Tumgik
#also *blows kisses and gives you all garlic bread* I hope every single one of you is having a fantastic timezone
themechaneer · 2 years
Text
🔧
#‟ i am but a sensitive pillar of salt ” || ooc#so consider me on a semi hiatus?? sort of???#I’m not gonna be acting or doing much of anything that I haven’t already been but I will probably be a bit quieter than normal for a bit#at least till I’ve had a chance to talk to some friends for perspective and think some things out and make some decisions#that will ultimately effect Joel how I write him and probably the future of this blog#i do wanna say some of this is stuff I’ve been thinking about since Joel’s conception 2 years ago#but some of it has been influenced by stuff I’ve been witness to recently and the behavior of others both good and bad#to that end I’m not upset at anyone no one who follows me here or who I talk to regularly should feel worried they’ve done something wrong#i promise you YOU HAVENT. really no one has done anything WRONG exactly it’s more like I’ve realized i maybe don’t vibe as well with#certain things and behaviors or tolerate them as well as I used to think I did/could#also I might just be getting old and grouchy and therefore way more selective with who I have patience for and want to interact with#anyways—— I’ll definitely make a proper post later to explain things a bit better once I’ve talked to people and had time to consider some#stuff and make those decisions I was speaking about. regardless though I wanted to give a heads up and say that some changes are on the way#mostly minor in the grand scheme of things but still significant in others 💚#also *blows kisses and gives you all garlic bread* I hope every single one of you is having a fantastic timezone#i love you all and your patience with my nonsense means the world to me 🥺🥰💚
17 notes · View notes
fragilevixenfic · 4 years
Text
A House is Not a Home
Tumblr media
Summary:
The mere thought of raising a newborn in a world full of horrors has every part of Scully’s emotional irrationality over firing on a chilly, winter evening. Mulder wants nothing more than to show her that not everything is gray and grim.
“Hope transforms pessimism into optimism. Hope is invincible.” – Daisaku Ikeda
For Teresa, I hope that this is everything that you were imagining.
The situations mentioned in this fic (ripped from the headlines) are real ones and altered ones to assist in the story. No mention of the real-life situation was meant to injure, harm, or otherwise trigger the reader. The shooting was real; the others were either from prior events (altered to fit the story) or didn’t happen during this date range. Also, took a few personal liberties with Jackson. He is unexplored and underdeveloped, at best.
You can’t go back and change the beginning,
But you can start where you are and change the ending.
-C.S. Lewis
Saturday, January 5th 2019
6:00 PM
The Unremarkable House
227700 Wallace Rd, Farrs Corner, VA
               The haze of pea soup fog preceded the battle between rain and snow as the small, muted sage house became swallowed by the thicket until visibility reduced to mere feet beyond the reaches of the steps. A glow of twinkling strung and wound up lights along the edge of the outside band and the header marked the well-concealed home like a lighthouse along a quiet shore. It was quiet aside from the tinkering of raindrops in mud puddles, down the gutters, and along the siding of the house, along with the whistling of faint wind through the trees with every gust. The front window, fogged-up with an outer layer of condensation, concealed the remnants of Christmas from a reluctant set of parents, who had been clinging to that moment of reminiscence from matching lights in the tree just feet from a fireplace. There was homey, inviting warmth even with the occasional battle cry from the infant that now lay nestled within the bassinet, her little tuft of gingery curls visible beneath the lilac cap, suckling at the air even in sleep.
               Scully’s fingers still twitched along the edge of the rail, gently rocking the cradle as she leaned against the armrest to watch her, the lack of sleep evident under her eyes. “How long are you going to let me relax this time, little one?”
               “Think I have enough time to start making us some dinner?” Mulder’s voice was a welcomed distraction, as were his lips to her temple as the back of her head found the soft material of a pillow. “No one wrote this in the parenting manual.”
               “Mmmm…please tell me we’re having those stuffed shells covered with cheese tonight because I’m already drooling just thinking about them.” Scully smirked, nodding as she felt the pop of her vertebrae moving back into place, aligning carefully as she looked up at him. “Ran ragged, send a nanny. I don’t remember it being this exhausting with her brother and I don’t remember him unpredictably crying at random moments of the day.”
               “So, what you’re saying is the diet isn’t coming back for a while?” Mulder massaged the back of her neck, admiring the beautiful baby in the bassinet as she stretched her little hands and feet as far as they would go before settling back down. “Well, I’d say that most people don’t pause eighteen years to have number two, either, Scully…and she’s been a unique little peach since she was big enough to do somersaults in the womb.”
               “I’m enjoying the carbs and I’m getting plenty of vitamins from the side salads that go along with straying from the diet I had been observing,” Scully bit down on her lip and gazed at the sweet, cherubic cheeked babe in the rapt of slumber. “As long as it doesn’t inhibit Lily’s growth and progress, then we’re doing something right.”
               Lily. The miracle that made so many others along the way seem so small. The second chance at something right. Scully glanced at the sleeping babe and felt the pang of longing to have spent more time with her firstborn to watch the intricacies of his infancy. So many milestones had been missed in such a short period of time and they only set off the catastrophe that followed—years of wondering if he was loved as much as she had hoped he was. Lily wasn’t simply another baby or a replacement for Jackson; she was the missing puzzle piece in a graying world full of darkened corners and dead ends. Scully knew that their sweet, little Lily had brought so much more than light into this world as her eyes diverted to the side-by-side pair of bronzed baby booties. Mulder saw her wipe an errant tear and leaned in to steal a kiss, tasting that salt that had been left behind before she could clear away memory.
               “I’ll make some garlic bread and put on some water for that decaf tea that you’ve become a little obsessed with—the kind with the mint in it,” Mulder wasn’t used to this much emotional turbulence but he was handling it like a champ as he placed a sweet kiss on the apple of her cheek before straightening his spine. “Maybe we should watch a movie tonight?”
               “Yeah, that might be nice if she manages to sleep through even thirty minutes of it,” Scully waited until he was halfway into the kitchen before reaching for the remote, flipping channels until a newscast caught her attention.
               “…We brought you breaking news overnight of a multiple fatality shooting in Pittsylvania County, Virginia and have obtained more details about the shooter and his victims. We have learned that the identity of the shooter was Jason Owen Davis and it has been confirmed that he fired multiple shots within the home that he shared with his wife and twelve-year-old son. Authorities have informed us that Davis shot his wife and twelve-year-old son before killing himself. Two women were also hospitalized after sustaining injuries from gunshots they had received while driving past the home of Davis…The investigation is ongoing…”
               The red, blue, and white flashing lights in the dead of night from the footage in front of a small home atop its foundation with a short drive tugged at Scully’s heartstrings. The sleepy, little town was only a few hours south but a shooting involving murder and suicide wasn't something that happened often. At least, it didn’t use to happen often. Scully swallowed hard as she listened to the newscaster recall the previous night’s events, a lump forming as she thought of a child’s life being extinguished before they could even blow the candles out on their thirteenth birthday cake. Her eyes darted to Lily as the tears nipped at her waterline, biting at every open nerve as the unthinkable played out in a single breath; losing another baby before they even had a chance to take their first steps.
              The circumstances were different but the inflicted pain felt so real as she changed the channel and palmed her mouth to cover the sob, hoping to quell an onslaught as the flickering screen wracked at her subconscious.
               What do I do if everything I am isn’t enough to keep you safe in this world?
               Scully knew that she was playing with fire as she pulled the bassinet closer, just enough to caress the rounded, little cheeks that belonged to their miracle. Lily stirred and let out a brief whimper as she traced the line of her chin and coaxed the waiting tears from her unusually sensitive Mother’s eyes. Scully pulled her hand back and watched the delicate traces of baby feet underneath of loose swaddling as they kicked up and down before settling back against the linen coverlet, the sigh audible as she drifted deeper into sleep. Scully feverishly wiped her tears and leaned back, resting her back against the couch cushions as the ticker at the bottom of the screen on CNN announced another terrorist attack in the city of Paris followed by a rising death toll from a bombing in Pakistan from the week earlier. It was enough to make her stomach churn and the bile rise. The world had become an unfolding nightmare full of waiting, blooming shadows ready to enfold the light.
               “Should I make the tea now while the oven does most of the work?” Mulder’s voice, like her beacon through a haze, struck a chord as he came around the corner and found her with shimmering streaks still fresh along first blush. “Scully, what happened?”
               “What world are we raising Lily in, Mulder?” Scully muted the television, imploring him as the floodgates opened and the upheaval worked its way to the surface, her voice just barely above normalcy. “Death and destruction around every corner, chaos in countless countries including our own, and the constant threat of some whack job rigging themselves up all in the name of religion to take the lives of those who don’t fit their normative of acceptable. I don't remember looking at life for our son with this much sadness in it."
               “I don’t know that the world has necessarily changed, Scully,” Mulder was keenly aware of the fluidity of her hormones and sentimentality as he took the remote from her and set it aside, knowing that she’d only begun to tap the surface of a vortex of upheaval. “We’re not out there like we used to be—with our guns readied to take aim and go running after monsters without a second thought for health or regard of our health.”
               Scully's head tilted; the notion of his comment filled with questionable truths as she felt her own aches and pains giving her a not-so-gentle reminder of their existence without even doing a tally of his. Some of the injuries weren't exactly old, either, she knew, but the passing of time had lessened the frequency of a new mark or blemish. Admitting that Mulder was right held a little bit of astonishment and disinclination for Scully as she felt that eyebrow lift upon her like a parental judgment. He was a little pleased with himself as he heard the gentle sigh leave her lips despite the undeniable urge to fix her pain.
               Yin and yang; their relationship personified as opposition met harmony, molding together in such a way that one was incomplete without the other.
               “Why does it feel like decay, misery, and melancholy are waiting around every corner?” Scully was visibly uncomfortable as she pointed toward the television, nearly going hoarse as she felt her blood pressure spike, aiming her energy toward chaos as Mulder’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t turn on the TV without seeing something awful happening as close as two or three hours away. If it isn’t a stabbing, it’s a shooting…if it isn’t a shooting…it’s a bombing. Lily will never see anything but the constant chipping away of humanity and crumbling of sanity.”
               “Lily will be surrounded by two parents that love her and a brother that, with some time, will protect her from anything and everything,” Mulder was studying the expanse of freckles on her face as she met his gaze, coaxing a soft, needed smile that slowly faded as he continued. “I know it seems like the word of the decade is grim but there's a lot more to the world that is worth exploring—from the smallest blade of grass to the tallest trees. Nature, the lifting up of communities in the wake of a disaster, and the little gestures in between like carrying a rainbow flag down a crowded street. I don't think I had a chance to take a look at what was underneath the surface until I felt like there wasn't any hope left."
               “You make it sound so easy and idyllic, Mulder,” Scully stared at the floor, at the fibers of the area rug until they were blurring together in a sea of worn, little waves of blues and grays while the strings of her heart played a note she hadn’t felt since writing a letter addressed to her son. “What happens to Lily if we’re no longer here to raise her—to protect her? Who will be here to make sure she is safe?”
               “Jesus, Scully,” Mulder swallowed hard at the mere implication of a piece of them being swathed in their love as she leaped through each milestone had him choking back the tears. “I know we’re getting up there in age but I really didn’t want to jump straight to the morbid talk before she even turns one.”
               "I don't want to imagine a world where I don't get to see those little fingers and toes become more grown-up or those insanely hazel eyes develop depth when she's angry," Scully didn't want to wake Lily but the trepidation was quickly morphing into something more frenzied as she covered her mouth, muffling the sob. "I don't remember being this reactionary with Jackson and all I want to do is call my mom…but I can’t.”
               Mulder wanted to be angry but the sadness he felt for Scully was undeniable as his knees went weak and his eyes fell on the shimmering tears from the corners of her eyes. Lashing out wouldn’t have done much good because the truth of it was that he missed his Mother-in-law nearly as much as Scully did. The hole that Maggie Scully had left in their lives was a shock to the system that neither of them were entirely prepared for and Mulder had spent so much time trying to repair the damage done over losing her. She was a source of great strength and levity for both of them during a time of unbearable darkness to a point that he wondered if she was the only one that knew, deep down, that they weren’t beyond repair. She always held out hope and proved to be that steadfast link that brought them back together as her spark slowly went dark. Sometimes, he wondered if that same glimmer of warmth hovered around Lily’s angelic face to admire what she always knew could come to pass.
               He had hoped that she looked down on their girl and saw their love, personified, down to the tendrils of red curls that came from her mother and the flecks of green and chestnut that came from her father.
               “I wouldn’t say that our support system has gotten smaller, Scully,” Mulder scooted alongside her, squeezing her fingers as her eyes stayed locked on the circular pattern on the floor. “It has simply changed over the years—and adjusted to the people we’ve become along the way. Your brother may not like me but he’s in our lives more now than he was years ago and because of that galvanized bond, we have your sister-in-law and your nephew. We still have a lot of people in our lives that were always there for us that are now here for her. I have to think it means something that we have that for Lily.”
               Scully wanted to feel the words sink in and mean something but there was a struggle buried underneath as she rested her head against the back of the couch, exhaling slowly as she stared at the beam across the ceiling. Her heart thudded against her chest wall as that groundless dread bloomed into a waking nightmare that stayed trapped within her psyche. Scully’s eyes met Mulder’s and her fingers coiled around his as she let the tears fall, searing a trail down her cheeks as she let his warmth melt with hers, palm to palm. Having Mulder in her life all over again meant more than a second chance at love and a life with him…he had become the steadied ground beneath her feet while everything else seemed so shaky.
               “I know, deep in my gut, that you’re right but my heart is just swimming with so many uncertain factors that could pop out to surprise us from the wings. I don’t know what I would do if I had to do this alone,” Scully sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and held it between her teeth as she grappled with the upheaval of affectation, wiping her tears with her free hand. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about what would happen to you if I weren’t here and you had to raise Lily alone.”
               “Scully, there will always be a worry that one of us or both of us could be taken away from Lily before she’s old enough to be on her own,” Mulder pulled her fingers from her face and held both hands between his own, caressing the space below her wrists as he flashed a soft, caring smile. “However, let me be the one that postulates about death for a while. I’m good at it and my hormonal fluctuations aren’t going to be the ones to affect the overall quality of breast milk.”
               “I know you’re thinking it, Mulder, because I’m thinking it,” Scully felt the tears drying on her skin, leaving behind a residue of salt that made her face feel tight and uncomfortable as she sighed. “I passed the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale with flying colors and made Doctor Jacobi and Doctor Layton laugh when I asked if they’d read the results correctly. I was never this relentlessly emotional with Jackson and I don’t remember waking up in the middle of the night to cry when he wasn’t right there in my arms.”
               "Scully, you didn't do that with him because you were focused on the mess that was the father of your child," Mulder leaned in and kissed the trails of tears, pressing his forehead to hers as he knelt against her shins, palms caressing her forearms. "You didn't have a chance, back then, to stop long enough to see the spiritual toll that Jackson might’ve taken on you because you were so focused on the safety of me and him. This time around I’m not letting you do it alone.”
               “I am not good at feeling untenably over-sensitive at any moment of the day,” Scully exhaled slowly and covered his hand with her own, the look of her fingers small on top of his. “I guess it’s all worth it when I see the tiny toes and fingers that belong to the second little miracle that we get to call ours.”
               “You just had a baby,” Mulder wanted to scoop her up and take her upstairs but the sleeping child would’ve done her best to shut it down before they could even pull an arm out of a sleeve. “To expect any mother to be perfect at every moment of the day is unreasonable. I can’t even tell you the number of times that I got told to watch Samantha when mine just needed a moment to go lock herself in the bathroom.”
               “I just hope that I’m not going to be like this for the entirety of breastfeeding,” Scully made a face and furrowed her brows, exhaling slowly. “It would tempt me to switch to the bottle and I really don’t want to do that. The time I have with her like this is so precious.”
               “You know what I see when I look at you, Scully?" Mulder slid backward and stood, stretching his arms toward the ceiling until his back popped that was followed up with a satisfied groan.
               “Don’t…you…dare…wake her up,” Scully snapped her fingers at him, signaling to Lily as their typically loud infant stirred in her peripheral while she scooted forward to put another throw pillow behind the small of her back. “What do you see, Mulder?”
               “I see the same woman that came into a basement level office so many years ago and managed to spin an already upside-down life even further on its heels," Mulder could smell dinner wafting through the air and it hanging at the cusp of burning as he went to check on everything. "You may have gotten older, have a different shade and length of hair, and think you’re getting haggard when you’re not…but all I see is that same person and I always will.”
               “I’m suddenly remembering exactly how you managed to make a seemingly barren woman pregnant…twice,” Scully coaxed a laugh from him as he fiddled around in the kitchen as she went toward the tree, letting her fingers run along an ornament with glitter-covered doves on it. "How's it looking in there, Gordon Ramsay?"
               “I think you were really just underestimating the power of the can you spare a prophylactic back in the day,” Mulder peeked his head out from behind the stove and wiggled his eyebrows at her as she turned to smile at him. “Estimating another ten minutes before this can be consumed.”
               “You are absolutely ridiculous,” Scully rolled her eyes while adjusting a string of lights, the synthetic material of the tree grazing her palm as the sound of drops of rain against the side window tapped with changing of the wind. “We should dip into the brownies I made the other night after dinner and find a zombie movie to distract ourselves from thinking about the real-life horror outside.”
               “Don’t act like you don’t love it,” Mulder was putting the kettle before reaching for the tin of tea, a pause in the air as he peeked his head back out from behind the stove, a look of confusion on his face. “Maybe not a zombie movie but something on the Hitchcock spectrum sounds good. Out of curiosity, though, Scully, do you have something you’d like to tell me or think you’d like to tell me?”
               “Mulder, that's…not funny," Scully's jaw dropped as she checked on Lily, tugging the little blanket back around her to keep her cozy and warm before resuming the shocked expression in Mulder's direction. "We do not need a third and we don't need two of them under one. That would put me in my grave prematurely."
               “Well, how am I supposed to know? You’re the one that suddenly wants chocolate and pasta loaded with cheese,” Mulder shrugged his shoulders and met her in the archway between the kitchen and the living room to pull her into an embrace. “You ate that through your entire second and third trimester.”
               “I love you but you’re crazy,” Scully wrapped her arms around him, caressing his back as she looked up at him, grinning. “Lily and you are more than enough infant for me.”
               “I love you, too, but you’ll appreciate the childlike persona when it comes to teaching Lily all about the important things in life,” Mulder kissed the space above her nose, between her brows, and squeezed her tightly while he listened to the bubbling of water inside of the kettle. “I’ll always keep you guessing.”
               “I don’t know if fart jokes and distance spitting sunflower hulls across the yard are considered the important things, Mulder,” Scully scrunched her nose and jabbed him in the ribs as he started to back away to check the oven again.
               The knock at the door put a stop to the discussion and nearly caused an emergency as Mulder narrowly missed pressing a hand to a hot surface. He had forgotten the oven mitts as his attention swayed in the direction of the front door, toward the soft tapping, but thankfully, Scully’s snapping fingers pulled him right back to reality. She was good at keeping him from taking a clumsy tumble into another potential disaster even if admitting it was not his forte. He had mentioned it, long ago, that she kept him honest and it part of that veracity resided in an ability to pull him from the edge of catastrophe. Neither of them had been expecting to stop by today but the brewing tension was familiar as Scully let her eyes focus on the frosted glass in the door and the tall, broad-shouldered shadow that stood on the other side.
               Scully had a longing in her eyes and Mulder had anticipation deep in his soul as he nodded, willing her to unlock the door.
               Scully pulled the door open, holding the edge against her cheek as she found him standing on the other side of the screen, hood pulled up, drenched to the skin with a couple of bags in hand. "I know…I should've called to let you know I was nearby.”
               Scully shook her head and felt the surge of tears breaking through as she saw the wisp of a smile on his lips for the first time since Lily was four days old, the undeniable yearning to express her love bleeding through. “No, you never have to give us warning…”
               “I could hear you, uh, arguing, from down the road so I waited to walk up,” Jackson pulled the screen back and crossed the threshold, the drips hitting the floor like little pieces of his soul as he felt the weight of the world drop off his shoulders. “It sounded important.”
               “We weren’t arguing,” Scully took the bags from him and set them aside, the joy colliding with an onslaught of tears as she wiped her cheeks. “It was just a discussion fueled by hormones and everything is fine.”
               “Okay, maybe I should’ve said that it felt important," Jackson pushed his hood off and pulled the zipper-free, pressing his lips together and elevating his brows in such a way that he was a spitting image of his father, leaving no question about the actuality of his genetics. “I don’t know if an apology is what I should be doing but I know that communication hasn't really been a thing for me lately. I was returning your texts for a while and just had to get out of my head for a while. I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching and had this feeling that including you will be too overwhelming with Lily.”
               Jackson’s wheels were turning; the signals weighing as he was moving his eyes between them, seeking the justification. He was seeking out answers and didn’t stop long enough to fathom that he’d been running from them for far too long. It weighed on him in an inevitable way as the radiating heat of the fire found him and restored a semblance of warmth in weary, well-traveled feet. It felt like home and there hadn’t been a place that inched close to that inclination for a long time. It was a complicated perception, though, as the calm, inviting blanket wasn’t the walls that kept out the elements but their faces, their hands, their voices…pieces of them that had been so far away for far too long.
               They weren’t the Van De Kamp’s but they meant something else—something different that he knew, in the severed part of his soul, that he needed.
               “You always know how to reach us when you’re ready,” Mulder had pulled their leftovers from the oven and set them out on the counter before coming out of the kitchen to greet him. “Relying on either of us won’t be putting any extra strain on life, either. We’ve been through a lot…you’ve been through a lot. We’ve lost a lot of time, Jackson.”
               “The last thing either of us want from you is an apology or to feel as though you need to hand one down to us,” Scully was hanging by a thread, her tears glimmering along the curves of her cheeks as she quietly wiped them, her voice small, distant. “You’ve been through so much and there was no need to hold expectations beyond being able to reach out to you, which we valued, more than you can ever know.”
               “I kind of liked the jingling in my pocket, reminding me every day that someone cared about where I was and what I was doing. Hadn’t anyone do that in a long time," Jackson had matured in a year despite that inherent, deeply rooted consternation that was still hovering over forging a relationship with his biological parents as he let Mulder take his wet, zippered hoodie to hang up. “Putting all of my woes on both of you felt really selfish at the time and it wasn’t until I was drinking disgusting coffee in a diner on Florida Avenue yesterday morning that I realized that I was being dumb. I knew I should just come here.”
               “Ah, lured into The Florida Avenue Grill, huh?” Mulder didn’t want to push the boundaries but he squeezed his son’s shoulder anyway and pushed the door shut as the draft moved through the room. “The heartburn that place inflicted on me was legendary.”
               “Yeah, well, the pancakes were, at least, pretty decent and smothered in peanut butter,” Jackson’s wit was much like Mulder’s but the softer aspect of his nature was more than a little evident as he glanced at Scully as she chewed the inside of her cheek. “Mom, you know you can just hug me instead of looking at me longingly like I’m only a figment of your imagination, right?”
               Hearing him call her mom had only happened twice since he’d come back into their lives and it was still sinking into her consciousness, leaving an irreversible mark on her heart. The sensation was almost as intense as the agony she felt the day she placed that final kiss on his temple and sent him to be with a family that could protect him better than she could. His name wasn’t the issue, anymore, but reconciling whether or not he would become the yo-yo in their life was as she felt the sting of tears along the corners of her mouth. They’d lost so much time and never gotten to see him become the man standing before them; looking every bit the collective of their genetics as the pale tones stood out against his long lashes and dark hair. He really was theirs. Overjoyed and yet, doubt was still residing in the darkest parts of her mind as she embraced her grown-up son and tipped over the remainder of her bottled sensitivities.
               “I never imagined that there’d be a day when I’d be able to put my arms around you but there was finally a day I thought there could be a chance…” Scully’s last efforts to be composed fell by the wayside as she sniffled and wept while she kept her arms around Jackson, the enormity of him being there coursing through her like an administered drug in her veins. "And I couldn’t let you go through life not knowing that the people you came from loved you…that we didn’t just throw you away.”
               “You’re going to make me cry and I’ve done a lot of that when no one was looking,” Jackson had his chin on the top of her head while Mulder was doing his best to keep composed as his eyes glassed over. “I wouldn’t be here if I believed that either of you threw me away.”
               Scully was reluctant to pull away but the whistle of the kettle had her moving to check on Lily after giving Jackson the lightest grip to his hand. “Sure, when her brother shows up, she’ll sleep through anything but when the floorboards upstairs creak in the wrong way…it’s the end of the world.”
               Mulder took the kettle off of the flame, a smile on his lips as he gathered teacups from the cupboard, his peripheral catching Jackson as he walked beyond the couch to peek at a sleeping Lily. "Speaking of Lily…we should eat before she senses that you're attempting to put food into your mouth and decides that she wants to nurse, Scully. It's been about two hours since she was fed, right?"
               “Give or take by five minutes,” Scully watched Jackson standing next to the softly lined cradle, the gentle swing of it in motion as his eyes moved back and forth, willing it to move. “Jackson, there’s more than enough for you and I’ve already been teased that it’s craving food so you know it’s going to be really good.”
               “Yeah, I’d like that,” Jackson nodded as Scully put another log on the fire, stoking the flames in the background as he ran a couple of fingers through damp hair. “Might help finally get rid of that epic heartburn?”
               “Wait, you still have the heartburn, kid?” Mulder met him in the doorway and put an arm around him, directing him toward the kitchen table where he had already put an extra plate out, ready to serve. "What you need is my special hot cocoa…that’ll get rid of the heartburn and any other aches you might have.”
               “Mulder, you are not giving our not over-twenty-one-year-old son the modified Frohike special," Scully gave him a dirty look and aimed the business end of a spoon at him as she retrieved another teacup from the shelves. “Just one of those is more than enough to render him incapable of navigating the house before the sun has set.”
               “You are a party pooper, Scully,” Mulder already had the bottle of bourbon in his hand and a grin plastered on his face as he turned toward Scully. “I would never make it the way Frohike made them—that’s a rookie mistake that you only give to an enemy.”
               "I know I shouldn't say this and you can't be mad mom, but I'm intrigued," Jackson finally perked up and chuckled, making Scully roll her eyes as she made eye contact with her son. "I mean, I've had drinks before—when I wasn't supposed to.”
               Scully met the waiting gaze of Mulder as she shook her head, scoffing at the situation as the white flag waved. “He certainly is your son.”
               “The secret to the hot cocoa is just enough bourbon to smell it but not enough to taste it,” Mulder went on the drinking lesson while Scully was in the background getting plates filled with portions of their dinner. “If it’s too strong then there’s no point to the drink at all…you might as well be drinking bourbon on the rocks.”
               “Was there ever a point to begin with, though?” Scully had that witty, Cheshire cat expression as she moved the last of the hot plates to the table and sank into her seat with a hot cup of tea steeping in front of her.
"Jackson, ignore the naysaying," Mulder stirred the steaming milk at the stovetop, his back to her as Jackson joined her at the table. "This is going to be so good and she's just going to miss out because…breast milk."
               “I don’t think this is what I envisioned when I pictured spending time with my biological parents,” Jackson stifled a chuckle as he watched Mulder pour the milk into a mug, stirring the contents vigorously until it was to his liking. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”
               “Did they encourage you to be curious and fun-loving, Jackson?” Scully didn’t want to bring the energy back down but she couldn’t help but reference his adoptive parents as she filled his water glass, the butterflies creeping into her throat.
               Jackson nodded as he put his napkin across his lap, not a trace of sadness on his face as he glanced at the reflection on the bend in the fork, contemplating every word. “They did their best with consideration to the pain in the ass that they called son. I wasn’t the easiest and it only got worse as I got older—they weren’t exactly equipped for a kid like me. I don’t think many people could have handled someone like me.”
               “Something tells me that they never looked at you as anything less than what you are,” Mulder carried the mug of cocoa to the table, setting it next to Jackson’s plate while he made a declarative in front of the mother of his children and his son. “And that would be a miracle that they couldn’t have gotten any other way. That’s how I see things.”
               Scully mouthed I love you from across their little, evening setup, the steam rising from hot pans and plates as Mulder settled into the third chair and returned an un-uttered I know much to her chagrin. Mulder had been watching too much Star Wars but the meaning was received and struck her heart in just the right way as she took a sip of her tea, hiding her smile behind the cup. It shouldn’t have made her feel like a million dollars but it did as the blush peeked out along her cheeks all while Jackson pretended not to notice his parental units and their flirting. Something was endearing about all of it; even if it made the already quiet dinner that much more awkward as Jackson speared the first bite of pasta, savoring the flavor.
               Just as quickly as the first bites began to be consumed, the hush in the unremarkable house was ended with the unpleasant wailing by his infant sister.
               “She let me get two bites in,” Scully was a little frustrated but the glimmer in her eyes told an entirely different story as she started to rise from the table. “Better see if I can get her to nurse for a bit.”
               “Mom, you just sit there and eat a little,” Jackson was on his feet in only moments, the look on his face determined as he put his napkin next to his plate while giving her a gentle nudge of the shoulder. “Let me see if it’s just gas?”
               “Jackson, I can feed her so you can eat while it’s hot,” Scully’s eyes widened as moved toward the living room, a little hint of a knowing smile on his face as he turned around.
               “Let me try?” Jackson shrugged while Lily’s cries changed pitch in the background, growing in volume to the point that he winced at the shrill sound she made. “I have a feeling…It’s just gas. If it’s not, you’ll know pretty fast.”
               “It couldn’t hurt and it isn’t like they’re far away,” Mulder knew the first thought from Scully was about Jackson being unfamiliar with his sister but he wanted them to bond as he put a hand over hers. “If she keeps at the screaming, she’s hungry.”
               “Okay,” Scully’s stomach growled as she gave a nod toward Jackson, watching him move toward the other side of the couch where the bassinet was situated. “…Don’t forget to support her head while you’re holding her, Jackson.”
               "I know, I've held babies before," Jackson spoke up over the top of Lily's stuttered cries as he handled her with care, gathering her into his arms as her tear-filled eyes looked up at him while her little pout trembled and her hands swung. “Oh, my God, Lilybean, you stink. Mom, where're the diapers?"
               “There’s a diaper bag next to the couch on the floor,” Scully was chuckling at Jackson already giving Lily a nickname as she looked at him holding her against his chest in the doorway. “There should be an opened container of wipes in there as well…and powder, if she needs it.”
               Jackson was undeniably unskilled but attentive as he addressed the soiled diaper after getting her out of the coordinating bottoms and unhooked the onesie while his sister continued her series of cries. "Let's address the biohazard going on in here…All you eat is breast milk, Lilybean...guh."
              Jackson was mainly exaggerating the reaction to the odor wafting around Lily as he swapped out the dirty diaper for a clean one after making sure she had been properly wiped. Lily hadn’t quite developed the motor functions for true laughter but she was fully captivated by his facial features as he scrunched his nose and puffed out his cheeks while discarding the concealed, poop-filled diaper into a plastic bag. It was then that his tongue extended and the sound of cartoon-like horror popped free from his throat, coaxing the cutest, sweet grin from that beautiful face as she kicked her little feet on the couch cushions. If Jackson hadn’t known what love looked like before, he certainly knew what it looked like as he fastened her clothes and tickled her feet before pulling her back into a cradled grasp.
               It swelled their parents’ hearts as they stole a peek from the kitchen.
               “Fresh diaper and a sneaky toot after you got powder on your butt, you’re right as rain,” Jackson swayed as he paced the floor with Lily in his arms, taking her past the tree while her eyes studied his face. “Big brother has to be right about a little bit of stuff…and we know a stinker when we see one.”
               Scully was nibbling at her slice of garlic bread but her focus was on watching a sight she had imagined a thousand times as Jackson began a one-sided conversation with his two-month-old sister. Scully's anxiety-fueled rant from earlier started to seem moot as Lily's tiny fingers coiled around Jackson’s while he enthralled her with a rambling story about teaching her how to ride a bike one day. Her soft cooing was just enough sound to carry through the room, the tone and inflection intimating a babble, mouth mimicking the same movements that it would if she were speaking. Jackson nodded and let out a laugh, the intent of understanding the baby sounds more than apparent as he kept all of his attention on her.
               “Is that so?” Jackson adjusted his grip on her and held her a little closer, resting his palm across her belly to latch on to as she played with his fingers. “I’ll tell you a secret, though, because you’re my baby sister and I know you won’t tell anyone. We’re not just special because of how we came into this world. We are special because we’re always going to have each other, through thick and thin, bad and good times.”
               “How did we get so lucky?” Mulder could see Scully crying again as he chewed a bite of his pasta, the tenderness of the moment finally setting in as he squeezed her knee.
               “Deep down I always knew he’d be good with her and love every little part of her but this was unexpected, in the best of ways,” Scully wiped the tears and folded her fingers around Mulder’s hand, gripping the curve between his index and his thumb as he smiled in her direction. “It wasn’t luck. It was destined.”
               Jackson sank into the easy chair and rested Lily against his shoulder to rub her back as she gripped the edge of his shirt. “Even if I’m far away, I’ll always be able to get here whenever you need me. No matter how big or small the crisis may be…no distance will be too far if you ask your brother to just come home.”
               Home.
               It rolled off of Jackson’s tongue and struck a chord for Mulder and Scully as the subject of their discussion before his arrival seemed to be on his mind as much as it had been on theirs. Jackson placed a light kiss on his sister's forehead while he hummed an indistinct tune and rocked her while the tips of his fingers caressed the expanse of her back until the cooing turned into a long, continuous murmur. Scully recalled doing that very same thing with Jackson when he was the same size and it had the same effect on him on several occasions. It usually put him to sleep and it was doing the same thing for Lily as her eyelids did battle with gravity while a puddle of drool formed on his shirt where her chin lay.
               “One thing I want you to remember as you drift back to sleep is that a house is not a home, Lilybean,” Jackson sounded like his Grandmother as his index drifted over a pink, soft cheek until it trailed into the stream of drool. “Home is where you laugh, cry, talk, and argue with the people that you love and love you back. This is home.”
@monikafilefan @xfilesfanficexchange​ @frangipanidownunder​ @peacenik0​ @piecesofscully​ @starbuck1013​ @suitablyaggrieved​ @danceswithcybermen​ (for you Teresa!!)
21 notes · View notes
disasterbiquentin · 5 years
Note
For the dialogue prompts list: 'if you love me, you'll get the hell out of my kitchen'
Eliot Waugh did not learn to cook from his parents.  
For one, that would have been considered far too girly in a court of small-town-Indiana public opinion.  The only thing he and his brothers were allowed to do in the kitchen was stack up the dirty dishes, or fix the pantry shelves when they periodically collapsed.  For another, his mother was a good cook, but in an Indiana sort of way; lots of cornbread, big slabs of meat and potatoes. She didn’t know how to rise a soufflé or make delicate shrimp puffs, turn quail eggs into an entree without breaking the shells or pipe tiny, pastel coloured macaroons which would have looked at home in a Parisian window.  That was the sort of cooking Eliot liked to do, and he’d learned it in college, with the help of a lot of internet recipes and trial-and-error dinner parties for his friends from the art department.
It was part and process of what Eliot joked was actually his undergraduate thesis project; turning himself into himself.  Into the sort of person who could host dinner parties that a particularly sexually liberated French dignitary would have felt welcome at, and do it all without spilling a drop of cooking wine on his perfectly folded cravat.  By the time he graduated the arts program and received his interview at Brakebills, he was far enough through this process that he felt comfortable announcing his incredible cooking skills to the whole Physical Cottage once he was assigned there, and swiftly stole the role of overlord of all social activities at said cottage by power of his high tea parties and a rather constant flow of chocolate eclairs.  After a few months, he began mixing more cocktails than cake batters, but that was okay, because by then everyone knew exactly what sort of man he was.  It was all part of the Eliot Waugh package, and that had to be an impressive package, no matter which way you looked at it.
Quentin Coldwater learned to cook from his father, which is to say that he never learned to cook at all.
He tries, though, so very seriously, which is the most endearing thing in the world.  He tries and he genuinely doesn’t understand why his instant noodles mixed with beans doesn’t, like, blow Eliot’s mind.  The first time he tried to cook a romantic dinner for Eliot, it all ended up charred to the bottom of Eliot’s favourite frying pan, and Eliot actually left the house.  “You’re such a bitch,” Q had complained when Eliot came back with arms full of takeout instead, but he was laughing, and Eliot would have stuck to his guns regardless.
And now —
“Q, if you truly love me, you’ll get the hell out of my kitchen.”
Quentin rolls his eyes, immune as ever to Eliot’s complaining, and continues slicing cheese right onto the counter with entirely the wrong sort of knife.
“I’m serious,” Eliot plunges on.  “You even being in here will make things burn.  I still haven’t decided whether I think someone put a particularly inventive curse on you or whether you’re just that tragic, but I will not let you ruin this dinner.”
“I’m just making a grilled cheese, El.  Nothing to do with you.  I’ll be out of your hair in a second and then you can get on with your — is that blood?”
Eliot rolls his eyes. His boy is so charmingly dumb.  “It’s pomegranate juice, darling.  I’m making it into a citrus glaze to go with the — okay, listen, you’re doing that wrong.”
Quentin gives a huffy, furrowed-brow look which, on his face, could indicate either begrudging amusement or extreme irritation; only the fact that he’s turned it on Eliot suggests the former.
“Okay, to repeat myself, it’s grilled cheese, El.  I have made it a thousand times before.  I know I’m not the best chef, but, like, not even you can make grilled cheese too complicated for me.”
After at least four years of knowing each other and possibly fifty-four depending on how you look at things, Eliot thinks Quentin should have more faith in his ability to class up anything he gets his hands on by now.  “I absolutely can.  Call it a vegetarian croque monsieur; sourdough bread, a layer of bechamel sauce with garlic and bay leaves, a hint of nutmeg.  Topped with baked gruyère and a sharp white cheddar.  Fried rather than toasted, of course, just enough to make everything melt but not quite enough to char the bread.”
Quentin grumbles, “I think at that point it’s stopped being a grilled cheese and started being a way for you to jerk off over your own culinary expertise,” but he’s looking a little forlornly down at his pile of unevenly sliced yellow cheese.  
Eliot, because he is hopelessly in love, and because it has only been three months since he got to step into his own body again and make his grand declaration and then mess things up a bit more before slowly finding their way into this, a rhythm of taking-it-slow while also being very aware of just how deeply they love each other and never spending a single night apart, sighs.  He abandons his pomegranate-citrus glaze and the duck it’s going on for later, and steers Q away from the counter with both hands on his shoulders.  Q only protests a little bit as he goes.
“Just let me do it, baby.  I promise I won’t sneak in any ingredients you can’t pronounce, but I’ll at least make the cheese slices even.”
Quentin makes a few half-hearted comments about how he is, actually, a probably 24-year-old man (because with how much time they spend in different worlds, nobody’s really managed to figure out how they should keep track of birthdays anymore) and doesn’t need Eliot to do everything for him, but he takes a seat at the island even as he’s complaining, watching Eliot pick out a sharper knife and finish up what he started.  Eliot doesn’t deign to respond to Quentin’s grumbling, but he doesn’t really need to, because the knowledge hangs perfectly clear between them: Eliot likes taking care of Quentin.
Quentin doesn’t need it.  His skills in the kitchen are tragic, but he wouldn’t straight up starve without Eliot there or anything.  It’s just that.  Well.  That.  Eliot just likes taking care of him.  And it’s been a long, long time since he got to do that, so he’s making up for it now.  He doesn’t like how Quentin noticeably lost weight while the monster had Eliot, how when Eliot came back one of the first things he noticed was that Quentin was now smoking more than he ate, more of an Eliot coping mechanism than a Quentin one.  He doesn’t like how everything else about Quentin seems just a little bit damaged since El’s been back too; how he never seems to sleep more than a few hours at a time anymore, how he’s a little quieter, how it’s clearly been a long time since he had a real conversation with any of his friends.  Now that Eliot’s back and everything’s growing towards being some semblance of calm again, Q is gradually doing better, but Eliot wants to help speed that process along in any way he can.  So.  He traps Quentin in bed with his own limbs to make him sleep, and invites all their friends to hang out whenever possible, and feeds him.  A lot.  Even if all Quentin wants to eat are things so simple that Eliot’s offended by having to make them.
So.  He cuts neat slices of cheese, and makes sure the sandwich is toasted evenly in a dash of herbs, and cuts it into neat little triangles with a flourish.  He hopes Quentin hears the I love you in every action, because it’s there, it’s all Eliot’s thinking.
“Et voila,” Eliot says when he’s done, trying to cover up the fondness in his voice, and clatters the plate down in front of Quentin.  Quentin looks tired, sat at the island with his head propped up in his hands, shorter strands of hair flopping in front of his eyes, but not as tired as he did a week ago, and certainly not the week before that.  Eliot’s heart goes warm.  “One grilled cheese for your unrefined palate.”
Quentin rolls his eyes, but he leans across the island and angles his chin upwards anyway, halfway between offering and demanding a kiss.  Eliot obliges.
He lets himself sink into the kiss for just a moment.  Chaste, close-mouthed, but so sickeningly domestic that it’s almost more thrilling than the filthy kisses they shared in the darkness the night before.  Eliot’s had a lot of passion in his life before, still does, but rarely has he ever had this.  Someone to kiss over a sandwich, just for a moment.  Someone so special that you’re just glad they’re there, even if they’re serving no great purpose.  It’s warm and comforting and so, so small, but Eliot can feel the fracture lines in his weathered heart healing every time Quentin sighs a little breath onto his mouth.
He lets himself enjoy it for a couple more seconds, and then pulls away.  Picks up his pomegranate again, and then raises a pointed eyebrow when Quentin sets about to eat his sandwich right there.  
“Hi, Q?  This is nice and all, but I wasn’t joking before.  Get the hell out of my kitchen.”
216 notes · View notes