

The pitter-patter of bare feet crescendos closer. He can hear Emily running through the living room, giggles bouncing off the walls. Then, a loud peal of laughter.

“Dana! I found you!”

“Yes you did, baby. You’re too good at this game!” A chair screeches across the tile and Emily squeals as Scully wraps her in a hug, still on her knees, and showers her in kisses, blows a raspberry under her chin.

“Okay, my turn to hide.”

“Just a second. You haven’t found everyone just yet.” Emily screws up her face into a disbelieving stare. Scully smiles, seeing a hint of that resemblance Mulder is always going on and on about. A Half-Pint Scully, he’d called her one night over undercooked Kraft Mac n’ Cheese and apple juice. Maybe more of a quarter pint. You’re just a Half-Pint Scully yourself, Scully. She’d hid her smile behind her hand and stood to clear their empty bowls.

Scully stands and reaches down to take Emily’s hand. She follows her without question, trusting her mother, her Dana, to lead her. She pulls her into the living room and nods her head towards the closet door.

“Someone else is hiding in here,” Scully jerks her head towards the door again and tugs on her daughter’s arm, “….somewhere.”

Emily smiles, her dimpled cheeks rosy and slightly sticky from her afternoon snack, ants on a log sans ants. Scully squeezes her hand once and nods, and Emily sees her smile mirrored back to her, less sticky, but encouraging and joyful just the same.

She skips over to the door and places her hand on the brass doorknob. Pausing, she turns back to Scully who widens her eyes and nods animatedly. Emily turns the knob.

“Gotcha!!!” She squeals. Then, “Mulder! It’s you!” And before he knows it, Emily is throwing her pudgy little arms around his neck. He wraps his arms around her, lifting her off the ground and standing up with her still clinging to him.

“Hey, Em,” he chuffs out.

Scully is looking at him with that unbearably soft smile she’s been throwing his way more and more often these last few months. He smiles back, giving her daughter a squeeze.

“Mulder, did you come to play with us?” Scully’s soft smile turns into a full on grin. She’s been giving him more of those lately too, more grins and more laughs, big belly laughs and soft, tinkling giggles. Motherhood has softened her, he thinks sometimes when he is home alone in his dingy apartment full of dust bunnies and newly acquired Disney VHS tapes. It’s made her more vulnerable and open, open to her daughter, and, he thinks - hopes - open to him.

“You bet.”

“Yay!” Mulder shifts Emily onto his hip, both arms encircling her protectively. She removes her arms from his neck and rests one hand on his shoulder. “We’re playing hide and seek. Dana isn’t very good, but that’s okay, she just needs some more practice I think.”

Scully widens her eyes at Mulder in shock and lets out a scoff. “Thanks, Em.”

“Maybe Mulder can help you hide next time.”

“Hey, there’s an idea, Scully,” Mulder winks at her. She rolls her eyes. He loves this. He loves their banter and playing with their her daughter and seeing Scully smile. He loves Emily’s sweet smelling hair, the drawings she sends to the office with Scully of his fish and the park full of aliens, the way she hugs him so warm and honest, and frankly he just loves her, this tiny Quarter Pint Scully.

Scully crosses the room and pinches Emily’s cheek, “You’re lucky you’re so cute.” Emily giggles. “Now, it’s my turn to count. You two better find some good hiding places,” Scully begins walking backwards towards the hallway. “I’m a much better seeker.”

Another grin at Mulder and she’s gone.

Oh. And he loves her too.

#does scully even have a coat closet???????? don't know don't care #also i kind of cheated on 63 but again. donut care✌️#xf fanfic #my fic #todayinfic

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frangipanidownunder · 4 years

Note

Could you write a story where Mulder comforts Scully after a panic attack or nightmare?

Same Old: fic

Angsty, longish, with a trigger warning for panic attacks/mentions of depression. This is also for @kega-umi and @baronessblixen who both requested “Don’t you dare touch her!” from the angst dialogue prompt list. Thank you, guys.

It’s the biggest irony that she put her all into trying to improve Mulder’s mental health, yet she failed to see her own emotional wellbeing withering away. From the gentle exercise program they did together (“I’m only doing this because you’ll be wearing yoga pants, Scully”), the soft therapies he didn’t outright dismiss (“I used to like colouring in when I was seven, and I still can’t keep my pencils between the lines.”), the midnight conversations on the deck as silver moths flitted under the lights (“I don’t think either of us has ever truly gotten over William, Mulder.” “We shouldn’t, Scully. If we do, all hope is lost.”), to the medication (“Please, Mulder, there’s no shame in taking anti-depressants; you wouldn’t think twice if I prescribed you Ventolin for asthma, would you?”), she pushed him uphill towards wellness, never considering the damage to own her physical and mental shape.

After all, she left him.

But he’s still the same old Mulder. Believing in anything except the truth in front of his very eyes.

Now, as sweat trickles down the back of her neck, she is paralysed with fear. Her heart bursts against her ribcage, temples throb with bruising pain, skin prickles with gooseflesh. This is the third night in a row where a nightmare has ripped her from the numb comfort of sleep. Her fingers scratch at her throat, as though to open up her airways.

All she wants is to breathe. To simply breathe.

She turns her neck and it creaks slowly. Her vision hasn’t quite adjusted in the dim of her bedroom. Red numbers drip from her alarm clock, an absurdly chilling reminder of her waiting responsibilities. Surgeries, ward rounds, paperwork, Mulder. These are the compass points of her days. There have been times when she’s forgotten to eat, where she’s woken in bed with the dull ache of dehydration tugging at her limbs, where she’s driven through an intersection on autopilot.

Physician, heal thyself, Mulder regularly teased her with the saying during their tougher cases, ones where he might have received a blow to the head (that man has the skull of an ox) and she tended to him or other victims or did a string of autopsies or chased alleged mutants into foggy forests and would end up on the verge of physical or mental exhaustion. To allay her exhaustion, he might draw her a bath, order the pepperoni pizza special, plump up a pillow and pat the mattress next to him while finding a black and white Hollywood classic to fall asleep to. Physician, and Mulder, often healed themselves that way.

But that was before she left him.

She’s still the same old Scully. Denying everything except the truth in front of her very eyes.

Getting out of bed is Herculean. Every cell is screaming at her to retreat back to the safe, anaesthetic nest of covers. She feels as fragile and hollow as bird’s bones. Her feet plant on the carpet but she is graceless and uncoordinated as she moves to the bathroom. A shower will provide temporary respite, the stinging water will open her pores, and close her mind.

There’s a missed call from Mulder when she gets out. He never leaves messages, instead she is left to run through the gamut of possibilities as she dials his number – has he forgotten his house keys and can he drop by to borrow hers, has he got himself arrested for stalking a supposed shapeshifter who’s haunting children, or is he on the verge of a breakdown? She doesn’t even try to guess any more.

“I need you to witness some papers, Scully.” His voice is distant, cagey. Years ago, he might have created a slideshow to support his evasive baiting. Teased her with the promise of a nice little trip somewhere. Asked her point blank why she doesn’t believe him when he’s right most of the time.

Now he just expects her to be where he wants her to be with little warning.

Still the same old Mulder.

On the drive to the café he’s chosen for their meeting, she tries to think what papers they could be, what has necessitated the sudden need for her assistance. She doesn’t see him for weeks. He goes for days without returning her calls, spends hours away from the house on ‘expeditions’ or ‘assignments’, and she’s found him, more than once, in bed at 2 o’clock in the afternoon, wearing stubble bordering on a beard, and smelling like a laundry basket.

There was a time when they couldn’t afford secrets. It was a matter of life and death. Those days on the run, every shadow under the motel door, every lingering look from a cashier, every click on the phone line had them hastily stuffing their holdalls into the trunk of whatever rusty sedan they’d picked up along the way, and finding a back road to a new town.

As she waits in the traffic lane to turn into the car park, with a headache binding itself over the middle of her head like a steel band, she couldn’t care less if she were to sign him up to a dodgy pyramid scheme or help him cash in his father’s stocks. She sits, indicating to pull into a spot being vacated by an overly large SUV driven by an old man wearing a wide-brimmed hat. Without warning, his car lurches backwards at speed. She braces both hands on the steering wheel as metal crunches against metal and her car jolts back. Her head whips forward, then rights itself, tendons groaning at the sudden movement. She’s stunned. Unable to think, let alone move. The old man is out of the car, looking at the back of his vehicle, then up at her, fear written across his face.

There’s a cold blast across her body as her door opens. “Scully? Scully, are you all right? Don’t move. I’ll call the paramedics.” From the corner of her vision, she sees Mulder tapping at his phone with his thumbs before barking something into the mouthpiece.

“I’m fine. Don’t…” she says, but there’s no energy in her voice and he doesn’t hear her.

The old man is holding the brim of his hat, mouthing something about the gas pedal, and Mulder swings round to confront him. She recognises the dark glint in his eye and tries to get his attention but she calls out too late and he’s already lashing out at the man.

The buckle of her seatbelt is jammed into the slot and it won’t release. Her finger presses the orange button over and over but nothing happens. The old man is cowering under Mulder’s interrogation and in the distance, a siren wails. A gaggle of people have gathered around the vehicles. The blink of her indicator is percussive background pollution. Rain begins to batter the windscreen. The pressure in her skull builds. Her fingers crawl up the sides of her head to cover her ears.

“You didn’t even look!” She can hear Mulder’s accusations even through her hands. The same tone he employed every time he burned her about giving up William or about her trust in him or about the value of her weekend conferences.

Not the same old Mulder, but the cruellest version of him.

Finally free, and stumbling from the car, she slides along its side. In the frigid air, steam rises like fog from the hood. Her shoulders are tight, her legs heavy. She takes a breath in but the air is sharp, and it tastes metallic. She pads at her mouth with trembling fingers. Did she bite her lip, her tongue in the impact? She can’t remember. Perhaps the seatbelt caused an injury. Looking down at herself, she sees only her feet, enclosed in black pointed boots, her charcoal wool pants, her sleek belted jacket, all designer wear, all for show. Vanity. Fulfilling a need in her to prove her worth since she left him. Not just to the new people in her new life, but to the old ones too. Her mother. To Mulder.

Mulder is still ranting at the old man. Arguing over semantics instead of trying to get his details. The siren is louder. Her chest aches and with every inhalation, it burns, as though her lungs are on fire. She can’t find her voice. It’s stuck in her throat along with the breath she desperately needs. Her knees soften but she locks them, stubbornly clinging to the mirror of the car. Rain soaks her hair, sticking it to her face, her shoulders. Stupidly, she thinks about cutting it off, clipping it so that it swings about her chin, freely.

So she could be the same old Scully.

A thousand images rush through her mind. Blood. Albert Hosteen. Ice. Lightning. Her distended stomach. Lasers drilling. Cassandra Spender. William’s downy head. The scars on Mulder’s face. His coffin. Emily’s sweaty forehead. The brooding ocean. Melissa. Mulder’s scratchy beard. His wild eyes. His bitter silence at her goodbye.

She hears herself cry out. Pitiful.

Each breath stabs at her. Her heart sprints then slows. Sprints then slows. She clutches at her chest as though it might even the keel. Sweat mingles with rain on her face. The pavement is cold, wet, unforgiving. Mulder kneels at her side, taking her arm into his hand. Fear knits his brows together. The old man appears next to him and goes to bend over her.

“Don't you dare touch her!” Mulder’s voice cuts through the fog in her mind and the old man startles back. His hat falls and she’s struck by how absurd it looks, floating on a puddle that’s formed. Mulder’s hands are everywhere, her brow, her arm, her cheek, her chest, her thigh. He is panicking, yelling for paramedics. Bellowing her name. But she keeps watching the hat listing as it's pelted by rain.

Same old Mulder.

She can’t calm him because she can’t summon her voice. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, nausea pools in her stomach, bitter, churning. Her neck stiffens as she turns her face away from the staring eyes, then she vomits. This sends Mulder into overdrive and he tugs at her chin, twisting her face painfully around, eliciting a moan from her that shocks him into pulling his hand away.

“Scully? What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

She is. She’s hurting. Everywhere. But how can she tell him it’s not from the collision. “I’m fine,” she says in the end. Closes her eyes to his dismissive headshake. “I’m fine, Mulder.”

Same old Scully.

The paramedics arrive and check her over. They declare her unresponsive in their radio missives and load her onto a stretcher, despite her weak protests. Mulder is effusive in his thanks and squeezes her hand, promising to follow. Inside the ambulance, she closes her eyes against the hazy faces, concentrates on her breathing, lets other people carry the burden.

When she wakes, Mulder is on a chair pulled up so close to her that his legs are slotted under her bed, his head pressed into his crossed arms, at her ribcage. She can see a few greys and she strokes his hair, tenderly. Turning his face, he grins at her.

Same old Mulder.

“You scared me, Scully.”

She nods, still not sure if she can speak.

“They said you had an elevated heart rate. High blood pressure. We thought you were having a stroke.” Her hand finds his. “But then the doc said it could be a panic attack.” He waits a beat, for confirmation. “Scully?”

He shakes his head at her silence, stretches, scratches at his chin. She tries to move but it’s such an effort, she slumps back against the pillow. Her hair feels tangled and she rakes her fingers through it. He takes her hand, crushes it in his.

“Scully? What’s going on? Talk to me.”

This is the man who spent days holed up in his office, poring over the same ridiculous, paranoid conspiracies, who left the house without telling her, disappearing for days on the flimsy pretext that she ‘didn’t need to know for her own safety’, who would spend more time nursing a glass of whisky than their relationship.

“It’s nothing,” she manages to say. “Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

His eyes roll to the heavens. There’s nothing up there that she hasn’t already beseeched, yelled at and dismissed out of hand, she thinks to herself.

“Scully, you drove into a car. You collapsed. You haven’t…” His hand withdraws from hers and he grabs a fist of the thin woollen blanket.

“He backed into me. I’ve…I’ve been…I haven’t slept well. I’m just tired, Mulder. That’s all.” Speaking is exhausting. Her words sound pathetic. He knows it, she knows it.

Same old Mulder.

Same old Scully.

A nurse enters, eyes Mulder to move his chair. He stands, loiters in the shadowy corner as she goes about her business. When she’s gone, the air in the room is dry. Mulder scrapes the chair back to her bedside and plays with the plastic band on her wrist. Laying his forehead on her arm, she feels more than the weight of him as he begins to sob quietly. His shoulders move, his chest rocks the bed. She twists and caresses his hair with her free hand. Her tears drip down her face, gathering at her chin, falling as one onto his head. His tears flow around her wrist, burning his sadness at her pulse point.

“I’m sorry,” she says gently.

He half-chuckles, a strangled sound. “For what?”

“For scaring you.”

His watery eyes find hers. “You being sick is the thing that scares me the most, Scully.”

“I know,” she says.

He sits up, brings his arm around her shoulder to pull her into a fierce embrace, squeezing the breath out of her lungs. “Don’t do that again. Don’t…please.”

She can’t promise. She won’t promise.

“What were the papers?” she asks.

“What?”

“You wanted me to witness something. What was it?”

“Oh,” he says, his body reverberating as tears turn to laughter. “I needed a new passport. I was going to ask if you wanted to go on vacation.” He chuckles, still clinging to her.

“On vacation?”

“It was going to be a surprise.”

“I’ll say,” she murmurs, letting out a small laugh too, and burrows her chin into the dip between his neck and shoulder.

She lets him soften into her and pats the plane between his shoulder blades. His heart pumps next to hers. In perfect synchrony.

Same old Mulder.

Same old Scully.

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #msr angst #tw: panic attack #same old

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lokisgame · 5 years

Text

A Generous Donation [13]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11] [part 12]

Friday morning was kinder. Mulder's back didn't hurt that bad and the nausea was gone, and even if he was still a little weak, he felt almost like himself again. After breakfast, he decided to kill some time cleaning his desk and fell down the rabbit hole lined with old papers until hunger pulled him from the basement. He was reheating some soup for lunch when the doorbell rang. A quick glance out the window revealed Scully's car in the driveway and somewhere between pulling the doors open and saying hello, a pair of arms around his neck drew him into a tight embrace. "Everything okay?" Mulder asked, hugging her back. "Yeah," she breathed, kissing first piece of skin she could reach, "how are you?" "Cold, a little," he chuckled, relieved, "wanna come in?"

"Yes, sorry," she said, slipping away, blushing slightly. He kept her close for one more kiss and asked against her lips. "How's Will?" "Awake," she laughed and stepped inside, slipping out of her coat. "At least awake enough to kick me out." "Rude but smart," he said and led her to the kitchen. "You're just in time for lunch." "That's what he said." "That's my boy," Mulder chuckled bustling around the stove. Scully froze for a second, stunned, and Mulder caught the silence, looking over his shoulder. "You want cheese or pastrami on your sandwich?" "Cheese," she said, burying the fear and when he turned back to the food, she wrapped her arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his back. "Why are you so good to me?" She asked softly, feeling expelled breath before soft laugh reached her ears. "Why do you keep questioning this?" He said, buttering a piece of bread. "You want me to be mean? I can hold the mayo." "That would be cruel, indeed," she smiled, hugging him tighter. "Yeah, I can be a real jerk. Charlie left pie, it's in the fridge." "My brother shared the pie? He must've really liked you," she said, letting go. "You didn't say he was a cop." "Narcotics squad, we don't like to talk about it." "And the girl, Emily? I gather she's Missy's daughter." "There's four of us, Charlie is the youngest, then there's me, Melissa and Bill Jr., the eldest. Melissa is divorced, Bill and his wife, Tara, have a son, Mathew. They live on the west coast." "You must have been quite a gang as kids." "Not really, no," Scully said, setting the pie on the counter, where Mulder already laid out the pan. "Once Charlie grew out of his big brother worship and Missy became too independent to play with her little sister, it was us against them." "Did you always win?" He chuckled, taking two bowls out of the cupboard. "As much as you can win against someone as stubborn as Bill or independent as Missy, we never got him to do anything and she only did what she wanted, so it was fifty-fifty at best." "Family politics never cease to amaze me." "We all listened to mom though," she chuckled, rinsing the pan, "at least until high school. We helped at home and got good grades, and in return were allowed a certain freedom." "Sounds fair," Mulder said and made room for her by the stove. "So you and Charlie stayed here and they moved away." "Bill followed in our fathers' footsteps and joined the navy, so he moved all over the place, and Missy," she moved the pie into the pan and paused to lick her fingers, "Missy always was a restless one. Last day of high school she decided she's not going to college and will go on a road trip and hitchhike all the way to L.A." "From?" "Annapolis." "Maryland?" "Yeah, military brats," Scully said, closing the oven door and setting the timer. "My dad went furious, didn't speak to her for days." "Which didn't change her mind," Mulder guessed and took the bowls to the table. "Not one bit," Scully said following with spoons and sandwiches. "Couch?" Mulder grinned and turned for the living room. "Sure, so Missy went hitchhiking." "We didn't hear from her for months," she said, folding herself on the couch and taking the bowl, speaking between blowing gently on the soup. "Occasional postcard at best, phone call for birthday, that sort of thing, until she showed up for Christmas that year." "That's harsh," Mulder said, wincing because he burned his mouth. "Yeah, but by that time we were just happy to have her home, safe and sound. She made her point and my parents didn't try to tie her down anymore." She paused to take a bite of sandwich. "It went on for a few years, until she had Emily in '87 and came back to settle closer to family." "How long did that last?" "Good fifteen years, Em and Will were like siblings." "And in that time you went to college, then med-school, did a residency in neurology and had Will." "Not only that," Scully sipped her soup, avoiding his gaze and talking about Will. "Charlie joined the force, my dad died, Bill moved a few times, got married, then Mat came around, you know, life happened." "And there was no guy for you, in all that time." Mulder pressed on, amused. "Well, there were men, obviously." "But?" "No one quite right," she said quietly, looking up from under her lashes. "No one?" Mulder teased, scooting closer. "Single mom, lots of overtime." "I would babysit for you." "I bet you would," she smiled and focused on soup and his warmth. "I like Charlie," Mulder said after a while, swallowing last of his sandwich. "What's his story?" "He's a workaholic, like me," Scully said, fishing her soup, "a little crazy too, restless, like Missy. And he's a shameless flirt, but I don't know where he got that from." Mulder laughed. "Maybe that's your father's gift, sailor's soul trapped on land." "And the work part?" "Ocean makes people tough, persistent," he grinned, taking her empty bowl. "You funnel that drive into your job." "You really got us figured out." She said and when he leaned over to set the dishes on the coffee table, she pulled on his sweater, tugging the t-shirt up. Mulder tired to catch her hands. "Wow, you don't waste time." "It's not that," she laughed, swatting at his palms, "let me see the marks, I want to make sure you're healing alright." "From those little pinpricks?" "Don't give me that." He laughed, but hissed when she pulled on the tape holding the gauze. "I feel fine," he said, felling her cool fingers, "the nausea is gone, my appetite is back, I can go back to work on Monday." "There's no inflammation around the scabs," she agreed, then ripped the rest of the tape away, making him flinch. "Sorry, I need to change these." "And here I thought you had such pleasant bedside manner." "One more," she said and tugged. "Ouch!" "Done, you won't need these anymore, simple bandaid will do." "Upstairs bathroom, behind the mirror." "I'll be right back." Scully kissed the tip off his ear, and leaving him laughing, dashed up the stairs and back, a second later. "You're fast," Mulder chuckled when she climbed behind him again. "Have to," she said, "thanks for keeping my toothbrush." "Thought you might be needing it again." "Definitely. This will feel a bit cold." She cleaned the spot on his left side, stuck the bandaid on and moved to his right. Few more swipes of her cool hands and she was done. Resting chin on his shoulder, she wrapped her arms around his waist, warming fingers on bare skin under the t-shirt. "Wasn't that bad was it?" "No, when do you need to get back?" "I promised to be back by dinner time," she said then sighed. "I hate this waiting game, it makes me feel helpless and it's driving me crazy." "I had terrible dreams," he confessed quietly, "Will's blood turned into green acid and melted right through his body." "Mulder," she crooned and pulled him closer. "When was the last time you really slept?" "Last time I was here, Tuesday?" She shook her head and hugged him tighter. "Feels like a lifetime ago." Unlocking her arms gently, he turned and put his arms around her, pulling her down on the seat beside him. "It's too early for bed," he said, leaving her room to snuggle against his chest, "but if you want we can move." "No, this is okay," she sighed and wriggled a little, hand searching for skin under his sweater, tickling lightly. "Blanket?" "Sure." Covered, they warmed fast. "Try to relax," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. "Now I'm good," she sighed, and melted into his side. "When did this happen?" He mused, absently drawing circles on her shoulder. "A week ago we were hardly dating, and now look at us." "Old married couple," she murmured under her breath, "sleeping in the middle of the day." "We should get out more." "And do what?" "Get out of town, go stargazing." "In December?" "Could be fun." "Can't we go someplace warm?" "The movies?" "And neck in the last row?" "I love the way your mind works." "It's a date then," she laughed softly, "now let me sleep." And together they slept, peacefully.

He was helping her into her coat later that evening. "You really don't have to stay up for me." "It's no problem, I'm a bit of a night owl, you know." "Mulder," she sighed, taking his face in her hands, pulling him down to kiss then rest her forehead against his. "Sleep is important, it helps you heal, and even if you feel better, you haven't healed yet. Go to bed, rest, I'll be back tomorrow." "But you haven't told me what you're thankful for, yet." "I'm thankful for you," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, "for everything you are, and all you've done." "That sounds awful like a goodbye," he whispered, hugging her tighter. "I know," she hugged him back, "but trust me, it's not." Fingers tangled in her hair and his lips were on hers, a deep, hungry kiss that stole breath and wiped out reason. This was Mulder who needed her as much as he cared for her. She heard the words I love you before, but never felt them painted on the roof of her mouth, hugged into her heart and filling her lungs, and she never felt more alive giving them back. "Thank you." Mulder breathed, breaking the lock. "For what?" "For not shutting me out," he said, softening the embrace, tucking the raw need away. "That's what I'm thankful for." "You're easy to please," she sighed, brushing his lips before letting go. "I really have to go." "Tell Will I said hi." "I will." Mulder smiled and leaning on the doorframe, watched her go, remembering to add one more thing to his shopping list for tomorrow.

It was almost noon when Scully stood on the porch, ringing the doorbell again and again, getting nothing, despite his car in the driveway. "Aren't those heels a bit high to sell girl scout cookies?" Asked a warm voice behind her and as she turned, Mulder was coming up stairs. He paused two steps from the top and she met him on the edge, eye to eye for once. "Four dollars," she said talking his face in her hands. His cheeks felt cool, but lips were as warm as always, soft and yielding and parting for her. He tasted like nuts, raisins and chocolate. "Have you been buying cookies from someone else?" "Never." Mulder smiled and kissed her once more before letting go, arm around her waist guiding her to the door. "I stopped by the bakery," he said rummaging through his pockets searching for keys. It took a second but he found them and when he dangled the ring in front of her, she noticed it oddly bare, a single key, no keychain. "What's this?" "For you," he said, letting go and leaning against the wall. Her eyes went wide. "Mulder, I can't." "Call it a spare," he smiled, "for as long as you'll need it." Looking at the key in his outstretched hand then up at him, she saw humour laced with sincerity. "Whenever you need me, use it." "What if I never give it back?" She asked and Mulder shrugged, giving her the same cheeky smile he passed on to his son. "God, you're serious." "I'm cold and I've got cookies, but the coffee's inside, so?" Scully took the key and slipped it into the lock, it turned smoothly. "Let's have coffee." "You've got the best ideas," he said and followed her in.

#generous donation #au #x files fanfic #msr fanfic #sweet nothings

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baronessblixen · 6 years

Note

your fic! kills me! in the best way possible of sorts. could you write something where scully watches mulder hold a baby?

Here’s some baby fic. There’s no specific timeline mentioned in the fic, but I see it in early season 7. Tagging @today-in-fic

She's told him. If she'ssure of one thing it's this; she told him her family was visiting this weekend.Yes, she told him. Repeatedly. Yet here he is, his look clueless, his handsburied in his pockets.

"I didn't know. I'msorry, Scully." Sure he is. He did know. She knows he knows and judging bythe way he shuffles his feet, he knows that she knows that he knows. So why isshe not angry, not really, and smiling at him instead? It might have somethingto do with the way he worries his lip or the way he's trying not to grin. Shesighs – just for show – and lets him inside.

"So where iseveryone?" Mulder asks as he peeks into the kitchen.

"Bill isn't here,Mulder."

"That's not whatI asked." But he relaxes visibly. Scully touches his back; it's a newthing, this need, this want, to touch him. She's touched him a million timesbefore with the precision of a doctor, as his partner. Then, a few times less,as his friend. This is even rarer, much newer. Touching him as a lover isrecent. So recent in fact that her family doesn't know yet and as soon as shehears her mother and sister-in-law, her hand falls away.

"Fox!"

"Hello Mrs.Scully and well, Mrs. Scully." With his charming smile he wins her motherover every time. Tara, too, from the looks of it. Scully would roll her eyes,but she's a lost cause herself. Only little Matthew is his mother's arms isblissfully ignorant.

"Dana didn't tellus you were going to drop in and say hello." Her mother eyes her curiouslyand Scully doesn't look at her, scared she can read everything she doesn't yetwant to confess in her eyes.

"That's my fault.I completely forgot you were going to be here. I apologize." Now shereally does roll her eyes. "I'll be leaving again soon. Work, youknow."

"But it'sSaturday." Tara says bouncing Matthew on her hip.

"It's not reallya 9 to 5 job." Mulder glances at Scully and she crosses her arms in frontof her chest. She hasn't given him a chance to tell her why he's here. She isnot sure she cares. Knowing Mulder it's not of the question that he has twoplane tickets in his leather jacket, ready to take them to Podunk where thelocal farmer has discovered murderous, genetically altered mice in his barn.She's seen the file.

"I'd invite youto spend the day with us," Scully's head turns to her mother, her eyeswide, "but it's only us girls today. Matthew is the only manallowed." Mulder nods and looks at the boy, who waves his saliva soakedfist at him as if in greeting.

"It's my ownfault. Dana told me you'd be here and I forgot," he winks at her and she feelswarmth spread from her face to her chest, "You go have a lovely day. Itwas nice to see you again."

"Mr.Mulder-" Tara begins and he stops her.

"Just Mulder,please."

"Just Mulder,could you hold Matthew for a moment now that you're here? Dana was going tolend me one of her sundresses. It might take more than one woman to get me intoit. And Matthew likes to- well, you see." She points at her son, who is onceagain chewing on his hand, distributing his spit generously.

"Su-sure."Mulder says, looks at his partner. Scully is surprised how uncertain his handsseem as Tara hands the baby over. Matthew doesn't mind as long as he has accessto his hand.

"Be nice toMulder, Matty baby." With that she and her mother disappear. Scully wantsto follow them, knows she is supposed to. Her eyes are glued to Mulder and hernephew, though. They're watching each other now, blinking curiously. Matthewhas stopped noshing on his fingers and instead uses one of them to touchMulder's cheek.

"Dana." Hermother calls and sounds as if she's far away. Mulder regards her as if hewasn't even aware she was still there.

"We'll be fine,Scully," he assures her with a big smile, "If not one of us willscream." Scully tries to smile, but fails. She turns away, walks towardsher bedroom where her mother and Tara are waiting for her. She fishes thesundress out of her closet; she's never worn it. An impulse buy one day whenshe was angry with Mulder for always dragging her to the darkest, most dreadfuland oftentimes cold as hell places. The cotton feels soft under her fingers andshe hands the garment to Tara. Her sister-in-law and her mother chatterhappily, but she can't listen. She finds herself drifting to the open door.Making sure the two women are not paying her any mind, she steps out of thebedroom quietly. Mulder's back is turned to her. He's gently moving about, asalways unable to be still. Matthew is fascinated by whatever Mulder is showingand telling him. She takes a step forward, an invisible force at work.

"The most importantthing to remember is that extraterrestrials are grey and not green. Can you sayit? Extraterrestrial?" The boy opens his mouth, jabbers a nonsensicalword. "Yeah, that's it, Matthew. What else can I tell you? How aboutbaseball, hm? Your aunt Dana, you know her, don't you? She's the best, I know. Ithought she didn't know about baseball. She even told me so and then what do Ifind out?" Matthew is so captivated by Mulder and his voice that he evenforgets to jam his fist into his mouth. Scully has to chuckle; it's the firsttime Mulder has had such an enthralled audience. Someone who doesn't questionhis every idea, like she does.

"All lies,Matthew." Mulder pretends to be enraged and Matthew's eyes grow wide."Your aunt Dana, she knows about baseball. She knows it all. Knows how toplay it, too. Maybe she'll teach you if your dad's sh- if he's not good at it.I hope I'm still around when you learn to play, buddy." Matthew touchesMulder's mouth, probably to understand how so many words can tumble out ofthere. Mulder kisses the boy's fingers and he squeals in delight.

"I didn't knowFox was good with kids." Scully startles when her mother's voice ticklesher ears. Her hands land on her shoulders, grounding her. Making it impossibleto run away.

"I didn't knoweither." She admits, her eyes still on the unlikely pair. As always,Mulder is oblivious to everything else around him. He's standing at the windownow, pointing at things and talking, talking, talking.

"Youdidn't?" Her mother sounds surprised and Scully realizes she's never seenMulder with a baby before. She remembers him with Emily. The few moments theyhad in her daughter's too short life. Of course he's good with children, shethinks. He's still one himself. But this. This is as new as their romantic relationship.She's never seen him like this. She's never allowed herself to see him likethis. Like a father. The thought makes her swallow hard, drives tears to hereyes.

"There are ways,Dana."

"Hm?"

"For you and Foxto have children."

"Mom, that'snot-"

"Shhh, I know youtwo are more than just partners."

"You do?"She turns to her mother now and she's smiling. Of course she knew. Her motheralways knows. She nods.

"You're bothglowing, honey. I'm happy for you, I really am. You know I love Fox."

"Gah! Gah!Gah!" Matthew has spotted them, blown their cover. He kicks his tiny legsand points at them. Listening to Mulder is exhausting, Scully understands.Mulder walks over to them and hands the baby to his grandmother. Scully gets awink from her mother and another moment alone with Mulder.

"Cute kid."Scully just stares at Mulder. At the smudge of spit on his cheek, at the wayhis eyes follow Matthew with a smile. "Smells like cookies. Do all babiessmell like cookies, Scully?" When he looks at her, she can't stop herself –and why should she? She grabs his face and kisses him. He gasps into her mouth,surprised, before he kisses her back.

"What was thatfor?" His voice is breathless as they break away. Scully wipes away thetraces of lipstick she left around his mouth. Though she knows she is no longerfooling anyone.

"I just felt likeit." It's only half the truth and she thinks, as she looks into Mulder'seyes as they crinkle in a happy smile, that maybe he knows it, too. Now is notthe moment to talk about babies. Theirs or anyone else's. But soon. Maybe.

#another thing written #there's so much fanfic today #sorry for putting out more myself #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic #Anonymous

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gilliansanderson · 6 years

Note

Anything from "School Night" for the DVD commentary meme?

o hai thanks! I do have a soft spot for that one. I started writing School Night as a spec fic when that fake casting of Emily Vandekamp started floating around before s11, which I’m still kinda sad that ended up being fake but cc probs wouldve ruined it anyway.

I rlly liked the idea that Emily and William grew up together both having these visions of their biological parent(s) and they become their own mini x files. I wanted to make their dynamic kinda similar to mulder and scully’s. Emily’s personality reflects that of her momma being a science nerd and a sceptic, wearing silk pyjamas and Jackson having some of the classic mulderisms and obsessing over cryptids, he kinda turned out exactly like I imagined him in the show lmao.

Their dialogue is lifted almost entirely from mine and my brother's conversations, I love the way siblings talk affectionately via insults. I had them reference scooby doo because we were obsessed with it growing up, and its kinda an x files for kids lol, any child of mulder’s would’ve eaten it up. I just really love writing teenagers for some reason, maybe cuz I was one 2 years ago lol. Their mannerisms are just so unpredictable and there’s this air of insecurity that they carry with them that I relate to.

I keep going back and forth on whether i should continue it as a semi-series because it was really fun to write lol. I had the idea that the kids had their own mini informant/gunman in Gibson Praise which leads them to mulder and scully. Though I also had another similar premise i sorta drafted where a lil william runs away to find his parents while they’re on the run and comes across all the significant places and people and monsters they encountered from the original run. I just might combine the two ideas eventually but i probs wont get around to it for a while.

oh and a lil bonus fact, its 11.59 in the fic as a reference to the Blondie song, because I love Blondie and that song was stuck in my head lmao

#hablando #god that was long sorry lmao #ask game #myownsuperintendent

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greekowl87 · 6 years

Text

Fic: False Flags Redux 13/14

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) | AO3

Near the end. I’m still writing the last chapter but I finally got this one all edited. As always, a massive thanks to @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm (thanks for talking this chapter out with me) and @scully-loves-ruthie for the encouragement for making this possible.

Tagging @today-in-fic

13/13

Holiday Inn By The Airport

Norfolk, Virginia

December 22, 1998

Scully could not sleep. Nothing in the world could let her sleep. There were too many thoughts swimming through her head, too many memories, past and present, hopes for the future, trying to stay grounded in the moment. Halfway through the night, Mulder started twisting and turning beside her in the midst of a nightmare and that had woken her up. Unknowing what to do (or maybe it was a past life) she tried to comfort him. Pulling his head into her lap, she ran her hands up and down his chest soothingly, not know what else what to do.

“Ssshhh,” she soothed, “it’s just a dream.”

Her fingers raked through his hair as she bent over and peppered him with soft kisses.

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia

February 7, 1865

Scully was pregnant. Very pregnant. By her calculations, she was easily six or seven months along. Her petite frame made it difficult not to notice. It made it difficult to do anything. But at night’s, although rare, there were moments where she still could do something, especially when he had nightmares at night. But the nightmares were not a new thing, just rare. She remembered him having them the first time they left Norfolk. It was a battle he could not remember. But now, it was something else. He kept muttering her name, his voice growing in panic. The last thing she wanted was to be disturbed. He was thrashing now and uncertainty, she placed her hands on either side of his face on his cheeks, whispering his name. His eyes fluttered open at the mere mention of her voice. His eyes had tears in them when they opened and he just held her tightly.

. . . .

Holiday Inn at the Airport

Norfolk, Virginia

December 22, 1998

“Mulder!” His hazel eyes were wild as they focused on her face. He tentatively reached out, as if unsure, as she leaned over him caressing his cheek. He closed his eyes in relief, her soft hands cradling his face and stroking his cheek soothingly. She bowed and rested her head gently against his. “Are you okay? You were having a nightmare.”

He let a breath out he had been holding unknowingly. She caressed his face tenderly, emotions from the past raged with the current ones. Hesitantly, she kissed her brow, then his cheeks. He blinked with uncertainty. “Is this a dream?”

“No.”

“What year is it, Scully?”

Scully continued to stroke his cheek as he tried to focus his eyes just on her. He flinched unconsciously but then relaxed as she kissed his cheeks gingerly, her soft touch grounding him into the present moment. “What year do you think it is?”

“I don’t know. I just dreamed--” Mulder winced, cringing, and curled around Scully’s body. “I can’t remember. The Civil War? Now? Earlier? I don’t know, Scully.”

“It’s 1998.”

He was shaking and Scully instantly lay down to let Mulder tangle himself about her, using her as an anchor to the present, as something physical and corporeal to hold onto. He clung to her desperately as if time itself was threatening to split them apart. Scully turned to face him in his web of limbs and continued to stroke his face soothingly. “Look at me,” she urged in a whisper. “Mulder, look at me.”

Hazy hazel eyes tracked her soulful blue ones. “I can’t--I don’t know what time it is. I can’t protect you. I always failed you. In every life, Scully. You’re always taken from me,” he sobbed into her chest. “I can never save you.”

“You have,” she whispered urgently into his hair. “This life. Now. You never gave up hope after my abduction. You found me in Antarctica.”

“I wanted too. I wanted too so badly, Scully.”

“But you didn’t. My cancer. You were the only who fought for my cure. Even after everyone gave up on me, you never did. Last summer. Antarctica. Who else would have dropped everything to travel to the ends of the world with an iffy vaccine? You’ve saved me, Mulder, more times than I can count. In this life. Right now. I’m not going anywhere.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. “I dreamed I held you in my arms dying,” he murmured. “It wasn't the Civil War like the most recent memories have been.” He took a deep breath, trying to center himself and focus on Scully. His hands traced her body reverently, trying to memorize every curve. “We were speaking French I think.” He sighed, lingering around the joint where her shoulder met her arm. “There was something. Here. ”

Scully sighed softly, peppering him with kisses. “The Black Death,” she murmured, recognizing the description.

He nodded. “We've been connected together for centuries, Scully. You and me. Two souls.” He took a deep breath and turned into her. “Love you,” he breathed. “Love you, Scully.”

Scully did not know what to do with herself. All she could remember was the Civil War. Was he remembering other times? Why couldn’t she? There was so much emotion running through her. It was not lust. No. It was born out of centuries of coexistence. Neither existed without the other. She sighed and rubbed his arm and pulled him into her lap. “Love you too. Yin and yang.”

“Didn't think you would go all Eastern Mystic on me, Scully,” he chuckled. “I'm sorry to wake you up. What time is it?”

“Only two a.m,” she murmured. “It's okay.”

“You can only remember the Civil War.”

She nodded.

“I keep--” Mulder sighed, relaxing against her. “I keep getting flashbacks. I don't know what to believe anymore, Scully. It's like a million different images running through my head.”

“I know what you mean. Do you know what helped me during this past week?”

He shook his head against her. “It was you,” she murmured, raking her fingers through his short hair. “It was always you, Mulder. My constant. My one in five billion. My touchstone.”

“Where have I heard you say that before?”

“Maybe in another life,” she teased.

“I like it.” He smiled and reached out to caress her cheek lovingly. “I can’t get over it,” he began. He reached his hand up to rest of on the back of her neck. He could feel the chip under the slightly raised skin. She got the hint and bent forward to kiss him soundly. “How we arrived at this point. You.”

“Well, you can look at it one of two ways,” she said. “Either we’re soulmates or I have been eternally damned to keep your ass out of trouble.”

“I think a bit of both.” He chuckled softly. “How have I managed so long without you,” he teased. “Then you walk into the basement all proud and stubborn, and now…”

“Must have been luck.” She chuckled.

“Must have been fate,” he correctly softly as his fingers caressed the back of her neck affectionately. “Or we are just really lucky.”

“After all this, Mulder,” she spoke softly, her blue eyes never leaving him, “I want to go somewhere just for the weekend.”

“And do what?”

“I have memories of us being happy, Mulder. Of us together and we were going to be a family,” Scully mused. “Last year back in San Diego, when we found Emily...I was so hopeful, Mulder. I know I pinned all my hopes on hat adoption and I know she was not meant to be. But it was like to imagine it, you know?” She smiled as she let her fingers linger in his spiky hair. “Can I tell you a little confession, Mulder? When I first saw you with Emily, making the potato head face, I let myself indulge in the thought, that if somehow, by some miracle the adoption was to going through--” Her voice was caught and Mulder could sense her hesitation.

“Go ahead, Scully.”

She smiled to herself. “It seems silly and not at the same time,” she murmured, her eyes focusing on a part of his chest before gathering her thoughts. “When I saw you with Emily, and call me selfish, but I thought the three of us could be a little family. I, uh, toyed with the idea. I mean, we’re practically inseparable.”

“We almost were,” he murmured. “Are. Come lay back down.”

“No, no. I’m okay, Mulder. I like this actually.” She lazily played with hair and gave him a light kiss. “Like I said, I’ve also wanted to just play with your hair. I like the shorter, spiky hair you have been favoring recently.”

“If only we had realized it sooner, huh,” he teased. “Think of all the late night calls that could have been avoided if you sat like this with me on my couch.”

Scully smiled. “But like I said, we were happy in that life. I want to be happy in this life, even with my infertility. I have you. Do you feel any different?”

“Like you told me that night, I’m myself all at once.”

“After this,” she murmured, “I want to go somewhere with you, where we can fully explore this new thing between us and never let you go.” She grinned and kissed him again. “Or maybe now.”

“We still have time.”

“I still hate you want me to stay behind on this, Mulder.”

She was already in the process of flipping him on his back and straddling his hips. He slowed her as he placed his hands confidently on her hips and rubbed them affectionately. “Ever since that night, Scully, I can recall it just like you can,” he told her softly.

“Like your own memories.”

“They are our memories.” He nodded. “It kind of takes the fun of out exploring this new dynamic of our relationship though.” His hands palmed under her shirt grazing the smoothness of her warm skin. “I mean I know you love it when I do this.”

He lurched forward and kissed her solar plexus sensually and trailed it up her sternum. Scully gripped his shoulders tightly in response, digging her nails into his skin. For some reason, she never experienced kisses in that particular spot so extensively. Mulder’s hands took off her pajama top and smiled lustfully. “How the hell did you know how to do that?”

He smiled, tapping his temple. “I just do, Scully. That’s what I mean, I know how to elicit certain reactions from you as you can with me. The first time certainly showed that.”

“So where’s the fun in that,” she murmured, kissing him again.

“We can cut right to the chase.”

Scully grinned and raked her hands through his hair and arched her neck backward as Mulder trailed a series of sensual kisses down her neck and to her sternum. She opened her eyes and in a moment, caught the yellow envelope with the rings. She wondered, at that moment, whose life she was living? Was she caught in the past? Where had her present sense of self-done with their sense of professionalism and propriety? Or maybe, just for once, she truly was all of her self and this was how it was supposed to be.

“Scully, you still with me,” he asked, breaking away. She looked down at the man she held in her arms. She nodded shortly. “We’ll figure out something.”

“I wasn’t thinking that.”

“We can stop if you want.” Scully paused and looked down at him. “Scully, talk to me.”

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead gently against his. “What if this really isn’t me, Mulder? I mean, it’s me but not. I mean--” She sighed, exasperated. “I just don’t know, Mulder.” He kissed her gently and detangled her from his lap. Scully gazed at him forlornly and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, Mulder. I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Talk to me.”

He sat next to her on the edge of the bed and hesitated to do anything else. Reluctantly, he summoned up the courage to gently grasp her hand, giving it a light squeeze. Scully picked up the envelope and held it between them. “What are we, Mulder?”

“What do you mean what are we?”

She dropped the rings back into her hand and showed it to him. “We remember another life, Mulder. We were married. We were happy.”

“We were,” he echoed.

“And in this life...everything changed in a week because we let it. What about the work?”

“Our work.” She was silent, unsure how to reply to that correction. “I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing,” he hesitated. What was she saying? “Scully, what are you not telling me?”

“What if we are only acting this way because it is...imposed on us? Like our past selves are controlling our present bodies. What if you only feel like this because of the memories? What happens if it isn’t us?”

“Scully,” he murmured, taking a deep breath. “Last summer in the hallway, before the bee, everything I said...it was me. It was all me and I meant every word. You make me whole, Scully. And it’s not just your science, it’s you, all of you.” He framed her face in his hands and took a deep breath. “And I never had a chance to finish what I started.”

Her breath was caught in her chest as she recalled the tense atmosphere from last summer and then he kissed her, properly, like he should have had the first time. But it was so much more. So much more. He was the first to break away reluctantly. She closed her eyes and rested his head against hers.

“Everything we have, we created,” he said, his voice becoming lost in memories of past and present. “And we have a future.” He took a deep breath. “Promise me you stay here this morning while I go in with the task force.” She broke away, a protest about to rise upon her lips. “Scully, please, just for once, please, I’m begging you to do this for me. I can’t risk… I can’t…I can’t relieve that again.”

Scully sighed and closed her eyes, sighing. He knew how she felt about this but they both knew how each other felt it. Silently, just this once, she consented. “Okay, okay,” she conceded, nodding slightly. “Just this once. But know, I am not very happy about this.”

“I know. I’ll think of something to tell Benson but I will feel better knowing your here and Buckley won’t be able to get to you. We both know what he wants, Scully.”

Sighing, she nodded. “I know.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

She smiled. “I’m planning on it.”

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia

February 23, 1865

Scully awoke to the chilly morning air alone in her bed with an achy back and a pillow between her legs. She groggily spied a folded piece of paper on her nightstand. Risking the chilly morning air and grabbed the note and brought it to her face while she still stayed in her warm cocoon of blankets.

‘S.- Happy birthday, my love and I guess happy three year anniversary too. Had to run with Walter up to the market concerning new wheels for the wagon. Be home before noon. Sharon is already expecting you to sleep in late. Take advantage of it. See you when I get back. All my love. -M.’

She folded the note to her chest and gazed sleepily out the window seeing the morning’s first light break. She smiled to herself and felt the unborn baby kick. She closed her eyes, shushing her baby, and dreamed of a bright future full of New England summers, her, Mulder, and a happy little girl (or boy!) dangling in between their hands.

. . . .

Walter glanced at Mulder as he carefully maneuvered the wagon through the muddy road. He could not help but notice how Mulder just kept smiling in the cold morning air and even as it began to flurry. “What are you smiling about, William?” Skinner asked.

“I, uh,” he smiled, despite himself, “it’s Scully...Katherine’s birthday today and it also marks three years since we’ve, uh, met.”

“Became engaged you mean,” Skinner corrected, trying to keep Mulder’s story straight.

“Uh, yeah. But three years and it’s her birthday.”

Walter smiled. “Are you getting excited about the baby, William?”

“Truth is,” Mulder murmured, smiling and gazing down at his feet briefly in embarrassment, “the prospect is a little terrifying.”

“Well, one’s first child is always a little daunting.”

“This isn’t the first time, I uh, been through this. I was married before. Before Scully--I mean Katherine and I met, I was a widower. My wife has passed some seven years back in childbirth, along with the child. I fear for her. She is so small and I’ve heard things...how horrible things can go wrong.”

Skinner nodded in understanding. “Sharon and I, we’ve tried for years but we were never able to fully conceive,” Walter began. “Each miscarriage and stillbirth that she had, it should have killed her,

but she didn’t die. I am blessed every single day with her.”

Mulder nodded empathetically. Over the past few years, his view on the world had changed and he had developed a more positive outlook about life and even let himself dream about the future with his wife and soon to be child. He smiled in agreement. “I wanted to get her something special for today,” he said, “I’m just not sure what I can do.”

“I know just the shop,” Walter smiled. “We can get it while the wagon is getting repaired.”

. . . .

Virginia Beach, Virginia

December 22, 1998

Scully lips still tingled from their kiss earlier that morning as she changed into her jeans and one of her tee shirts and jackets to run down to the local 7-11 to grab her and Mulder coffee that morning before he left to join the rest of the task force at the branch office. Her mind kept replaying her conversation with Mulder over and over again, her mind flashing back and forth between past and present. Getting out of the car, she rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe away the lack of sleep and the doubt she had resting on the back of her mind. Unbeknownst to her there was someone watching her.

. . . .

I’m baaack. That’s my best Jack Nicholson impression. I suppose I could add that to my repertoire.

I disappeared for awhile and decided to let the work speak for itself. I wonder if they got my message. Hopefully, you did. When the FBI decided to let my profile go public. That made things harder but not impossible. I am always up for a challenge. The information age makes it more challenging. The FBI hunted me back in the 1920s, I even got a mugshot and everything. I looked myself up once I realized who I was. I was an old ugly bastard. I was a fat chubby son of a bitch who liked to strangle people. Still, like the strangling but ain't fat. Now I’m I look like everyone else and that has been to my advantage. But I still can’t get past it. How the fuck do they look the same? Even have the same names?

I tried looking it up once. I read things about people changing sexes, looks, complete personalities. Hell, I’m living proof of it. Except when you begin to remember, you change out your personalities, your traits, while all at the same time still being you. I used to be a good guy in one life then I shot my cheating wife. I was upset sure but the bitch deserved it. Then the roaring 1920s. Then I learned to murder. Funny thing was I have enjoyed it. More so. I loved it. I’m sure I’ve told you that already. Or you could have it guessed it.

But I’ve been biding my time and waiting, underground, watching from the shadows. With help. There was a woman who came to me after I was first arrested, gave me a letter and that is what sparked all the memories and I was able to be me, all of me. She is still feeding me information, helping me stay off the FBI’s radar but I have my moment and I see it. Now it’s my time.

. . . .

Holiday Inn by the Airport

Norfolk, Virginia

December 22, 1998

Mulder yawned and checked his black Omega watch, checking the time. It was near six a.m. and Scully should have been back by now. A growing concern was gnawing at the back of his mind. Something was wrong, something was wrong with Scully. He pulled on a quick pair of jeans, his jacket, badge, and service weapon. He hurried downstairs to the front desk. The attendant forced a tired smile. “Good morning, sir,” he greeted, “how can I help you?”

Panic was racing through his mind. “Did you see the red-hair woman that I have been with come back this morning?” he stammered.

The other man shook his head. “No, sir but she asked about where to get some coffee. I directed her to a 7-11 next door.”

Mulder’s photographic memory was already formulating a route and was trying to remember if she had taken the car. No. No. Their rental keys had been in her room. She walked. Without another word, he jogged the short distance to the convenience store and on the ground, he saw the spilled coffee cups, stains of struggle, and glittering on the concrete from the artificial light of the store, was a small golden cross on a broken chain.

. . . .

Unknown Location

December 22, 1998

Memories danced before her eyes. She could see Mulder’s smiling face as her skin recalled his tantalizing touches and her heart tried to continue to beat with dreams of their future. But as her eyes opened, she was greeted to darkness and the familiar sensation of being bound with ropes tightly binding her wrists against something, a pipe may be, and familiar stiff stickiness of duct tape placed across her mouth. What a sad and pathetic thought she knew the sensation of being bound and gagged by a crazed madman. As she opened her eyes to be greeted by darkness.

Okay, Dana, first things first, Scully thought, observe, record, hypothesize, execute. The scientific method had served her well in the past.

She forced herself to sit upright. The first thing she was bound at the wrists but not to any pipes or furniture but they were tied behind her back.Progress. Could she stand? Her legs hurt but she shuffled them against the concrete floor. Okay. She could move, hands were bound, and concrete floor. A factory of some kind? A basement? Scully rolled awkwardly to the wall and somehow sat herself up. Getting to her feet would be more difficult. Besides, without any light, she was blind.

Then she heard someone whistling. The tune was familiar. She had heard it such a long time again. “Come where my love lies dreaming,” Scully mumbled, surprised. She knew that song. How--didn't matter. She knew that whistling. “Shit.”

The door unlocked and she squinted her eyes at the sudden blinding light. “Dana, dear, my darling wife. I’m so glad you’re awake.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Over a century and I see your manners have not improved.” She tried to get up. “And we aren’t married. Till death do us part. We died. We’re not married.”

“We are two souls reborn, Dana.” Buckley smiled indulgently and walked into her cell. “I see you're just as saucy as ever.”

“What do you want?”

“What I wanted last time,” he shrugged. “I want what’s mine. I want my wife. The Lieutenant broke his word to me. I gave him one job, one job, Dana and that was to make sure you stay out of trouble. But you had to run off, with him no less.”

Scully found it weird that she was conversing with him as if it was 1865 again but she was still herself, all at once. She was Dana Scully, the woman who had lived two lifetimes (that she was aware of) and her soul was still the same. But she also had the knowledge of a doctor and an FBI agent at her disposal as well. “What did you expect me to do? The city was going to be invaded. I had to run.”

“Don’t think I didn’t know about your little spying you did with the Lieutenant, Dana,” he continued, oblivious to her reply. “I caught your correspondence.”

“Then why didn’t you kill me then?”

“I hoped you would come to your senses but I see you lost them. But now, things are different.” He tapped his head. “See, I didn’t remember you until I saw you last year. Not fully. I dreamed of you, of our wedding.” He smiled. “You were so beautiful that day.”

“Shut up,” she snapped.

“I’m a bit younger and better looking back then, don’t you think?” Buckley kneeled down and front of her, grabbed her shirt, and forced her into a violent kiss. Scully kept her self from gagging and bit his lower lip, hard, drawing blood and Buckley threw her back against the concrete wall. He laughed mockingly and rubbed his bloody lip. “Seems like you’ve only gotten more feisty with age. Oh, what fun we’ll have my beautiful, Dana, what fun.”

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia

March 18, 1865

The early spring day was warm as they walked along the sandy banks of the York River, Mulder lagging behind slightly to watch his wife waddle as she kept her hands on either side of her enlarged abdomen for balance. He smiled. “Any day now, right?”

“About a month, give or take? You ready to meet your little girl?”

“So the little one is a girl today?”

“For the time being,” she teased. “How did you convince Walter to let you have the day off?”

“My pregnant wife needed some pampering,” he replied, “and I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

That was another thing she loved about Mulder. He loved her for just being her. He encouraged her to read and stretch her intellectual muscles. He talked about when they did reach Martha’s Vineyard, that if she wanted, they could move inland and find a place where she could attend university if she desired it. Whatever she wanted. To him, she was his equal, and he treated her as such. She just loved him even more.

“You truly are something else, Mulder.” She looked about the area. “How is this?”

“Whatever is my queen’s command.”

“Here.”

Her smiled made him feel as if he could fly. Mulder unrolled the blanket that they had brought with him and laid it over the sand. He unslung the sack of their lunch and anchored it to the top of the blanket. There was no wind. It was warm. The sun was shining with no clouds in the sky. There was still a light Union army presence but more than anything, was a comfort, knowing that despite the war, the victor’s presence ensured peace.

Mulder set the blanket out and sat on top of it. Scully smiled indulgently at her husband held out her hand. “Oh, my apologies, my queen.”

He grasped her hand warmly and guided her to his lap. She cried out in surprise and her hand immediately went to her stomach. “Oh!”

“What?” he asked in alarm. “Is it the baby?”

“Yes, it’s the baby, but I’m just surprised,” she told him.

Quickly she grabbed his other hand and held it over her stomach. He felt their unborn baby kicking against her. She smiled at Mulder as he smiled at her adoringly. “Not much longer now, huh?”

“Pretty soon, you’re gonna be a daddy.”

“I still can’t believe it.”

He arched his head up to kiss her soundly. Scully hugged him to her breast and reflected lazily, that three years ago, she would have never imagined this. Happy, genuinely happy

. . . .

Scully pressed her face into Mulder’s chest as he tried to sooth her despite their restraints. “We’re going to be okay. We’ll be fine.” He took a moment to look up and saw his old captain, Franklin Buchan, gaunt, pale, and struggling with a cane, but looking pissed off as hell with that old service revolver hanging off his side. Somehow, he also saw the man that had supposedly been tracking them since they left Norfolk, Alex Krycek. Scully wasn’t crying; she would never let them see her weakness but she was scared. Her hands kept going to their unborn child as much as she could.

Scully had tears in her eyes as she closed her eyes and murmured in a weak voice, “I’m scared, Mulder.”

His heart pulled in his chest. “I know, Scully,” he whispered, just for her. “I know, angel but now is it not the time.” He nuzzled her forehead. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I know,” she murmured. Her heart was hammering in her chest. “He’s going to kill us.”

“Don’t say that, Scully.”

“I know him, Mulder.” He took a deep breath and sighed as she closed her eyes. “Mulder?”

“Hmmm?”

She looked at him questioningly and he pulled her close to his chest as much as he could with their bindings. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. “Mulder, pray with me,” she murmured just for him. “Please.”

Mulder nodded softly and bowed his head. She did the same, resting her head against his. “Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum,” she began softly.

. . . .

Norfolk, Virginia

December 22, 1998

This can’t be happening. Not again. Not like this. Not this time. How come Scully always got the short end of things?

Mulder stood against the wall outside of the convenience store watching a combination of feds and local police rove the crime scene. The good news is that they had positively identified Buckley as the one who had kidnapped Scully, but that where the trail ran cold. After all, aside from the bodies, there had been no sign of Buckley since his escape and none of this helped Mulder’s racing fear. He remembered the helplessness he felt with her abduction, how late he had been. If only he could have gotten there a few seconds earlier. Then Scully could have had her life back. She would have never had to experience cancer. She would still be able to have children. Maybe Emily would have lived a happier life instead of dying as a hybrid, a fate no little girl deserved. He could have saved her.

Mulder was going to find Scully. He was not going to let anything happen to her again. Not in this life.

From the distance, Agent Fowley noticed the deep frown settled across Mulder’s brow. She looked at ASAC Benson, who was distracted and currently talking to some of the forensic techs at the moment. Taking this moment, she walked towards Mulder, catching him off guard. “Fox,” she started softly, “are you okay?”

Mulder blinked, coming out of his thoughts and the thick fog of his insecurities. “How do you think I am, Diana?” he growled. Sighed, he caught himself, curbed his anger, took a deep breath, and answered. “I don’t know how I should feel. I can’t...I can’t let my mind go there. After seeing those bodies over the past week, his work, I hope…” He swallowed. “I know we’ll find her.”

“Why do you think he took her?” Mulder was silent. Why had Diana said he? Why did she automatically assume it was Buckley but she pushed further. “Fox, I know you better than you think I do. I know it has to do with past lives and I know you believe it.”

“He’s just crazy and delusional,” he muttered in a vain attempt to dismiss her. Where was Diana going with this? What was she implying? “Why do you say that?”

“I’m not dumb. All the victims have some similarity to Agent Scully. Everyone sees it except you, or at least you’re misleading Benson. I know you, Fox.”

He scoffed angrily. Of course, he saw it. Mulder remembered it. He knew. But Diana mistook it for disbelief, but she was right. It was because of a past life he shared too. But he was not about to let Diana know that. His loyalty was to Scully and Scully alone. What changed in Mulder? It was not so long ago he was accused Scully of jealousy when it came to Diana. But now, a part of him knew that Diana should not be trusted. Why? What caused it? The past week’s astounding revelations of him and Scully, because they were actually soulmates? He had to play it safe and push his theories aside.

“When we met with him after his sentencing,” Mulder began carefully, “he called Scully ‘Dana.’”

“His journals mention a woman, a wife that was taken. It started right after he was arrested.”

He had read that too.

“By a man.”

“I’ve read his journals,” he snapped angrily. “I know what he thinks and I’ve seen what he is capable of. You constant pandering is not going to help me find her!”

Mulder pushed off the wall to make his way towards the ASAC as he chatted with the local detectives. Diana would not be so easily dismissed. She grabbed Mulder’s forearm like a claw. Mulder’s hazel eyes narrowed dangerously. “Think about what you’re about to do, Fox,” she purred menacingly.

All of Scully’s warnings came back in an instant. It had almost destroyed their partnership. Even then, ever since they were reassigned to the bullpen, their partnership was fraught with difficulty. He had dismissed her but in the past week, everything had changed. Diana was no friend to him or Scully.

Everything had changed in the past week. A whole lifetime of change.

Scully. His partner. His wife? His friend. His lover? The mother of his child? His partner. His soulmate. Things were complicated between them, they had always been difficult. Extremely complicated. But he loved Scully. He did not know when he fell in love with her, at this point, he felt he was repeating myself, but he loved Scully. Diana had nothing on her but a passing fix during the dark time of his life, in both lives. Scully changed that; she’d changed everything. And now, Mulder could not let anything happen to her. Not after all this. Not after what they had just rediscovered between them.

“I know what I am about to do,” he hissed, his voice talking on a coldness honed from centuries’ worth of love. “I’m going to get Scully back.”

Mulder pushed past his ex-wife, feeling liberated and empowered at the same time. He strove towards the ASAC with a plan already forming in his mind.

. . . .

Unknown Location

December 22, 1998

It was a waiting game. Scully was still discreetly trying to find any weaknesses in her restraints but so far, no avail, but she still kept Buckley talking, which was a good thing. At the very least, she could get some answers. The past blended with the present as the mannerisms of the old sea captain she had called her husband in the 19th century made itself known. Buckley paced a lot, often limping and favoring the leg which he had been shot in back in 1862. He kept swirling a glass of something, whiskey from the smell of it. He looked unstable and his voice kept slipping in between a New Yorker, a slight southern accent, and the neutral American accent he had when she and Mulder first arrested him. But it was like multiple personalities were battling it out for dominance.

“How did you realize who I was, Franklin,” Scully began, adjust her arms.

Buckley smiled. “Franklin. Are you having trouble keeping everything straight too, Dana? I always had trouble. Ever since the dreams began when the woman brought me the letter and then I remembered. I remember agreeing to marry you with your father, and our wedding. Wasn’t that such a grand day?” Scully did not answer and Buckley continued without a second thought to her. “Then I remembered the dinner party and the Lieutenant.”

“It was my birthday and you left me there, ignored.”

“Not like you didn’t deserve it, Dana,” Buckley dismissed with a wave of his hand. “You ran off like a whore and gave him a child! Not me but him!”

“You had nine children already! You made my life miserable!”

“You’re place was in the house! It still is. You weren’t supposed to have your own thoughts or dreams. You belonged to me!” he screamed. “You always belonged to me!”

Scully quieted, her thoughts retreating to a different time very much like this one.

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia

March 18, 1865

Mulder had long ago managed to rid them of their restraints but they could not free themselves from the locked shed that they now found themselves in. It must have been the evening because the air had grown colder. He had taken off his jacket and given it to Scully and had pulled her close in a weak effort to keep her warm. In a rare moment of weakness, she cried, doing her best to silence her weak sobs into Mulder’s chest as he held them. He tried to find his voice to bring some comfort to his wife, the woman that had brought him to life again but he couldn’t. He could not bring Scully any hope when he did not have any himself. In the distance, he could hear them, the captain and Krychek. There was another voice too that he did not recognize but he could also smell the stench of cigarettes. She groaned in surprise before hushing their unborn child softly as felt strong kicking against her stomach. Mulder felt her choke a sob and whisper, “We’re not going to get away, are we?”

. . . .

Unknown Location

December 22, 1998

Scully had been freed from her restraints hours ago and placed in a locked room of some kind. She took stock of her scenery. A small bathroom with a sink and toilet, a small cot in the corner with a pillow and a scratchy wool blanket, bland walls and small bookcase full of old books. That could come in handy later on. Even then, it was clear that Buckley planned to keep her alive for the moment. But the entire situation mirrored her predicament back in 1865. But this time, she was going to make it. She was determined too. He had not beaten her or harmed her in any way beyond the rope burns from her initial restraint. Clearly, he was laying a trap to trap to try and draw Mulder out but would he even know where to start? Would Mulder realize that it was a trap to begin with?

“Dana,” he crooned from beyond the locked door, knocking on it lightly. “Dana, dear, can I get you anything?”

“A gun so I can blow out your brains,” she hissed, kicking the heavy door. “Fucking bastard. You weren’t content killing me the first time around so you are trying to do it again?”

“I didn’t mean to kill you last time, Dana!” Buckley’s voice weighed heavily with desperation. She heard him shuffled on the other side of the door. “I meant only to scare you. I wanted to kill the Lieutenant. Never you, my sweet angel. I don’t know how my pistol went off. It was an accident. ” Scully shivered as he called her that. “You and the babe, I would have taken back without a moment’s hesitation. It is not your fault you had such grandiose ideas. Hysteria was and still is a common ailment many women suffer. You still do.” He guffawed, sounding strange. “And you a doctor now! Graduated the University of Maryland and became a doctor at John Hopkins! My Dana! But you’re head’s still in the clouds. I can still make a proper wife out of you, Dana.”

Scully’s mind was racing. There were so many things that her mind was racing and connecting that her logic could not keep up. How did he know she was a doctor? He would’ve known she had performed the autopsies. That would have come up at the trial. But how did he know personal information where she received her degrees from? That didn’t make sense. But something else stuck out like a heavy blow to her gut.

“What do you mean that you would welcome me and my child with open arms?” she hissed. She withdrew suddenly from the door in disgust, feeling her body was suddenly being invaded again just like when she had been abducted. Emily flashed before her eyes, the daughter she never knew. Mulder. Mulder smiling at her in bed just less than a few nights ago after their first coupling in this life. “You killed Mulder, me, and my child!”

“It was an accident,” he cried in a hoarse whisper. “I...I...I didn’t mean for my sidearm to go off. You have to believe me. All I wanted was a family with you.”

“Your nine children weren’t enough?” she spat.

“I just wanted a family with you too. For seven years, I thought there was something wrong with you. I thought that was why you couldn’t have children and then I find you pregnant with the Lieutenant’s child.”

“Do you ever consider you could have been impenitent?” She closed her eyes, her mind flashing between present and past, past and present. Mulder, she thought dizzyingly. “So you kidnap me in this life? How did you even know where to find me?”

“Didn’t you appreciate my art, Dana? I did all that for you. You marvel at the mysteries of the dead now, don’t you? I’m an artist who created for my muse, my beautiful wife! I did it all for you. Could you not tell the symbolism of each body? I knew you were reclaiming your memory over the past week. I knew it the moment you screamed at me in the jail cell. I just spurned it along.”

Scully felt bile rising up in her throat angrily and she bawled her fists.“I am not your wife,” she spat. She kicked the door. “Not in that life and certainly not in this life.”

She watched the heavy door wearily, her body tensing, waiting for him to come through the door and attack. But all she saw was the door shake violently that she felt reverberate through her spine. “Fine! If I have to kill the Lieutenant again, I will. You will be my wife, Dana and we’ll finally have that family which I promised you all those years ago!” he screamed. The voice of a madman.

Scully lowered her gaze to the concrete ground, hearing his heavy footfalls stalk away, and closed her eyes. Her index finger and thumb tightly squeezed the tiny golden cross against her throat as she began to pray. “Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum,” she began softly.

. . . .

FBI Field Office

Norfolk, Virginia

December 22, 1998

Mulder was tense, feeling like he was crawling out of his skin. A churning storm of emotions was raging in him. The same anger and felt the first time Scully was taken from him. Scully being in danger. His partner is in danger. His soulmate needing him. They had not crossed a century and a half to lose each once again at the hands of some madman. No. No. No. But no one would let near the task force. He was too wild, too much of a risk. ASAC Benson tried to calm Mulder and failed miserably so now they just tolerated his presence as he stalked around the field office like some caged animal ready to strike. No one was doing anything useful anyway.

Ah, fuck. Think, Mulder, think!

His mind raked through memories, years and years of memory from the 19th and 20th centuries, all of which he had lived. He suddenly remembered her blue eyes shining in the lamplight, the blue rosary...the barracks. Porst moth. The navy yard. It was a long shot but the profiler side of his brain knew where it was.

Mulder had left the crime scene quickly, opting to go start to the field office then back to the hotel room. He was dressed in jeans, a black tee shirt, and his leather jacket. All he could do was remember his phone, badge, and gun. He padded his pocket, trying to remember where he stuck his phone he felt something else. He reached into the pocket and felt the rough texture of the yellow envelope that he knew the rings were in. Discreetly he dropped the heavy, worn silver rings into his hand. The cool metal was heavy and comforting in his palm. His memories were wisps caught in the wind as he heard her laughter and their wedding kiss. He placed the larger of the two bands on his ring finger, feeling a small little piece restored to him.

Hold on, Scully, he thought grimly, hold on.

. . . .

A flashback. A memory.

“Being pregnant becomes you, Scully.”

“Are you saying I look good fat, Mulder?”

“I just want to have a lot of babies with my beautiful wife.” He kissed her softly, his lips lingering on her shoulder. “I love you.”

She chuckled. “Three years,” she whispered lovingly, “ and I wouldn’t change a thing. Nothing, Mulder. I love you too.”

. . . .

Mulder knew where Scully was, he was sure of it, but the question was how to convince everyone else. Quietly he pocketed the silver rings, padding the pocket of his jeans to make sure he knew they were still there. The beauty of new memories he mused. Buckley had been playing with them the entire time, he was certain.The bodies and lastly, the location. Discreetly he walked to a large map sitting on the wall to the surrounding area of Hampton Roads. His finger traced from Lambert’s Point in Norfolk and south down the Elizabeth River, his mind’s eye recalling the 19th century map he remembered seeing when he was stationed on the CSS Virginia, finally stopping in between the South Norfolk and Portsmouth, and to the left of his index finger was a small print of Norfolk Naval Shipyard, which, once upon time, was the Gosport Navy Yard. Back to where it would all begin.

Mulder’s mind was already working overtime. A navy yard would be perfect. Warehouses, those empty shipping containers, construction areas, ships being outfitted...it was all the perfect place to hide but how to pursue it? What to do? He had nothing else to go on other than his gut instinct. There had been very little clues to Buckley’s actual whereabouts. But, he had nothing else to go on. Scully did not have time.

“Sir,” Mulder called, “have you considered the shipyards?” ASAC Benson wearily looked up at Mulder standing by the map as his finger incessantly on the map. “In Portsmouth?”

“He’s not there, Mulder,” Benson recalled. “All the evidence we have points to the peninsula. We might check Newport News Shipbuilding but finding Agent Scully is like trying to find a needle in a haystack.” Mulder grew visibly angry and he held up his hand. “Want don’t go back to your hotel and try and get some sleep, Mulder. There is nothing you can do.”

Mulder’s shoulders crumpled in frustration and he grew silent. Diana noticed Mulder and came to his side in a weak attempt at comfort. “I’ll walk you to your car, Fox,” she said gently, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll drive you back.”

He jerked his shoulder away as if her touch had burned him. “Get away from me,” he seethed. “I’ll take care of this myself.”

“Fox,” Diana called weakly.

“Agent Fowley, let him go,” Benson said. He sighed, watching the angry profiler stalk off. “Let him go. I need your attention elsewhere. Have you ever had something to your partner? It’s the most devasting thing in the world. Let the man go.”

Diana’s bird like face scrunched in frustration. If only he cared about her like that, like he used to. She had hoped that her plan would bring them back together like it was meant to be, and Agent Scully would only be shaken up, but her plan was crumbling before her eyes.

“Agent Fowley,” Benson barked. “Attention here! I need you to start coordinating with the local PD.”

Diana sighed curtly and cast her attention back to her work detail.

. . . .

Unknown Location

December 22, 1998

Scully had no clue what time it was but it probably been hours. During this time, she had inspected every inch of her concrete cell and could not find a single weakness. But during her captivity, Buckley left her alone physically but she kept hearing him on the other side of the heavy door. So far, he seemed on keeping her safe and trying to draw Mulder out.

“How did you find me, Franklin?” she asked, eyeing the corner of the cot.

“I’d help, Dana. Someone who’d you least suspect.”

“Help?”

“I don’t know her name but she came shortly after you and the Lieutenant arrested me.”

. . . .

Here I am, spilling my life story to my wife. Again. Honestly. Whatever keeps her happy for the time being. If only she would shut up.

. . . .

“You said she, Franklin.” Scully’s mind was racing. No. Who else could it have been? She heard him moan something in a low voice. “Did someone help you escape?”

“Stop it, Dana. I only ever had eyes for you.”

“I know that.” She knew when she was onto something; Scully would have picked up something about profiling after hanging around Mulder for so long. “Just tell me, Franklin,” she encouraged. “I’m not upset with you.”

“I know what you are trying to do. It won’t work.”

“Franklin,” she begged, trying to sound convincing.

“This life we are meant to be,” he began. “There was a woman who came to visit me, right after my trail. She said she could help me, knew the Lieutenant and you, Dana.” He chuckled. “Our personal little matchmaker.”

“A woman?”

“I don’t know who she was except a first name. Diana. The goddess of the moon helped us find our way through the darkness.” Diana. Could it be the same one? Special Agent Diana Fowley of the FBI? Could it? How? In her heart, she knew it was true but that did not explain how. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, Dana. We have a life together. We can have a family. I’m younger this time around.” He chuckled. “A bit more handsome. I had some help on that one back in the 1920s. Made a deal with the devil. But you, my dear, must have been blessed by an angel because you’re just as beautiful as the first day I saw you when I asked your father for your hand.”

She felt herself grimace and shudder in memory. God, how old he had been.

“I remember,” she muttered grimly.

The door opened slightly and a tray of scrambled eggs and red solo cup with red wine. “It isn’t the Ritz but so we’ll have the Riviera. I love you, my darling wife.”

Scully can't bring herself to answer as her hand went to her cross and she silently began to recite the Lord’s prayer wordlessly in Latin to herself, praying Mulder would come and soon.

#xfiles #xf fic #false flags redux #txf #txf fic #mulder #scully #mulder and scully #my fic #msr #msr fic

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slippinmickeys · 4 years

Text

Fairies, Skip Hence

This is my pic for the 2019 X-Files Secret Santa fic exchange. It was written for @msrafterdark, who’s prompt was “Soft early MSR, maybe a small gathering at the Scullys in which Mulder is invited. I'm a sucker for where Mulder and Scully are trying to find equlibrium in their new relationship.”

Observing her from the passenger seat, she looked nervous, tense, eyes focused on the road like high beams. Her sharp little bob was perfectly coiffed, and she was wearing the bra and panty set (he’d been there when she put them on) that made her walk more upright. He thought of them as her Confidence Boosters, though it wouldn’t do to tell her that--she’d roll her eyes at the double meaning and never wear them again.

Hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, knuckles almost white.

He’d loved her for years, and knew she felt the same. They’d been Pyramus and Thisbe, speaking words of love through walls of their own making. It was only recently that those walls had come down, and he knew she felt unsteady, was still finding her footing. He didn’t know how the next few days would go, but he did know one thing: she still wasn’t sure about this.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She still wasn’t sure about this. Mulder was coming to Christmas at her mother’s house.

She wouldn’t even be dealing with it if they’d been slightly more discreet and a lot more awake--he’d accidentally answered her phone at 8am on Thanksgiving when Maggie had called to asked Dana to bring an ingredient she’d forgotten. When Mulder had handed her the phone (they really needed to figure out what side of the bed they were each going to take, and leave phones ONLY on their own side), he’d looked both chagrined and pleased, and her irritation had given way to mortification when she’d heard the tone of her mother’s voice.

“Good morning, Dana. Was that… Fox?” she’d asked, her voice full of hope and barely concealed delight.

For all his foibles and for as much as her older brother hated him, her mother had

always had a soft spot for Mulder. “Fox and I have been through a lot together, Dana,” she would always say.

One grandchild was all Margaret Scully had, and the prospect of more--however they might come into the world--would sustain her. A man--any man, really, but this one in particular (Scully had reluctantly told her mother about the IVF failure earlier in the summer)--answering her daughter’s phone at dawn on a holiday was surely cause for celebration and hope.

Scully had steadfastly refused to bring him along that day, their relationship being so new, so she really ought not to have been surprised when Mulder told her a week or two later that Maggie Scully had called him herself to invite him to join the family at Christmas.

She’d pinched the bridge of her nose when he’d asked her what she thought he should bring.

And that was how they’d found themselves bright and early on Christmas Eve, driving north through quickly accumulating snow with a backseat full of gifts, a half case of wine and increasingly jangly nerves.

“We do stockings on Christmas Eve,” Scully said out of nowhere, her fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel.

“Okay,” Mulder said, clearly wondering where she was going with this.

“Just a warning,” she went on.

“Okay,” Mulder repeated.

“Bill is going to be there.”

“You’ve mentioned that several times.”

“And Tara and Matthew, and Charlie is home on leave,” she went on.

“Right.”

“I’m not sure where Mom will want us to sleep. She might put us in separate rooms.”

“So sex only clandestinely in the bathroom,” Mulder joked.

“Mulder!”

“Scully, I’m kidding. Relax, it’s going to be fine.”

She gave him an extremely skeptical look.

“Please no sex jokes in front of my family.”

“Noted,” he said, and then, “I grew up with a full Emily Post upbringing, Scully, I promise I can comport myself.”

Her mother knew she and Mulder were together now, which meant that so did everyone else. She worried she’d be treated differently. She worried Mulder would be treated differently. She and Mulder weren’t exactly “public,” so she worried she’d treat him differently. Everything was so new. God, would he kiss her in front of her family? Would she want him to? What if she wanted him to? Seven years of saying we’re just friends to her family was a hard habit to break. She’d rather do Christmas with the Gunmen, she thought, as she took her mother’s exit off 95. She’d rather see Frohike in nothing but a Santa hat.

She sighed dramatically.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” she said.

She thought, it’s everyone else. It’s Bill. It’s me.

Mulder reached over the console and tried to rub the tension out of her neck.

His touch fortified her as it always did. Maybe it would all be okay. Maybe.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They made it through the lekking ground of the entryway, Bill and Charlie gathered to alternately dole out hugs and stiff handshakes laced with polite menace. Charlie winked at her as he shook Mulder’s hand.

Tara met them at the threshold with glasses of spiked eggnog, which Scully downed half of instantly, gratefully.

They made small talk in the kitchen with Tara and her mother, while Matthew scooted around on the floor, running a Brio train over everyone’s shoes. Mulder offered to make his legs a tunnel for the boy, and she saw both other Scully women’s eyes crinkle at the corners, charmed.

The man could charm anything but bees, she thought.

Scully couldn’t help but be thrown by his presence amongst her family, his dark minky hair and his Fortean job, all out of context amidst the buttoned up Naval fortitude of the Scullys, with their fair hair and their strict adherence to protocol.

He looked and sounded relaxed, as did the rest of her family, but she couldn’t unclench. He reached for her several times and she didn’t reach back.

Her mom caught her eye from across the room and gave her a questioning look.

She ducked into her mother’s quiet den not long after that, pulling Mulder rather reluctantly behind her. The room was much the same as it had been when it had been her dad’s office: still smelled of leather and old books. Naval charts hung on the walls. She took a moment to center herself.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked her.

She turned to him.

“I was going to ask you the same,” she said.

He cocked her a half-grin.

“This is not my first too-hard handshake, Scully. I can handle myself.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said.

“I’m the prince of subtlety,” he said, “I plan to challenge Bill to a game of one-on-one and throw an elbow.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose again. She’d been doing it a lot lately.

“The guy plays like Bill Lambeer, Scully,” he said, continuing to push her, “you can just tell. It’ll be completely justified.”

She didn’t rise to the bait and instead stepped into him, close.

“Everything is different now,” she said, nervously, and he sobered.

“Nothing is different now,” he replied as he moved in to kiss her forehead, then leaned down to catch her eye, “absolutely nothing is.”

She knew he meant that they had always had love between them, fierce and unconditional.

She nodded at him, her face softening, “but everything is all out of context here and it’s already throwing me for a loop.”

It was probably as honest and forthright as she had ever been with him. He decided right then to be on his best behavior.

“It’s going to be fine,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose as he backed out of the room, “come on, let’s go be social.”

She glanced at her watch as she followed him. It was not yet noon.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Lunch was a simple spread of cheeses and meats, laid out on the dining room table for casual grazing -- Mrs. Scully had a big dinner planned.

Mulder helped himself, but Scully seemed too preoccupied to eat, and he watched her interact with her family as he sat on the couch in Maggie’s living room, a paper plate perched on his knee.

It was fascinating watching her comportment shift from Agent Scully to Dana, to watch how she joked with her brothers, slouched like a teenager against her mom in the kitchen. The Scullys were a tactile, affectionate bunch, prone to sarcastic comments about one another, but always with the understanding of love under each gentle jibe. Hers had been a very different upbringing from his own. He was held rapt.

The star of the show of course was Matthew, who was happy to be the center of attention, taking time to engage with each adult to gauge their suitability as playmate and co-star. Mulder appeared to pass muster with his ability to realistically die when poked with a small plastic lightsaber.

Mulder caught Scully staring during one such encounter with the boy, her expression guarded and unreadable.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully watched Charlie watch Mulder surreptitiously from where he sat in the living room. Her brother was obviously intrigued by him, having heard the stories from other members of her family, having never met the man himself.

Each of the Scully children had very different personalities. Charlie had always been the prankster, the lighthearted sarcastic kid that could bring a smile to anyone’s face. He’d also been the kindest, and Scully thought, behind his extroverted, jovial exterior, the most observant. He never missed a moment.

As if on cue, he shifted his gaze to her and smiled. Pointed to Mulder and gave her an exaggerated thumbs up.

Charlie’s approval was almost antithetical to high spirits and she found her mood turning sour, which she knew was ridiculous. She operated better when it was just her and Mulder against the world, when her love for him was a closely guarded secret. They had only just started sleeping together, and she was afraid of how much she already needed him. She found she wanted to go to a corner and lick at nonexistent wounds, to snarl at anyone who came near. She was mad at herself for getting mad.

When her mother asked if anyone wanted to decorate the Christmas cookies she and Matthew had made the day before, Scully surprised everyone by volunteering and drifting off toward the kitchen with Tara and Bill, leaving the room with an apologetic glance at Mulder. She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked away.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Enjoying ‘The Very Best Sacred Christmas Carols?’” Charlie said, handing Mulder a cold bottle of beer and dropping heavily onto the couch beside him.

“Of course,” Mulder said, nodding his thanks.

Charlie took a swig from the bottle he was holding. “You don’t have to lie,” he said, “there’s only so many times a man can hear a choir singing the word ‘holy’ before he wants to get hung from a yardarm.”

“Depends on the choir, I guess,” Mulder said, smiling.

A stiff, staid chorus sang from the speakers in Maggie’s entertainment center.

“I think this one is from King’s College, Cambridge,” Charlie said thoughtfully, “I’ve only heard it every Christmas since 1979. Mom is militant that the Christmas music be as Jesus-y as possible, and Bill is militant about Mom being militant.”

Mulder took another swig. “Always been more of an Oxford guy, myself,” he said, noncommittally.

Charlie regarded him for a long moment.

“Bill isn’t a big fan of yours,” he said levelly. Mulder quirked a shoulder—a ‘what are you gonna do?’ gesture. “But you seem to make my sister happy,” the man went on.

Mulder sat up straighter and chuffed a self-conscious laugh.

“I wouldn’t have drawn that conclusion by the way she’s been today, myself,” he said, still smiling, catching his thumbnail on the edge of the beer label.

Charlie laughed brightly.

“That’s actually how I can tell,” he said. “She cares so much about making a good impression, she’s getting in her own way. And you haven’t seen the way she’s been looking at you when you’re not looking at her.”

Mulder looked to the younger man.

“You do the same thing, by the way,” Charlie went on, laughing. “My aunt Mabel would have used the word ‘besotted.’”

Mulder flashed on something he’d said a year or so before, I do not gaze at Scully.

“You guys are hopeless,” Charlie laughed. “But… I’m not my brother,” Charlie went on, “and to be honest, I’d like you on the off chance it would piss Bill off-“ Mulder quirked a grin at that “-but couple that with Dana’s obvious and utter devotion to you, and I’ve decided to like you because she does.”

Mulder felt he’d just earned something hard-given. He looked at the youngest Scully with gratitude.

“Now cover me,” Charlie said, and suddenly stood, the earnest moment forgotten as the young redhead pulled a CD case out of his back pocket. He handed Mulder his beer.

“What?” Mulder said, confused.

Charlie nodded towards the room’s entrance.

“Cover me,” he said, and Mulder stood, holding a cold beer in each hand, moving to the edge of the room, a precipitate look-out man. “Nobody fucks with Mom’s carols,” Charlie went on, kneeling in front of the CD player in the middle of the room. He pushed a button and the music suddenly stopped, the changer slowly giving up the ghost and ejecting the disc that had been in the player. “So let’s see what happens, shall we?” He pressed a mischievous grin in Mulder’s direction and pushed a new CD in.

It took about ten seconds before a new song started playing, more loudly than the carols had been, a drum beat followed by piano—Elton John’s bizarre holiday song ‘Who’d Be A Turkey At Christmas.’

From the direction of the kitchen, Bill’s voice came with an approaching “Now what the hell?” and Charlie ran toward Mulder, a roguish smile on his face.

“Run,” he said, coming right at Mulder, who braced himself.

“What?!” Mulder said, amused, but unnerved.

“Run!” Charlie said, darting past Mulder and grabbing his beer out of Mulder’s hand in the process.

Mulder felt he had no choice but to run up the stairs after him, laughing—a sudden but willing accomplice—while Elton drawled on drunkenly about having ‘a few too many,’ loudly from the speakers just as Bill barged into the room on a wind of blustering confusion.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully narrowed her eyes at Mulder, as they deposited overnight bags in the corner of her adolescent bedroom.

“What?” Mulder asked.

“Charlie took full responsibility for the music kerfuffle,” she said, and Mulder looked at her innocently. He would not implicate himself. Charlie had hit a setting on the CD player, whether on purpose or not remained to be seen, but Bill couldn’t get the player to stop until it was halfway through ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.’

Peace had been restored and the choir of Cambridge was once again singing its way through the Wassail Song though Scully had used the temporary chaos to steal out to the car and grab their luggage. She still wasn’t entirely sure Mulder wouldn’t be relegated to the foldout couch in the basement, being both the other half of an unmarried couple and now party to the playing of non-sanctioned Christmas music.

He sat on her childhood bed, bouncing on it experimentally.

“Not too creaky,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

She ignored him, hands on her hips.

“You seem to be getting along with everyone okay,” she said, half questioning.

“I’m not without my charms,” he shrugged. She seemed tense and still hadn’t sat down. “Your family is great, Scully,” he said, “even the ones who don’t like me have been very polite.”

That at least elicited a reluctant smile, and she finally sat down next to him.

“We’re halfway through,” she said.

“Halfway through what?” he asked.

“The day,” she said, and he shot her a sympathetic smile. “Next up we’ve got stockings, dinner, then midnight mass…”

“And then?” he said, swaying into her.

“And then we take a Benadryl with the family Sauterne and wait for sleep to save us,” she said, standing and offering a hand up.

He laughed as she had meant him to and took her proffered hand.

“You okay with going to mass?” she asked him soberly as she pulled him up.

“If you go, I go,” he said, and gave her hand a quick peck before dropping it. “Tara’s been trying to get me alone for the last three hours, I’m going to go give her a chance.”

She smiled at him.

“Want some backup?” she said.

“Always,” he said, backing out of the room.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Bill started coming up the steps as Mulder was headed down, and Scully waited on the landing so as not to crowd him.

He passed her and started to head down the hallway, but as he walked by, he gave her a look which brought her up short.

“Something you want to say, Bill?” she said to his back. He stopped and turned toward her slowly.

“He’s staying in your room, I see,” he said.

“And Tara is staying in yours,” she said, a statement of fact.

He gave her a long look.

“Why him, Dana?” he finally asked.

“Because he loves me,” she said, feeling as though she really needn’t justify herself.

“Any man would love you,” he said, “look at you. You could have anyone you wanted.”

“But I want him.” She didn’t need to convolute it any. When it came right down to it, it really was as simple as that.

Bill looked at her for another long moment and then, seeming to come to some kind of internal decision, nodded at her and turned away.

XxXxXxXxXxX

After a few minutes he watched as Scully came into the living room to find him perched casually on the couch next to her sister in law. She sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room and picked up a nearby paperback. Good old Scully, watching his back as always. The music in the room was still extolling the glory of the season and it afforded he and Tara a fair bit of privacy.

“Have you done Yankee Swap before, Fox?” Tara asked him brightly.

“Don’t know. Sounds vaguely punitive.”

She smiled at him.

“It’s a fun gifting thing we started doing a few years back where you can take someone else’s present or swap it out for a new one.”

“That’s a relief,” he said, deadpan, “I was afraid you were coming onto me.”

Tara laughed as he had hoped she would, then leaned into him confidentially, her breath smelling sweetly of pinot grigio. She had a smudge of flour on the left side of her chin.

“You know, Dana has never brought over a boyfriend before,” she said, probably a bit louder than she meant to.

Scully looked up sharply from where she sat curled up in her chair, and Mulder gave her a significant look which was completely lost on Tara as he leaned in to talk to her.

“We’ve been worried about her,” Tara said, “with that job of yours. It seems dangerous and all-consuming. We didn’t think she’d ever meet anyone.”

“I, for one, am glad she didn’t,” Mulder said and darted a look at Scully who was pretending not to eavesdrop.

Tara giggled good naturedly.

“Maggie’s been telling us about the change in her these last few weeks. How happy she seems. I guess falling in love with each other was inevitable,” she said wistfully.

Mulder nodded softly.

“Fate,” he said, and Scully’s eyes bobbed to his.

“Sweet,” Tara sighed girlishly, “well, we’re glad you’re here, Fox.” She patted his knee. “You’ll make Dana a wonderful husband, I’m sure,” she went on, clearly meaning it as the highest of compliments.

“Well,” Mulder said, holding Scully’s eyes across the room, “it’s an honor just to be nominated.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Afternoon rolled into evening, and the weak sun laid long shadows through Margaret Scully’s neighborhood before it was blotted out completely in a blast of swirling snow.

He had drifted into the den and had been looking at the Naval map of the Carribean when Scully found him.

“Please tell me you’re not considering another trip to the Bermuda Triangle,” she said.

He turned to her and smiled, reached out to her. He saw her look at his outstretched hand and she walked around it, moving to look out the window.

“Looks like you’re getting out of midnight mass,” she said, one finger pulling down a slat on the room’s Venetian blinds, “it’s really coming down out there.”

The wind was gusting, pushing snow and ice past the glass; visibility was limited to about ten feet. The family had agreed to keep an eye on the weather and bow out of attending the midnight service if driving conditions became too dangerous.

Mulder came up behind her and bent down to look outside as well, her back pressed into him. When she straightened, he didn’t move, and he felt a frisson of energy run along the skin where he was pressed to her. He brought his hand to her hip and pressed his lips to her ear.

“Don’t,” she said, stepping away, and Mulder looked at her, hurt and confused. Immediately, she reached out a conciliatory hand and looked to the heavens as if for help. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He gave her a long look.

“If you didn’t want me to come, you should have told me,” he said gently.

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it? Because honestly, Scully, you are the only one making things weird. Even Bill is acting like an adult, which is, frankly, almost as surprising as your attitude.”

She sighed.

She was prickly and self-conscious, beautiful and unapproachable. Even when she was pissed off with him--even when he was pissed off with her too--he felt like the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.

“We’re still trying to figure out what this is, Mulder,” she said a little desperately, gesturing between the two of them, “I still don’t know how to be with you. How to work with you. How any of this is going to play out. And having to figure that out while surrounded by my family of all people is just… a lot.”

He sighed himself and stepped back into her space, reaching out to rub a hand up and down her back.

She was tense under his hand.

“Tara keeps staring at my ring finger,” she said, and Mulder couldn’t help but chuckle.

“It’s not funny,” she said.

“It’s kind of funny,” he said.

“Mulder-”

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him, pressed his lips to her neck. One of his hands started creeping under the hem of her blouse.

“Scully—“ he started, when Matthew toddled into the room on a delighted shriek, the only one in the house who wouldn’t have picked up on the blatant frottage before him.

Scully took a step away from Mulder as Bill popped his head through the door.

“I think we’re going to to do stockings now,” Bill said, nodding toward his son, “some of us are getting a little antsy.”

“Sure,” Scully said to him, and then knelt down in front of the boy. “Matty, will you show me where the stockings are?” she asked him, and he happily took her by the hand and pulled her out of the room. She glanced behind her at Mulder as she left, who was still standing by the window, backlit by the snow.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Her mother found her outside just before dinner, wrapped in a tatty old afghan and leaning over the railing on the back porch, watching chickadees dart in and out of the feeder in the day’s fading light. The wind had stopped blowing, but the snow was still coming down, fat white flakes drifting down out of the silent heavens.

“Everything all right?” Margaret Scully asked from the doorway. She turned to look at her mother, who was hugging her sweater around herself tightly, her feet shoved into an old pair of fleecy slippers.

“Mm,” she hummed, smiling at her.

Her mother closed the door behind her and walked out slowly to join her daughter, the snow squeaking under her feet as she moved.

Scully had gone outside to get a little fresh air, and, she hoped, a clearer head. She was avoiding Mulder’s touch like he was some secret teenaged boyfriend she wasn’t allowed to see and her head was running in such circles about the whole damn weekend, she was wound up in her own thoughts and likely to fall face first.

“Is my absence conspicuous?” Scully asked her mother lightly, reaching out an arm and wrapping a corner of the afghan over Margaret’s shoulder.

“Only to me,” her mom said, leaning into her. Her mother’s intuition was flawless, and sometimes all it took was Maggie flashing her a compassionate look for Scully to crumple back into a pre-teen mess and spill all her fears and secrets. “And to Fox.”

She turned to look at her mother. She’d inherited her insubstantial height, and being eye to eye with her always seemed to buck up Scully’s morale.

“Is he okay?” she asked.

“He’s fine,” her mother answered with a small smile, “currently building a fairly intricate train track with your nephew.” Then, after a long moment, “how long?” Have you been together didn’t need to be said.

Scully breathed out, a column of vapor dissipating into the air.

“Not very,” she answered.

Maggie Scully smiled and looked out onto her small white yard.

“I’m glad,” she said.

“Bill’s not,” Scully said softly.

“Bill doesn’t understand what you have,” her mother said, looking at her significantly. “I don’t know if anyone really can, other than the two of you,” she went on. Scully tucked her chin to her chest, not able to meet her mother’s eye. “That man loves you, Dana. With the kind of unquestionable, forever love any of my kids would be lucky to see in the world, much less experience. I’m glad Fox is here with us for the holiday,” she reached out and ran a hand up and down her daughter’s arm, “I hope you are, too.”

She looked up and saw her mother’s wistful expression, the way she rubbed her thumb over her wedding ring like a talisman. Maggie smiled at her and headed back into the house.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“You feeling any better?” Mulder asked her. He had volunteered to do dishes after the meal, so she volunteered to help him, drying as he washed and putting the dishes away.

He had one of her mother’s aprons on and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, suds halfway up his forearms.

“A bit,” she said.

He’d been the consummate guest at dinner, regaling the table with stories from his college days at Oxford, full of vulpine charm and Vineyard decorum. At one point she’d even seen Bill chuckling at one of his stories.

She felt guilty for laying her own discomfort at his feet when he was the outsider, the guest at her mother’s table. She told him so, while she wiped a casserole dish dry.

“Hey,” he said, bumping her gently with his hip, “you know I know you, right?”

She smiled at him.

A siren approached outside the house and they both stilled, a Pavlovian anticipation building until the emergency vehicle passed, the siren fading into the night. Water dripped from Mulder’s hands and they both slowly unclenched.

“Go be with your family, Scully, I’ll finish up here.”

She regarded him, took the glass he was holding and dried it slowly.

A round of laughter came in from the dining room, where the rest of the Scully clan were sipping Sauterne, Matthew playing troll under the table.

“You don’t know where anything goes,” she said.

“I’ll figure it out.”

She kissed his cheek, lingering there for a moment, and hooked the damp dishtowel over his shoulder, then left to join her family.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She offered to help Matthew put out cookies and milk for Santa, and Mulder followed them into the living room, charmed by the boy’s enthusiasm.

Once the goodies had been strategically placed just-so, she let Matthew talk her into reading him a small Christmas book he’d gotten in his stocking. She barely made it halfway through before Matthew ran out of steam and slumped against Scully’s leg, half a cookie clutched loosely in his damp hand, leaving a trail of crumbs on her knee. His eyes slid closed.

Scully ducked her head down to look at him, sweeping soft curls from his forehead. She closed the book and set it down next to her.

Mulder cocked his chin toward the boy.

“I had a roommate once, was the same way,” he said quietly.

Scully smiled and resisted the urge to smell the boy’s head. His little body had pinned her arm to her side.

Another round of cheerful laughter came in from the direction of the kitchen, the rest of the adults in the house all loosened up from a good meal and a round of wassail, the proximity of family.

Mulder rose from where he sat, and kneeled down in front of Scully, scooping the child up in his arms from where he’d been pressed to her. Her side felt suddenly cold.

“Where does he sleep?” Mulder whispered, and Scully rose, silently beckoning him to follow her.

Up the stairs and down the hallway they crept like thieves, Mulder and the child behind her a sleepy votary.

She opened the door to Missy’s old bedroom, which her mom had converted to a sewing room. It had a large crib set up in one corner and a Fisher Price nightlight projecting a jungle scene onto the ceiling. The door creaked as it swung open, but the boy didn’t awaken, and Mulder crept to the crib and deposited the child gently onto the mattress. He snuffled once and turned onto his side.

“Should we change him into PJ’s or anything?” Mulder whispered, keeping his eyes on the boy’s sleeping form.

She shook her head and took in the scene before her, Mulder watching over a sleeping Scully child. Whatever emotion threatened then, she refused it.

“I’ll go let Tara know we put him down,” she whispered back and turned from the room, drifting down the hallway like Marley’s ghost.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When it was confirmed that Matthew was finally asleep, Bill and Charlie set about bringing in gifts from the trunks of various cars, and Mulder had to jump in and help when they tumbled in through the front door, overloaded with gifts and stamping snow onto the mat.

Several toys needed assembling and the unlikely trio headed into the garage and went about it in the usual male fashion; with several strong opinions and more tools than necessary.

When they finished, they found that Tara and Maggie had gone up to bed, and Bill and Charlie followed suit.

Mulder searched the house until he found Scully.

Bubbles floated like dust motes silently through the living room, catching the color from the lights on the Christmas tree and turning the room kaleidoscopic. She sat in front of the fireplace amongst Matthew’s scattered stocking stuffers, looking young and small. She held a small Santa-shaped bottle, blowing bubbles quietly into the room from a wand protruding from Santa’s hat. She looked like a fairy in the festive space, and his heart clutched at the sight of her.

“Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania,” he said softly.

She looked up with a smile.

“What, jealous Oberon?” she said.

“Never,” he said, and lowered himself cross-legged next to her. The fire gave off a radiating heat that pushed into one side of his face.

“I’m sorry--” she started, but he cut her off with a finger to her lips.

“Don’t,” he said, “this is a lot for you--all of it--I get it. You don’t have to apologize.” She smiled at him in relief. “So long as you don’t forswear my bed and company,” he went on.

She looked at him, her eyes watery, but bright.

“Never,” she whispered.

A bubble landed on her hair and refused to pop. He could hardly blame it.

XxXxXxXxXxX

A log gave a sharp snap in the fireplace and she turned her head to look at it.

She had realized she was in love with him when she was sick, writing to him in a journal she didn’t want him to read. Back then it was too late to do anything about it. Then she was granted a reprieve, death’s scythe pulled back, and regret was replaced with cowardice.

She looked back at him, the glow of the fire turing his face chimeric, and thought of Matthew’s crumby, damp hand, the glint of Charlie’s hair by the light of the sun. Her mother’s worn, papery skin, Bill linking his hand with Tara’s under the dining room table at dinner. She thought of the thump and swish of Mulder’s heart when her ear was pressed to his chest. It all felt like family. It all felt like home.

He was her partner, her fidus Achates, the love of her life.

“Take me to bed,” she said softly, reaching out for him.

“Look, I don’t know what the secretarial pool has been saying, but I’m not that kind of g-“

Scully silenced him with a kiss to the lips.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a basket case today,” she said, catching his eyes in the warm light of the fire. “Take me to bed, Mulder,” she said again, coyly arching an eyebrow at him.

He nodded at her earnestly and took her by the hand.

They padded lightly up the steps as Handel’s “Messiah” began to play on the stereo in the living room behind them.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She closed the door after he followed her in and the room took on a sudden quiet, the music from downstairs pushing gently at the outside of the door.

It was an odd contrast to see Mulder, an adult man, standing in her adolescent bedroom looking at her in anticipation, his eyes hooded with lust. She stepped into him, her toes on the tops of his--he flexed them even as he reached out and pulled her to him by the hips.

Sex between them had been surprising, incredible, but it was still new, and they had not yet settled on an easy rhythm, a give and take on the act’s initiation.

“Come here,” he said softly, though she couldn’t get much closer, and he pulled her flush up against him, his breath fanning her face.

He slowly took her arms one at a time and propped them up over his shoulders until they were encircling his neck, then he grabbed her firmly by the ass and lifted until her face was more or less even with his. She wrapped her legs around his waist reflexively.

“Better?” she whispered, smiling at him, their faces only an inch or so apart.

“Better,” he answered, and then leaned in slowly to kiss her.

His lips were framed by the rasp of his five o’clock shadow, which scraped against her skin, her teeth, as she opened her mouth to him. She hummed into him, relaxing into his embrace.

The stresses of the day seemed to peel back--her fears, expectations, pressures from her family whether real or merely perceived, all seemed to coalesce into one sharp feeling that melded somewhere in her chest and slowly sunk until it was an exquisite yearning pressure in her womb.

She threaded her fingers through his silky hair and she felt him turn and start walking them to the small double bed of her youth. Mulder sank slowly until he was sitting on it, Scully perched earnestly on his lap. He finally broke the kiss and leaned back to look at her.

“So I’m the first boyfriend you’ve brought home, huh?” he said, an obnoxious grin spreading across his face.

“Shut up, Mulder,” she said on a smile of her own, and reached down to grab the hem of his sweater, pulling it up and over his head, effectively erasing his insufferable expression.

She brought her hands to the spongy hair on his chest, running light fingers over his pectoral muscles, then slowly lower down over his abdominals, naming his anatomy in her head as her fingers explored. Rectus abdominis, external oblique, transversus abdominis. When her fingers reached the area of the linea alba, he hissed in a breath and she felt his body react to her touch, swelling under her right thigh.

He grabbed her hands and pulled them gently away from his body, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“Turnabout is fair play, Ms. Scully,” he said, lifting up the shirt she was wearing and pulling it up and over her head.

She leaned in as his hands once again found her waist, and darted her tongue into his ear.

“That’s Dr. Scully to you,” she said, and clamped her mouth around the delicate flesh of his earlobe.

His hips responded to her, surging up as his hands held her steady--the pressure where their bodies met sharpening to an exquisite point.

The alarm clock next to the bed was an hour ahead, passed over when Daylight Savings ended. It glowed cherry red over Mulder’s left shoulder. Her mouth drifted down his neck, her tongue following the long line of tendon as his hands migrated toward her front, cupping her breasts over her bra.

The wind had once again picked up, blowing snow in soft tinks against the glass of the window. He pinched her nipple gently through the fabric and she let out an involuntary moan. She heard him laugh quietly and then he pressed his lips into her ear.

“Shhh” he shushed, and her skin broke out in gooseflesh even as sweet wine sloshed in her stomach. She felt warm and concupiscent, lusty and clear. She wanted to feel his skin on hers.

She leaned back, stood, stepped out of her pants and rid herself of her underthings. Mulder did the same, standing before her--his skin a golden bronze, his gaze intense--ithyphallic and unashamed. She laid on the bed and reached out a hand for him.

He joined her, kneeling onto the bed above her, knees pressed into the mattress between her legs. He took a moment to run his tongue slowly from beneath her navel to the point of her chin, painting her skin with his cooling breath.

His skin felt fevered on hers, but his eyes were clear and bright. He pushed into her slowly and her own eyes slammed shut, her teeth digging into her lip. He stretched her out, filled her up, and she took a moment to adjust, to enjoy.

Time seemed to stretch out, sand in the hourglass slowed to a honey drip. The bed was silent beneath them, for which she was thankful.

Seven years she had waited for this—a hymnal in the air, his overbite on her skin. What time she had wasted, what pleasure they had denied themselves. She pulled him to her, bit his shoulder, licked the teeth marks she had left. She wanted to consume him, take everything he was and absorb it like light.

She felt love-drunk, parched, caught up in chasing the high of their frenzy. He had his arms bracketed on either side of her face, and the hollow of his throat was at eye level. She darted her tongue out to taste it.

Suddenly, he reached down, grabbed her by the hips and flipped them and she found herself perched atop him, wild and wanton, his own Lady Godiva. Time caught back up to them and she gave him a wicked smile.

XxXxXxXxXxX

He still had trouble believing he had unlimited access to her compact, tight little body; she seemed all angles and edges these days with the exception of her center which was all soft, lush, wet heat--the sweet brine of her anointing him like a sacrament.

A car turned somewhere on the street, its headlights sweeping once over her, catching a freeze frame of her above him, back arched, head thrown back, mouth open.

He licked his thumb, reached between them and swept it over the tight bud at her center; she made a breathy noise in the back of her throat.

When they had finally gotten together there had never even been talk of a condom; the only thing left between them was for one of them to say “now, no more waiting.” He thought of his seed inside of her, thought of putting a baby there, an impossible gift he almost believed he could give her from sheer wanting. He’d read once that it was theorized female orgasm--unnecessary from a scientific, purely reproductive standpoint--helped by perhaps moving sperm further up into the womb, and he thought of it as he applied himself to her with a renewed vigor.

She started breathing that quick, shimmery breath that he’d only recently come to understand meant she was close, and he drove up into her as he pressed her with his thumb, encouraging her in a quiet, whispering voice. She clutched at him, fingernails digging into his hips on a hiss.

He followed her into oblivion, cresting just as the Hallelujah chorus reached the height of its crescendo in the living room below them, the sound both tinny and muffled. Mulder would associate the song with sex for the rest of his life.

The French call orgasm “the little death” and that felt right to him, proper and precise; he felt struck down and reborn in the cradle of her hips.

She rolled off of him, to the scant empty space on the bed, and laid face down, a small smile cracking slowly up her cheek from the pillow below.

He propped himself up on an elbow and considered her naked back, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat in the dim light, her hot slip cooling on his thighs. He leaned over to kiss the dimple above her ass cheek, and he heard her chuff a laugh.

Emboldened, he ran his tongue along the ouroboros upon her back, dared not tell her that it was an ancient symbol of alchemy. Dared not tell her how fitting it was that it was branded upon her skin, that he believed she was the elixir of his immortality, that she alone gave him life.

Outside, the world was cold, tilted away from the sun. Dust collected on the nicotine tainted pages of their files, and monsters walked the earth.

Inside, she was dreamy hot skin pressed to his side. She was his cover--the alert, sharp eyes that watched his six, the love of his life.

“Merry Christmas, Scully,” he said quietly, could already tell she was on the edge of sleep.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder,” she mumbled back, and he reached for the blanket, pulled it up and over them both.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When he woke, her head was near him on the pillow, she had a crease in her cheek and she smelled of sleep. Unable to help it, he reached out and tucked a feather of hair behind her ear. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” she said on a breathy smile.

“Hey,” he lobbed back.

The bed dipped in the middle under their weight and had pitched them together; her whole side was pressed to his, his own personal hot water bottle. He threw a leg over her.

The house had come to life below them, he heard cabinet doors swung closed, the soft chunk of coffee mugs on granite, gentle murmuring.

He could stay in this little bed with her all day, he thought, reading books pulled from her childhood shelves—Black Beauty, Moby Dick, A Brief History of Time. They would lock the door, make love, take sustenance only from each other.

She had an eye cracked on the pillow next to him, regarded him warmly with her cool blue stare.

“I love you,” he said, apropos of nothing.

She smiled, slowly blinked.

“They say ‘if you love something, let it go,’” she said, her voice rough from a night’s disuse.

He considered her, the peach fuzz of her skin in the early morning light.

“I don’t want to let you go. I want to hold on forever.”

To prove his point, he reached out and looped a pinky through one of her own, her hand lying close to her face on the pillow. He felt her breath puff against the hairs on the backs of his fingers, humid and warm, a humectant tropic in the tiny bed.

“It’s supposed to be a test, to see if what you love comes back to you.”

He squeezed her finger with his.

“You do always come back,” he said.

“So do you.”

They were thinking of the same things—her abduction, him lying in a hogan in New Mexico, her cancer.

It was Christmas morning, he remembered. The day already felt like a gift.

“I suppose we should get up,” Scully said, “put Matthew out of his misery.”

Mulder let go of her and stretched in the tiny bed, his feet lopping out over the end.

“How long do you think he’s been awake?” he asked, then reached for a pair of jeans.

“Oh, hours,” Scully said with a smile, and she pulled on the pair of pajama bottoms she’d brought with her. After a moment’s hesitation, she swiped the undershirt he’d worn the day before out of the sweater she’d tossed to the floor and pulled it up and over her head.

“Your family’s going to start getting ideas about us, Scully,” he joked, pleased.

“Let them,” she said, and went for the door.

They padded down the steps hand in hand, and when they reached the bottom, instead of letting go, her grip on his hand became more firm.

He followed her into the kitchen where they found everyone else milling about, all the adults wearing the pre-caffeinated shell-shocked look of a pre-dawn awakening.

Matthew cheered gleefully at their arrival, which had clearly been a pre-negotiated stipulation of gift-opening.

Bill, after giving their joined hands a long look, thrust his chin towards the counter and said “Coffee’s in the pot.”

Maggie caught her daughter’s eye before smiling into her own steaming mug like Emma of Hartfield. Charlie and Tara shared a knowing look and an arch smile.

Breakfast was eschewed in lieu of gift-opening, and Matthew ran to the tree, the adults a slow shuffling procession behind him. Gifts were passed out, opened, fawned over, played with. Thanks were shared and coffee was drunk.

There amongst her family, he felt content, happy, accepted. Scully looked at him warmly over her shoulder, and separated as they were by mounds of torn wrapping paper, he felt connected to her in a way he’d never felt connected to anyone.

She was his favorite gift. Sent to the basement to punish and dissuade him, she’d done the opposite. She was everything they hadn’t planned, antipodal to their strategy of turmoil and distrust.

She was the dawn in the night of his life.

He was glad he’d come. And so was she.

#The X-Files #fanfic #fanfiction #msr #christmas fic #holiday fic #xfsecretsanta2019 #my fic #for Meg

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lepus-arcticus · 6 years

Text

25.

The pungent bite of gunpowder in the air, thick and sulfuric, coating the roof of Scully's mouth. A hysterical bomber in a frayed army jacket, hot blood steaming and spreading on cold marble, a girl's life offered in exchange for Mulder's on the boot-scuffed floor of the 8th Street Cradock Marine. Her love has prophetic knowledge, enemies everywhere, and a fading row of sucked spots across his neck. He has a trepanned cranium and a scar crowning his temple. He has an appointment with Dr. Parenti for Wednesday afternoon. Scully kneels beside the dying girl, bearing witness, and finds she does not have the adequate words to thank her.

She's zoning out to the dull drone of NPR in her kitchen, hands submerged in a citrus froth of dishwater, when she hears Mulder let himself in.

He's struggling with an improbable quantity of blush-coloured roses, a pandemonium of blooms exploding from the crook of his elbow. “Mulder,” she admonishes from the sink, feeling vaguely ashamed. She turns off the faucet and dries her puckered hands on a dishtowel. The hormones they've got her on have been making her moody, practically lecherous, and she pauses for a moment to appreciate the sight of him in Levi’s and leather.

Death’s most evasive quarry, ichor in his veins. She's aware of a dim, pulsing instinct to sink her teeth into his forearm. Despite the roses, he looks good enough to eat.

“You shouldn't have,” she says flatly, meaning it.

Mulder shucks his coat from his free arm, tossing his keys on the table. “I didn't. They're, ah... they're from Sonny.”

Scully frowns at him and relieves him of the burden, trying not to choke on a cloud of overwhelming, powdery sweetness. There's easily fifty roses, maybe even sixty, a ridiculous, embarrassing number. She fingers a velvety petal and fixes him with a suspicious glare. “Who the hell is Sonny?”

“C'mon, Scully!” he says, toeing off his boots. “... Sonny?” She shakes her head. “The, uh. The Great Mutato. Sonny. His name is Sonny.” Scully stares, and then her eyes roll back when she realizes he's serious. “Oh, for heaven's sake, Mulder...” “We correspond. You know that.”

“I didn't, actually. Isn't he in prison?” He follows her to the kitchen, where she deposits the rustling mass onto the counter, roots around a drawer for her kitchen scissors, and sets to snipping down stems. “Do me a favour and get that vase down from the top shelf.” She points to it with her chin.

“Yeah, I, uh. Take care of his commissary,” he offers, retrieving the vase and giving her a nice view of his hipbones sloping into the waistband of his jeans. “Send him books. You know.” He's not wearing a belt, and something about that is delightfully lewd.

She waves a clipped rose under his nose, which he swats away. “You've got yourself a prison boyfriend, Mulder. How are the conjugal visits?”

“He's very misunderstood,” Mulder objects, visibly wounded. “Just read the card, okay?” He digs into his pocket and passes her a handwritten note on flimsy stationary, slightly crumpled, warm from being so close to his body. He fills the vase at the sink while she reads it.

Dear Dana, I wish you every happiness in the world; may love carry you aloft as you pass into the blessed country of motherhood. Yours in eternal friendship, Sonny

Jesus Christ. “Mulder,” she says, exasperated, “the Great Mutato...? Really?”

He shrugs, grinning, setting the vase down beside her. “Well, I couldn't exactly tell my mom. Not yet, anyway. And can you imagine how much shit we're gonna get from Larry, Curly, and Moe?” His hand brushes against her waist, his voice low. “I just... wanted to tell someone. This feels… I dunno. Pivotal.”

Unexpectedly, Scully feels her chest swell, the armour of her heart cracking open, her throat constricting. She turns back to the roses, ignoring how thick and heavy her tongue feels in her mouth. “Well, it's an unbelievable violation of privacy. And you obviously paid for these. And it’s far too much. I don’t even think they’ll fit in the vase. But,” she concedes after a breath, “... the note is very sweet.”

He closes in behind her, his chest warm against her shoulderblades, hands creeping around her belly. “Hey,” he murmurs into her hair. “I want to apologize for my, uh. My initial hesitance.” Scully sighs and leans back against him, setting down the scissors, letting his damp breath glide over her neck. “It’s just… your illness, and then... losing Emily… and Diana showing up again and stirring up all that shit I thought I’d gotten over.” He must feel her stiffen at the name, must feel the tide of her temper rile up within her, because he tongues behind her ear, his habitual guilty lave. Yes, but what shit is that, exactly? She wants to ask him. Grief? Or Love? Instead, she closes her eyes, and wills her blood to cool. “... Everything go okay at the appointment?”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “It was, uh... it was good. I mean, it was fine. Everything went fine.” Scully nods, and they stay there, quietly rocking, the sunset casting the room in a liquid, molten peach. He pulls her closer, his lips soft as a shadow against the crest of her ear. “ You know… I think I always knew we'd have a child together.” Scully remains silent, working to quiet the flurry between her ribs. “I know you’re gonna say I’m crazy, but even if I… even if I didn’t want to believe it was possible, I knew. I knew it was going to happen.” “It hasn't happened, Mulder. We - ” “- It will.” “We can't know… the rate of success is less than -” “- I've got a feeling, Scully. It's going to happen. Trust me.”

“Mulder, stop,” she snaps, frustrated. But there’s a thought singing out from the back of her mind -- he knew about the bomber in the bank, Dana. He knew about the bomber in the bank. He knew about the bomber --

He presses against her, solid, salted, scarred, brimming with life, an oracle from Alexandria. She cannot bear to think of what it would mean to lose him.

He dips his head to graze his lips over the sensitive skin at the nexus of neck and shoulder, sending a waterfall of sensation down through her hips, down to her toes. His hands travel over her ribs, brushing against the undersides of her breasts, spanning her and stealing her breath. Defeated, conquered, she hums a note of encouragement and rolls her ass into his crotch.

“C’mon,” he says, and then in a burst of acton, he’s turning her around, hauling her up by the thighs, heaving her over his shoulder. Scully shrieks with horrified, instinctive laughter, struggling against him as a hand comes down hard on her ass, watching the whirl of her apartment pass as he carries her off to the bedroom, roses abandoned.

She yelps as her back hits the mattress, and then erupts into giggles.“That's quite the expectation to be putting on your refractory period,” she smiles breathlessly as he climbs over her.

“You know,” he says, kissing his way up her body, “the kama sutra… dictates that the female partner… should experience five orgasms…” before the male partner... gets his.”

“Well then, Agent, you've got some catching up to d-- ohhhhh...”

He's hard again, subtly humping the mattress, groaning against her as he guides her down from orgasm number two with light, lingering passes of his tongue. His face when he emerges from between her thighs is slick and shining, slack with pleasure.

Scully pulls him up, panting with the anticipation of his fat cock stretching her out, filling her up. He skims his lips against hers, sloppy, and the taste of herself sends her neurons scattering. The head of his dick bumps against her opening, and he pushes it through the folds of her labia, fucking her overstimulated clit. She jerks and writhes, catches the glow of pride in his eyes.

Something elemental rises within her.

She locks him between her legs, rolling him over and sinking down onto his cock in one movement. Oh, fuck. This cock belongs to her. He squeaks, laughs deliriously, and she bends over his chest, so wet that she’s already seeping around him, soaking the scrub of rough hair at his base. He is hers. He is all hers. He tries to grab her hips, but she captures his hands, slams them back down on either side of his face.

She will not be his second choice. She will not be his second chance. He is all hers. “All in?” she breathes, pinning him with her eyes. His gaze softens, and he nods, licks his lips. “Yeah, baby. All in.”

She lets go of one of his hands. He knows enough to keep it where it is. Clever boy. Her fingers trail over his cheek, over his pretty, pretty lips, over the dip in his chin. She watches him watching her.

She grips him by the neck. Right under his jaw, so he can't turn his head.

Thumb over one carotid artery, four fingers on the other. His pulse under her hand. Fear in his eyes -- or is that excitement? She doesn’t care. She squeezes. Hard. Because he belongs to her. His dick, his heart, his sperm, his breath. She owns it all.

She begins to move.

“Then you will never -” she seethes into his face, rocking her hips against his, fucking him hard. “Ever, put that woman before me again.” He nods slightly, the best he can, his lashes fluttering, his face flushing. He could flip her over in an instant, he's got 70 pounds on her, but he's letting her have this. She knows that this is is a willful surrender. His hips rise to meet her rhythm, urging her on.

A surge of heat bleeds through her. “Do you understand? She's gone. It's over. You're mine.” She squeezes him harder, then releases his neck to grab his cheeks, and to drive the point home, she slaps him hard across the face before he can draw a breath. Underneath her, Mulder heaves air into his lungs, and comes, and comes, and comes.

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24)

#incrementum #the x files #txf fanfic #the x files fanfic #tw: choking #big shoutout to defnotmeyo for being my consultant #on everything from the smell of gunpowder #to the medically sound way to choke someone out #this one is LONG

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