#and he fights so hard for emily and scully and he tries so hard to be what she needs! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scullydubois · 3 years

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Only the Light Ch. 20

I now present to you a chapter that is filled with more angst than Chris Carter could ever dream of, and for that, I am truly sorry.

Scully and Mulder's foray into domesticity with Emily is interrupted by the past catching up to them. Faced with despair, they cling even tighter to each other.

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Scully is granted maternity leave, though it’s only for two weeks, which Missy let her know is “a piss-poor bargain.” And she knows this is true, but she also has more incentive to stay at her job than ever, so she’d like not to lose it. The fact that advocating for herself and her child would mean risking her job is a mess in itself, but one lone woman can’t be expected to take down the patriarchy, and besides, she’s already tried and failed.

As for she and Mulder, they hide their flirtation in plain sight. Mulder’s perpetually present in body or spirit, but his behavior never reveals anything more than it did before. Every morning he swings by to say hi, brings Scully coffee and a bagel with full-fat cream cheese, and checks if Emily’s picked up any new words. Personally, he’s working on “alien” and if you ask him, she’ll get it soon. She knows that it refers to her UFO stuffie, so sounding out the letters can’t be far behind, much to her mother’s dismay.

On Wednesday of the first week, he shows up at 6pm with takeout carbonara from a local Italian joint. His presence makes every Scully girl happy, but it makes one in particular the happiest, and Melissa realizes that there are definitely things her sister has failed to mention. She doesn’t question it, but watches with glee as the situation unfolds.

After that first night, Mulder keeps coming back with dinner and refuses to let either sister shoulder the cost. On Friday, he stays for a movie too and gets to participate in Emily’s nightly tucking-in ritual (a tickle on the left foot, a tickle on the right foot, and a big smooch on the forehead).

Saturday afternoon, he joins them for a stroller push through the park, earning some serious side-eye from Scully when he suggests that they stop at the playground because, according to the mama bear, “Em can only take six steps at a time, Mulder.” So instead they buy hotdogs from a vendor and eat them on a bench, Emily sandwiched between her mother, her aunt, and her...Mulder. They couldn’t ask for more.

That night, Mulder hangs around after dinner because what else is he gonna do? Go home and watch old baseball games until he falls asleep? A new leaf has been offered to him, and he’s gotta turn it.

He’s baffled when, upon announcing that it’s Emily’s bathtime, Scully goes to the kitchen and switches on the sink.

Scully raises an eyebrow at him. “What, your mother never washed you in the sink when you were a baby?”

“Not that I know of...I have a hard time envisioning myself ever fitting in a sink.”

Scully scoffs. “I forget. You were a Vineyard boy.”

Before he can come up with a smart response to that (as if there actually is one), Missy pipes up. “Oh, I bet you were the kid that took baths with your mother,” she teases. “Care to confirm or deny?”

“If I did I blocked it out of memory, thank god,” he testifies.

Having spread a towel on the counter, Scully strips Emily down and perches the girl on her hip. She sticks her hand under the faucet.

“That’s not too hot, do you think?” she asks Missy, who tests it as well.

“That should be fine.”

Mulder joins in too, and immediately regrets it. He shrinks away from the water, shaking droplets all over the room. “Jesus, Scully! Are you trying to boil her?”

“Babies lose heat quickly because of their body surface to weight ratio,” she says matter-of-factly. “They’re more susceptible to the cold.”

“I think the cold will be the least of her worries,” Mulder quips.

“If you really think it’s too hot, I’ll turn it down…” There’s a concerned crease beneath her eyes, and it makes Mulder feel bad about his joking.

“No, no, you know what you’re doing,” he assures her. “You’re her mother.”

As she lowers Em into the sink, Scully’s heart twinges. Her. A mother. How many times will she have to hear this before it stops feeling like news to her?

One week and bathtime has already become routine. Missy fills a plastic cup and pours it gently over her niece, the water cascading down Em like she is nature’s own. Scully soaps her palms, then glides over her daughter’s skin with such care that its memory may blight any future affection Em is graced with. And then another waterfall, and the gentle brush of a wash cloth against eyes and nose.

Scully squeezes a penny’s worth of baby shampoo into her hand, looks to Mulder. “Come on, get in here. You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, are you?” she says with a smirk.

He smirks back and shakes his head as she lifts his open palm and shrinks her accumulation to a dime. “Although, technically I am getting my hands cleaner…”

She boops him right on the nose with a shampooed finger. He laughs.

Missy smiles. Oh, to see destiny play out right in front of you. “Someone’s cracking dad jokes,” she points out, unable to resist. This observation is much too on-the-nose for the pair (quite literally for Mulder), who simultaneously blush but say nothing.

Mulder wipes the shampoo from his nose and plants it on Emily’s head, joining his partner in making soapy circles over the girl’s tuft of strawberry hair. Scully’s full attention is directed toward her daughter. As soon as the lather is sufficient, she dons the lifted lilt of motherhood. “Okay, time to rinse! Missy, will you do the honors?”

Missy turns the faucet, fills the cup, and lets it flow over Emily. Mulder and Scully wash their hands off in the stream.

And as Scully leans for the towel, a splash of red dirties its fresh white surface. Mulder notices it first. He points at his partner’s porcelain face. “Scully, you’re bleeding.”

Her hand shoots to her nose. Sure enough, it stains her fingers. “Shit.” She turns away, goes for a tissue. “I haven’t had nosebleeds since I was fourteen,” she tells them, as if that invalidates this one. She wipes away a glob of blood, her stomach turning. “Missy--” her voice shakes involuntarily, “--will you dry Em off?”

“Uh-huh.” She nudges Mulder. “Will you grab a new towel from the linen closet?” she whispers, not wanting to further upset her sister.

Mulder goes off without a word, and Missy squeezes out Em’s hair as best she can. “What a pretty girl!” she gushes. “All clean!”

“Yee!” Emily throws her little fists in the air, injecting joy back into the room.

“Time to put your PJs on, and get a tickle, tickle, smooch.”

Mulder scrambles back in with a new towel, skirting around Scully, who remains occupied with her own situation. He slides the soiled towel away and helps Missy swaddle Em. Mulder ruffles the little girl’s hair, and she laughs like a music box.

“Mol-dy.�� She spits it out in halves, as if she’s been rehearsing.

Mulder’s eyes water with recognition. “Mulder? Mul-der? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Moldy,” the girl declares again, certain of herself.

Missy adjusts Em on her hip, smiles at Mulder. “Looks like you’re Moldy now.”

Mulder bites his lip to hide his overwhelming delight. “Yeah, I...I never thought I'd be so happy to be called moldy.”

Next thing he knows, Scully is at his shoulder with a tissue stuffed up her nostrils. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“Em called me Moldy,” he tells her, full of satisfaction.

“Oh.” It comes out relatively unimpressed, but really, she’s just distracted. “Missy, will you get a diaper on her before there’s an accident? I would but I’m still--” She gestures to her nose.

“Yeah, yeah.” Missy smiles at the baby in her arms. “PJ time, Em!” They go off toward the bedroom, a happy pair.

As soon as Em is out of sight, Mulder spirals toward his partner, panic-stricken. The glee of moments ago has evaporated.

“Are you okay?” He touches her hair, shoulders, and the familiar small of her back, unsure of where he should land.

“I’m fine, it’s fine.” Her grip on his elbows--keeping his hands firmly placed on her waistline--suggests otherwise.

“You’ve got to see a doctor,” he pleads. “This could be...”

“This could be what, Mulder?” The steel in her blue eyes is a death grip. She’s never liked being told the obvious.

“Scully…” He sighs, rubs his neck, wills her to say what they both know. When she doesn’t, he takes his hands off her and wrings them together. “The Mufon women...they said it would happen to all of them eventually.” He’s careful not to lump Scully in with their group.

“And what do they know?” she retorts. “One of them was sick. One.”

“Okay, well, don’t you think it’s better to be safe than sorry?” he reasons. “You have Emily to look out for now.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “Don’t guilt trip me. It’s a nosebleed. Those happen all the time for completely benign reasons.”

“Yeah, but they don’t happen to you. You just said--you haven’t had one since you were fourteen.”

She clenches her jaw. He’s right, and she’s playing the fool. His position is the one she would take if this were anyone other than herself. She’s gonna have to lose this fight with as much grace as possible.

“Fine. I’ll get it checked out, but they’re gonna think I’m insane for coming in because of one nosebleed.”

“That’s a nice change of pace--you being the insane one for once.”

“Well, you’re the one who wants me to go, so you’re not out of the woods.”

“Good, I’ve finally got some company!”

Scully smiles in spite of herself. “Yes, yes you do.”

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It happens very quickly, as most calamities of life can be said to. This gives it the unreal quality of a nightmare that might soon be woken up from, if there is any justice in the world.

Scully snags a doctor’s appointment for three days after the initial nosebleed. By the time she walks into the waiting room, one nosebleed has quadrupled into four, and her minor concern has snowballed into abject terror.

Margaret Scully drove into the city to watch Emily so Missy could join her sister. Scully insisted that she would go alone, but Missy wouldn’t accept this. She threatened to tell Mulder the details of the appointment if Dana didn’t let her go, and that was enough to earn her a spot in the passenger seat. Scully can’t take the thought of Mulder witnessing the worst--let alone her reaction to the worst.

And so it goes something like this: they are taken to an exam room, at which point Scully explains her situation to a nurse, including that she has recently learned she is at high risk for cancer. The nurse assures her that such a diagnosis is highly unlikely, but makes a note for the doctor. The doctor comes in with knitted eyebrows and listens to Scully describe the aftermath of her abduction experience with a heavy emphasis on the convoluted but substantial claims of the Mufon women. She asks if Scully has had any other symptoms, to which Scully replies that it’s hard to tell because she has an infant in the house and thus, a marked lack of sleep.

The doctor laughs, but it’s not a haha laugh, more of an I feel your pain. She agrees that the women’s claims are concerning, but tells her patient not to fret. They’ll take all the precautions, run any test that might assuage her worries. There’s a quip about how it’ll be on the government’s dime since it covers Scully’s insurance, and then the doctor leaves to order an MRI.

A full body MRI, which Scully has never had, and which she hoped she would never require. There’s no deeper sickness than one that cannot be pinpointed, and no greater fear than of the unknown turning into the worst case scenario.

The MRI is completed that same day. As she slides into the machine, Scully thinks of Betsy Hagopian and wonders how she’s doing. It has been many months since she stood outside an exam room and watched Betsy enter one of these. Has fate been kind to her?

For a few minutes, her world is limited to the mere inches between her face and this life-saving yet life-ruining contraption. It is noisy and sometimes bright and altogether disorientating. She is glad when it’s over.

The images return almost immediately, and maybe it would all have been okay if Scully weren’t trained in radiology herself, if she wasn’t able to recognize the glaring speck of light in her nasal cavity for what it is. But that one glance is all she needs to know that waiting by the phone isn’t an option.

“It’s a tumor, isn’t it?” she blurts as the radiologist tries to escort her and Melissa from the room. “In the nasal cavity. I have a M.D. I saw.”

“Your doctor will call with the results,” the radiologist insists, standing by the open doorway.

“No, no, you can’t do this to me,” Scully sputters. “I know what I saw, and I don’t have any time to waste.” Her eye twitches in a combination of stress and anger. “I have an infant daughter.”

The radiologist sighs, pity on top of pity. “Perhaps your doctor will talk it through with you now.”

“Yes. Please.”

And it is talked through, though there’s no need to make it complicated: nasopharyngeal carcinoma. Inoperable, and just barely in the realm of treatable. That’s the kicker, the coyote in the pasture, the cloud covering the sun. In the words of Scully’s doctor, it is auspiciously rare. And in Scully’s brain, it is the bottom she’s been expecting to drop out from under since she held her daughter in her arms.

Melissa drives home. The sisters cannot fathom how they will tell their mother. Cannot fathom ruining her blissful time with the granddaughter she’s just met. When they turn onto their street, Scully swallows hard and coughs on her own spit. “Will you do something for me?”

Missy looks over, eager to do anything she can, yet terrified by the possibility of the request.

“Will you take me to Mulder’s?” Scully mumbles. “I would just take the car but...I can’t face mom right now. I don’t want to risk it.”

Missy bites her lip. “And what am I supposed to tell mom when she asks where you are?”

“The truth,” Scully says curtly. “She doesn’t need the backstory.”

Missy drives past their building, though she’s not completely sold on her sister’s reasoning. “Don’t you think she might wonder why you aren’t coming home to your daughter?”

“I know she’ll wonder, Melissa, I know all of this,” Scully snaps because she needs to. “I don’t care.”

“Okay.” Missy’s voice is barely perceptible. I don’t care; she knows how low her sister has to be to say those words.

They complete the drive in silence, Scully biting her nails--a habit which she has never possessed, and perhaps just acquired. The car idles as Missy pulls up to the curb of Mulder’s building.

“I can pick you up when you need it,” she tells her sister as she pulls herself out of the car. “I’ll bring Em.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Scully says, closing the passenger door and edging toward the building. Missy hears a thanks float toward the car, then her sister is gone like a teenage girl embarrassed by her mother.

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They sit on Mulder’s couch, muted. Words cannot fathom the injustice of this situation, nor can they suffice as empathy. Their hands are clasped together, a throughline of strength between them. This is what they need now; the most primitive language of all.

Scully’s watery eyes brush Mulder’s face. His own eyes, more pained than usual, look into hers. Without a word, she drapes an arm around her partner’s shoulders and scoots into his lap. He is surprised but not distressed. What else is left for them, now?

She is tiny, so tiny. And she is his.

Their eyes meet once again, speaking in tongues. Scully nods, and then Mulder does too. This is it. This is it.

Permission granted at last, Scully’s lips travel to her partner’s jawline. The first time her lips have touched his body, and this is where they go. She is a constant box of wonders, a fortune he can never predict. Her lips are much like he has fantasized they would be: wondrously soft and silky, stroking him like they have always meant to be there. Yet he couldn’t have imagined the urgency with which they burrow into his skin. As if she’s making a mental map of his bone structure. He never expected that she would want him this much.

His hands find her hips and grip the cotton of her shirt between his fingers. It is enough to tear her away from his flesh. Mission accomplished. His breath travels past her ear, hitting her neck. It is shallow and warm as he breathes her name. Her real name, the one her family calls her. She breathes his own back to him, like a bird responding to a mating call.

She feels his lips on her neck, wet and aching. It feels like God. This is the most blasphemous thought she has ever had. She throws her head back, exposing the whole of her skin to him. What is holiness, if not this moment?

He showers her in tattoo kisses, and she lets him, she lets him, she lets him. This is not just what she wants, but what she needs. No one will save her now, she knows this. So she has decided not to be saved.

Her shirt ripples as he clutches it. “May I?” He is breathy, awe-struck.

“Only if I can do the same.” Always about equality, his Scully is. He lifts his arms, lets her strip him first. He is fraught with the temptation to feel insecure, inadequate, but this is not about him--this is all for her. There is no time to dwell on this anyway. Scully takes in the sight, then puts her own arms up with a hint of impatience. He pulls her shirt over her head, and goosebumps adorn her as the air hits her bare stomach.

It is unimaginable, the significance of this moment. All Mulder can do is keep going, lest the emotion hit him and he find himself blubbering all over her. His hands travel her body...it is slender and white, but so solid, so strong. Cartilage forming ligaments forming joints connecting bones. And her skin, stretching over her hips and framing it all. The masterpiece that is Dana Katherine Scully.

He fears for the day she will cave in on herself. Already, one of his hands covers her whole rib cage. Right now he can cradle her body comfortably against his own, but the day will come when a single cautious touch will crush her, and his heart along with it. He wants her as she is now forever.

Seeing that he wants to pamper her, Scully lets herself be pampered. He showers the taut length of her collar bone in kisses. The vibration resonates throughout her bone structure, and already she can feel him in places she’s only fantasized about having him. He is going to heal me, she thinks. If anyone could heal her in any way, it would be him doing this.

She shows her gratitude by kneading circles into his soft tissues, so tense from all their days chasing ghosts. The sinew relaxes beneath the pads of her fingers, and she feels like she has solved the most important X-File of all.

Mulder traces his way along her spine. He has never touched her here, nor ever even fantasized about it, and there is an erotic tension--like a needle about to drop on a record--that neither one of them could have seen coming. Inevitably, his hands converge at the hooks of her bra. She arches her back in approval. He slides the hooks away from each other, and both of them feel the release. She shimmies off the garment before he can pull it out of the way. No secrets, not anymore.

Mulder didn’t expect to cry and is aware that most women wouldn’t take that as a positive sign, but seeing her, like this, knowing what they both know, tears feel like the least he could offer up. She is...beautiful is too weak a word to describe it. He needs to invent a new word to capture the essence of his emotions, the reverence with which he views her. He is not a religious man, but he will worship her until the end of time.

He has known this, intuitively, for a while, and now he’s putting it into practice. He wants to do everything he can for her, give her everything she wants. Yet he doesn’t know how to, and this scares him. She has always slipped through his fingers, always turned on a dime just when he thought he figured her out. Tonight is no exception. How was he to know that he’d be on his couch with a half-naked Scully in his lap?

He fears the tears will offend her, so he nuzzles into her heartspace, his nose pressed against the heart that is--by the grace of that God she worships--still beating. His lips meet the plush of her left breast.

Where does he go from here? The dusty routine he’s used with other women--the few who have given themselves to him or let him hand himself over--is not worthy enough for Scully. He could never touch Scully in the ways he’s touched the women before because she is not like the women before. There is no mere giving or taking here, no detached exchange of commodities or pleasure for the sake of pleasure. This is survival. They are symbiotically keeping each other alive.

A drop of water hits Scully’s skin, slides down the curvature of her breast. She shudders. A tear. That’s what it is, she realizes. Mulder is crying. It’s a baptism of unfortunate proportions.

She cups her hand against his chin, tilts it up so his bleary eyes meet hers. She rests her forehead against his. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.” She kisses each eye closed, his lids fluttering beneath her lips. “It’s okay.”

His breathing steadies. He is quite certain that it is not okay, that it never will be, but he listens to her, lets himself pretend.

Hands still on his chin, she careens their lips together. His mouth on hers; a godsend. They caress each other for a moment, then Scully opens wide, and Mulder does too. They are reflecting.

If Scully could compress herself, pushing every particle of air out of her lungs and into his, she would. As a sort of thank you, for everything. For what he has done, what is doing, what he will do...She will never have to live without him. She knows this now, and it makes this easier. But he will have to live without her, and so she must make sure he gets the memories he needs to carry on. This is how grief works, she’s acquainted with it. These moments, these feelings, these bated breaths and tender touches, will be his survival mechanism for awhile. Until the day when he can throw them off and go on without her ghost. It will happen one day, and she will be glad that he made it.

She feels him pressing against her stomach, which is certainly not where she wants him. “Fox…” Her hands hover above his belt. She unzips his fly first, her hand warm against him. He is dizzy with want as her fingers curl against his belt buckle, loosening it with confidence. In a sweeping gesture, she pushes his jeans off his hips, exposing him. The thrill she feels, seeing him big and bare in front of her, is a new kind of livelihood. She’s overcome with the desire to take him in her mouth--and that has never, never been her first instinct. She ducks down, but he stops her.

“Dana, no. You.”

She doesn’t need to hear it twice. She sucks in a breath, arches her back, and slides onto him. Slowly, gasping as they go.

“Am I hurting you?”

Scully shakes her head, lips parted. It has been nothing like this before...nothing so fulfilling. She crosses her ankles, binding them completely together at last.

Unity triumphs against the self, their union abolishing the world’s insistence on the solitude of the individual. This is what it’s about, isn’t it? Being joined, not only in spirit, but in body? Knowing that whatever horrors are to come, he will feel them as she does. Her dwindling will be his too, her losses an equally empty space within him.

She is teetering on the edge of something she can never come back from. She is not afraid.

She careens her fingernails into his back as the pressure builds. If it doesn’t come to a head, she’ll die right here, she thinks.

She barely registers the cathartic noises coming out of her, though they give Mulder great delight. He thought she would be quiet, and the fact that she’s not trying to hold anything in--after holding everything in for so goddamn long--is the most moving part of the experience.

And they want this to go on forever, but they want the release. Mulder swivels his hips into her, bringing them both closer to climax. Scully curls against him.

“I’m sorry,” she cries into his ear.

“What?” He nearly pulls out of her, fearing that she’s hurt.

“No, no--” She scrambles to stay with him. “This--” she pants “--is so good.” She lowers her lips onto his as confirmation, then speaks into his open mouth. “I’m just sorry to be the one to go.”

He frames her ribcage, thumbs arching toward her belly button. “Fuck, honey...don’t say that, don’t even think that…”

They won’t linger on the choice of pet name, the tenderness with which it settles over her, nor the absolute devastation of her words. There is simply no time.

Scully hides her face in his neck as the wave breaks over both of them. There is no world anymore, only the two of them on this couch. They have forsaken the physical realm, ascending to heaven in time with their heartbeats.

Mulder understands then what his reciprocal means when she says she needs proof to believe. Now that he’s been there and felt it, he knows that heaven exists, and holy shit, what does that mean for the life he has lived and the time he has left? What did it mean for Samantha?...What will it mean for Scully?

They collapse into each other, a melted mass of skin and bone. Two becoming one, becoming two again. Mulder strokes the back of his partner’s head, presses his lips to her temple. Her chest rises against him in jagged breaths.

“You are the only proof I’ll ever need that this life is worth it,” he murmurs. “Just you.”

Scully looks up at him, tears running down her cheeks. He kisses them away and wraps his arms around her. “I don’t know if you got the memo, but I love you, Dana Scully.”

She rests her cheek against his. “I love you too, F--Mulder.”

Mulder chuckles, his amusement shaking both of them. Scully closes her eyes and snuggles into him. He puts his hand over her heart, feels it beating steadily into his palm, and longs for it to stay like that forever.

#i have been working on that last scene since uhhh...october #i apologize for any emotional distress this and the following chapters will cause lmao #probably only two or three chapters left!!!#thank you for reading <3 #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #txf #txf fic #the x-files #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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frogsmulder · 3 years

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Maybe There’s Hope: chpt 5 Under the Midnight Moon

Starting from the final events of 09x20 The Truth, Mulder and Scully tackle their new reality as fugitives. When they finally settle into things, Scully finds out she is pregnant again. A canon divergent AU where I thought, what if Scully got pregnant whilst on the run instead of at the end of season 11?

3.7k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic; read on ao3

The night was mild but the coastal breeze had its biting edge. Nipping at Mulder's toes, it reminded him that he really was in Mazatlán, Mexico, and the beauty of the sky and the sea softly roaring wasn't just a lyrical dream. The music from the clubs on the promenade pulsed through the air; a low hum by the time it reached the beach. He sat on one of the blankets from the car laid out over the soft dips and mounds of the sand, guarding Scully's socks and shoes and Moby as he watched her. Scully, ever his lyrical dream, paddled at the shore, not caring for the power of the elements, but liberated by the tug of the tide. In the candescence of the moon, her blonde hair was illuminated an ethereal silver like a halo, gently billowing in the breeze. Her pants were turned up, the waves cresting and crashing at her feet, the sand no doubt sifting through her bare toes as whisps of seaweed floated at her ankles. There was a lightness to her step that made everyone she took look like a dance of her spirit. Beside her, Emily was jumping over the waves as they rolled in. Her little feet made no splashes in the water but she was giggling and skipping all the same. His heart ached with contentment to see them both enjoy a moment of happiness. Gazing up at the black night sky littered with the warmth of orange light pollution, he thanked the far-off, scattered stars, knowing whoever was up there had smiled on him with mercy.

Man, you're properly screwed.

The three musketeers appeared behind him with the dulcet tones of Frohike carrying on the wind.

Yeah, dude, you can't keep living like this, Langley added.

"Like what?" Mulder asked defensively.

Byers sat down in front of Mulder and clasped his hands. What the others were trying so eloquently say is that you need to tell her about us.

Mulder rubbed his face in his hands. With his sight darkened, he couldn't tell that the trio was there like they had simply blinked out of existence– no presence, no warmth, no sound of breath greeted him. He was chasing visions in his own head again. He took a deep breath. "I don't know if I can do that to her."

Frohike sympathetically tried to pat his shoulder. Mulder, we had a deal: if you don't treat the lady right, I get to make a pass.

Mulder scrunched his nose. "I don't ever remember making that deal."

He's right, Frohike, that never happened.

Shut up, Langley, he warned. I might be dead, but I'm no less of a catch.

Because you looked like a wet fish while you were still alive, Langley jibed.

Mulder chuckled, "I didn't even have to say it."

He looked up to see Scully walking back up the beach towards him, a peaceful smile playing on her lips. The reflection of the ocean still twinkled beyond the infinite blue of her eyes. He felt as though he had taken a lungful of seawater, something like an intoxicating potion swirling around his insides, polishing unbridled emotion.

"Talking to yourself again?" she asked cheerfully, pulling a stray strand of hair from her curling lips, blissfully unaware of the company he held.

Beaming up at her, he joked, "One day, they'll lock me up for it."

Come on, man! Frohike exclaimed accompanied by a reprimanding, Mulder... from Byers.

Scully's face fell, a flash of pain darting behind those endless oceans, suddenly turning the air sombre. All at once, the imaginary taste of salt on his tongue spoilt and dried his mouth.

"Please don't say that," she said calmly, her voice a mask free of malice or vulnerability.

"Sorry, I forget," he muttered.

The trio moved out the way as Scully unknowingly walked between them and sat beside Mulder. "It's okay," she murmured, eyes drawn to the water.

Frohike, Byers, and Langley all looked at him expectantly. He ignored them indignantly and laid down with his head in Scully's lap, shuffling on the scratchy blanket to get comfortable. She idly stroked her fingers through his hair, fingertips cool against his side-burns. He shivered from the chill of her touch, but leaned into her affection, letting the tingles shoot down his spine.

Frohike groaned exasperatedly. Let's leave the two lovebirds to it, he said, frowning at Mulder and gesturing for the others to follow. I'm sure he'll tell her eventually.

Mulder chuckled at him and the disgruntled expression on his face as he walked out of sight.

"Are you okay?" Scully asked, a purring lilt to her voice.

"Yeah," he sighed, then nestled further into the cradle of her lap.

She hummed contentedly, continuing to draw waves through his hair. Her stare was fixed not on him, but following the line of the horizon where cargo ships were dotted like tiny toys. She was more peaceful, her spirit soothed for a few hours by the lullaby of the waves. Yet she still kept that part of her private. Her silhouette was stoic, not letting on what undercurrents pained her. He just felt like a sponge, absorbing all her hardship and mirroring it back to her. Her pain was his hurt; her wounds why he wept.

Mulder placed his hand on top of hers by his head, nuzzling his cheek warmly into her palm. "I like it when you're like this," he mused.

She cocked her head with curiosity. "Like what?"

"Carefree," he said simply.

"What do you mean?"

"I can feel you and you're the most relaxed I've ever seen you these last couple of months–" Turning, he sat up and cupped her cheek, holding her as if she were a delicate and intricate work of art, constantly shifting and changing, swirling and charming him with her mystery. He watched the puzzle pieces in her eyes and her jaw shift and tighten. He smoothed her porcelain skin over with his thumb, her cheeks rosy from the chill, no longer thawed by her constant smile. "–But you're still putting on a strong face."

"What do you mean?" she asked again below her breath.

He brought their foreheads together, noses kissing like Eskimos', daring to say what had been on his mind since they had first driven out of New Mexico. "I know you're coping, but it's killing me watching you close off from the world. I don't know how long I can wait for you while I'm in the dark, not knowing what monsters you're fighting. Seeing you then, it was like I got the old, happy Scully back for a moment."

Carefully, she spoke, "It's never been my intention to hurt you. I'm sorry if I've made you feel that way. I, uh, don't think I need to tell you how hard I have found this."

"I know, I'm sorry." Sorry for everything. Sorry that she needed to put up her ten-foot fences. He realised that it was his fault. "I'm selfish for wanting more from you," he mumbled and clenched his eyes closed, willing away the hot sting that tormented him. The air shifted around him: the compress to his forehead vanished, the warmth of a small hand appeared against his other cheek, tending to a tear with a delicate swipe.

"I haven't been entirely honest with you either..." he whispered and waited. Waited for her exclamation of anger; her disappointment; her harsh words telling him that they were nothing if they couldn't trust each other. Yet none of it came. He stumbled over how to order his thoughts. "There are so many things in my head, Scully..."

He slowly opened his eyes to see her piercing ones mere inches from his face. The faint creases that defined them, like fine brushstrokes on the pale canvas of her skin, suddenly became crisp with clarity. Behind her, the rest of the world remained a dark blur, obscured and fading into oblivion. It looked a lot like the inside of his mind: a dark swimming void that only focused to a sharp point when he could see his touchstone.

"I can see people I shouldn't..." he started, his voice strangely calm and docile. Finally saying the words, he felt the ache in his chest alleviate. Keeping her face in focus, he grounded himself in the detail of her laugh lines, having watched them grow deeper over the years. He recalled a time not too long ago when the sole reason he had been placed on this planet seemed to be to make them appear. But that was before he had been abducted; before he'd died; before he'd brought back souls with him from the other side.

"They come to me, talk to me, and I can't tell if it's real or a sick and twisted projection of my subconscious. The Smoking Man, Langley, Frohike, Byers... Emily... I want to believe they are real... but I– I–" he shook his head desperately– "I don't know what to believe."

Scully nodded, unsurprised that the trauma he had seen had manifested into monsters of his own, yet she was surprised that she hadn't thought of the possibility. In the last couple of months, it had been him catching her when she fell, him holding her together when she broke apart. He had been her silent buttress supporting her, for which she was eternally grateful. She knew he suffered too, but he had taken their whole situation in his stride. Yet she had been stupid to think that he was doing okay. In her own world of survival, she had been so disconnected from reality, so ignorant. She should have picked up on the signs: the far off look he'd get like he was watching something else; mumbling to himself like he was with somebody else. Tiny, minuscule things, that she had shrugged off one at a time, all came tumbling together like a tonne of bricks. She bit her lip but she wanted to kick herself.

Brushing back Mulder's shaggy fringe out of his grey-hazel eyes, she glimpsed his soul beneath, entirely trusting, entirely innocent. A pang of guilt hit her deep down that she could have possibly failed him. She sat up, her hands falling into her lap, and sighed.

"I could tell you that stimulating different areas of the brain can provoke auditory and visual hallucinations, that extreme conditions have been known to create the sensation of a 'third person'. But I think the answer is a lot simpler than that: I think it's stress." She gaged his reaction, knowing it was probably not what he wanted to hear, but he continued to listen intently, head softly bobbing with everything she said. She took a deep breath. "The last few years have been hard– to put it lightly. There were days where I couldn't stop wondering what I was going to do without you–"

He smiled at that and she felt a similar one quietly creep into the corners of her mouth, mirroring him.

"–You know, when you weren't there, I used to pretend you were and talk to you as if you were in the room with me. Maybe the ghosts you see are just a comfort and a way to rationalise things."

"Is that your diagnosis, Doc?" he smirked. "Stress?"

Scully could see he was trying to laugh it off and she wished the answer was that simple, but stress didn't cause as sophisticated hallucinations as he was describing– exacerbate the symptoms maybe, but not cause. But she couldn't tell him that and cause undue worry without any chance of finding a real answer. She couldn't put him in more pain. It was better that she alone worried for him rather than them both be uselessly anxious.

"Have you been sleeping properly?" She lifted his fringe back again, checking for signs of tiredness in his eyes. There were dark circles under them, but no more so than usual and they weren't bloodshot.

"Do I ever?" he said as light-heartedly as possible.

She couldn't help but smile a little, letting his hair flop back into place once satisfied. Sighing, she asked more quietly, "You've seen Emily?"

She was aware that she was indulging in a foolish fantasy, but the possibility made her heart race. Rationally, the hallucinations Mulder had would be meaningless. Perhaps it was only curiosity driving her, but the clenching in her chest told her it was more than that. It had been so long since she'd seen Emily's sweet smiling face, that she needed to know, and more than a small part of her wanted to believe.

"Yeah..." Wanting to give Scully some sort of meaning, he added, "She's always looking out for you."

"I miss them both," she whispered.

"Yeah, me too."

The silence between them was filled with the chorus of waves crashing. Like their unspoken words, they tumbled with taut energy until they finally broke on the sand. Mulder wrapped his arms around her and brought them both gently down to lay on the blanket. He could see her mother's guilt plain as day and wished he could wash those fears away for her as effortlessly as she could put his mind at ease. Just looking at her, his troubles seemed to dissipate. Everything else could blur at the seams, fray and untangle, darken into that oblivion, and it would all be okay because Scully would be there.

"I don't know if I've ever told you this, Scully, but I always sleep better when you're near me."

"No, you haven't." She pursed her lips simperingly... "But I know."

He traced his thumb along the blush of her cheek and followed the line of her jaw like brushstrokes on a canvas. He soothed her worry with the repeated motion, watching the wrinkles of her forehead soften. He followed the ups and downs of her nose and cheekbones sculpted from the finest clay. He fell into the endless oceans in the depths of her eyes. She was like a journey in which he always got lost. An epic he would never tire of exploring. Like the old days back on the Vineyard, climbing and cycling and adventuring until the sun kissed the horizon and he was late home for dinner.

He chuckled: he was gazing again.

"Do you remember the last time we were by the sea?" he asked abruptly, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Because I do-- fondly."

Scully hummed, rolling onto her back to look up at the heavens. "The City of Angels. I seem to remember something about strawberries, champagne, and phone calls from bubble baths."

"I seem to remember a bit more than that..."

"There was also the minibar we raided," she offered with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"Before that, do you remember we took our shoes off and walked along the beach?" He sat up on one elbow, facing her. "The stars were out that night like tonight, and I remember thinking, loving you was the best thing I ever decided upon."

Scully turned to meet his gaze with a soft smile of wonderment.

"There was something I regret not doing last time and I want to make it right," he said and stood up, dusting himself off. He held out his hand for her, and she sat up, tilting her head, bemused.

He took a deep breath. "Would you do the honour of letting me have this dance?"

"Always," she smiled, stretching up to grasp his fingers just out of reach. He grabbed her hands and hoisted her up. Wrapping one arm around her waist, Mulder smiled as his hand found that familiar place to rest. Gently entwining his other hand with hers, he pulled her flush against his chest, the heat of her body a comforting blanket against the chill of the night.

Scully winced, hissing through clenched teeth at the press upon her own chest. He immediately relaxed his hold, sensing something was wrong.

"Sorry, my breasts have been a bit tender lately," she explained.

He nodded, allowing a gap between them. "Okay, stand on my feet," he instructed.

She gave him a questioning look.

"Trust me," he chuckled, and she stepped tentatively on top of his own bare feet. "Okay?"

"Yeah, I got it," she laughed, wobbling slightly to keep her balance. Mulder started stepping to an imaginary 3|4 beat, wiggling his toes as their dance took them across the sand. Scully hung closer to him as they waltzed, despite the ache, resting her ear to the soothing metronome of his heart beneath his chest. The da-dum that conducted them pulsed with a vibrancy of life that she had forgotten was possible. For the first time in a long time, Scully felt alive and truly living. She took in a deep breath of seaside air, tasting the tang of salt in the back of her throat. Burying her nose to where his sternum lay clothed beneath his t-shirt, she inhaled again, a deep breath in exchange for a giggle that slipped past her lips. Everything felt surreal and very real all at once.

"Forward, side, close. Back, side, close," he muttered under his breath repeatedly. It wasn't as graceful as he had envisioned it all those years ago, the weight Scully on his feet rendering it more of a charming clomp than the moonlit gentle sway he had hoped.

Her nose peaked upward followed by two bright eyes that held him in regard. "When did you learn to dance?" she asked.

"My mother used to bring us along to her ballroom classes. It wasn't the same as baseball, the thrill of standing in the batter's box, waiting to strike the ball. But I liked it."

His eyes shone with the far-off light of that precious time Before. Memories of walking down to the local village hall with his mother when he was younger danced with nostalgia like the flickering of a film reel in his mind's eye. He fondly remembered having to drag Samantha along, who'd rather stay at home and play Stratego; except their father was always away on business so they had to go.

Scully smiled up at him. "Do all your teaching stunts involve being pressed so close together?"

He gave an honest laugh. "Only when I'm teaching you. You think you got this now?"

"Back, side, close. Forward, side, close," she narrated, and he stopped to let her get off his feet.

"Now put your feet between mine, with one foot on the outside... No, the other one." A little grin worked its way into the corner of his mouth and he asked, "Ready?"

She nodded, following his lead as he slowly started to dance again. He took his time gently easing her into the lilting rhythm, allowing her to catch up with him and bracing her when she stumbled. Despite herself, Scully let out another light laugh, flowing with a newfound grace in his arms. Sighing, aware of herself, Scully laid her head against his chest again. "I bet all the girls must have loved you at Oxford."

She felt a low chuckle rumble through him.

"No?" She looked up in surprise.

"Not once they got to know me," he answered with an innocent shrug. "I was good at scaring them away... One way or another."

"I'm sure that isn't true. And anyway, wasn't Phoebe Green your girlfriend?"

He shook his head: of course she would remember. "Were you seriously jealous of her?"

She sucked in a telling breath. "No... I just didn't like how she sauntered in thinking she could use you," she said honestly, but in hindsight, it would be futile to refuse that seeing them dance more intimately yet than their waltz made her gut clench for other reasons.

Mulder squeezed her hand. "Scully, she couldn't even lift a finger to hold a candle to you."

"I didn't like seeing you hurt."

"Hey, it doesn't matter now. I'm here. You're here. I'm dancing with my beautiful wife," he smirked.

"You wish," she quipped with mirth, but the idea was a thrilling impossibility that made butterflies out of her belly.

"She is beautiful," he insisted and spun her out of hold.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

She folded back into his arms.

"I'm a lucky man to be gifted with such a sight."

She gazed upwards.

"Love is blind."

"The heart knows best," he whispered, leaning down, a hair's breadth from her face, hesitant and seeking permission.

Scully wasn't sure when they had stopped but she was aware that her toes were curling through the sand, grounding her whilst Mulder's lips beckoned her to fly. He was gentle, but with them, he persuaded her to dive a little deeper, fall a little harder, fly a little higher. When met with his pleading tongue, she took a leap of indulgence until the will for oxygen became too strong. Breaking from the kiss and her consuming haze, she smiled shyly. "Mulder... If you kiss me like that..."

"What?" he husked, forehead resting against hers.

"We'll have sand in places we don't particularly want."

"We have a blanket," he helpfully reminded her.

"Mulder!" she giggled.

He shook his head, rubbing his forehead against hers as he thought. Suddenly, he straightened with an idea; a mischievous grin taking over his countenance. "I want to get strawberries first."

A look of surprise lit her features. "Really?"

"Yeah, we can afford to splurge a little for strawberries."

Scully hummed in agreement; the thought of big, red, fresh, juicy strawberries whetting her appetite. She was suddenly met with the craving for cream as well and licked her lips. "I always knew you'd get me into trouble, Agent Mulder."

"As if you weren't capable of that yourself, Doctor Scully," he teased, and she rolled her eyes in good humour.

"I love you," she whispered for only him to hear, the weight of the words hanging in her voice. The ears of the sea and the stars were not privy to her words, not even God; they were the only two in their own world. Slowly, they swayed together in an embrace that was everything; warming each other from the darkness of the night; shielding each other from the darkness that followed them. Yet Scully allowed herself to worry about Mulder and, for the countless time that night, held him just a little closer.

#maybe there's hope #my fic #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #on the run #the x files #xf fanfic

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lokisgame · 4 years

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Love & Heartbreak

A/N: Emily AU

Emily was walking home quickly, trying to figure out how to make sense of what she was feeling. Her hands were shaking, heart beating too fast. She tried biting her lip to hold back a smile, but it only made her smile wider. She hugged the books she was carrying, reliving how they hit the floor when she bumped into him between the book shelves in the school library. How he knelt and helped her pick them up and apologized for his clumsiness, saying something about walking and reading at the same time. She felt her fingers tingle when they brushed his as they both reached to pick up the last book of the floor. She noticed his eyes just inches away. She never thought she would do this and flushed again at the memory. She kissed a boy! In the library! She kissed him as if it was now or never. And then ran away! "EMILY" she heard him calling, running to catch up to her "You forgot this" he panted handing her a biology textbook, which she noticed was not hers. "Thank" she wanted to say but couldn't finish because his quick kiss caught her lips. "You" he finished for her quietly, and was gone before she even knew it. Like she lost time for a minute.

Mulder was sitting in his car with Will in the back seat, waiting for Emily to finish the swim team practice. He was watching as she talked to one of her friends in the doorway. The boy's taller than her, though that wasn't too hard to accomplish really, looked confident and apparently interested in her. Probably captain of the boys team. She listened to him politely as he explained something to her gesturing animatedly. Mulder knew that look. He saw it on her mother often enough, listening to countless local officials, cops, sheriffs, doctors, victims and witnesses. 99 percent of her attention on the boy. He thought to himself, is this it? Is this the boy that will make her heart beat faster? "She doesn't even like him" Will piped up, not taking his eyes from his comic book. "How do you know?" He looked at Will in the rearview mirror. "I just know" he replied with a shrug, and Mulder looked back to Emily, to see as she casually moved her hand behind her back as another boy brushed passed them saying something in a hurry, his goodbyes probably. The boy had messy dark hair, was tall for his age, and giving the time and place must have been on the swim team as well. He noticed something familiar about him. The smile spreading across his face as he passed him on his bike. Mulder knew that smile because he saw it often enough as well. On his own face. "How about this one?" He asked Will, who shrugged again but with a smile this time.

He knows fear, fear is blue, mom and dad are blue sometimes. When they are blue, someone usually ends up in a hospital. He knows anger, anger is gray, the color of smoke and it smells like cigarettes. Happiness is different for everyone, but still unmistakable, it's when people shine the brightest, for mom it's sunflower yellow, for dad it's something between orange and red, the closest thing being Em's hair color, and as he suspects mom's as well. He doesn't get how it works, but he accepts it. He's lived his whole life like this. In time the colors fade, blur and mix as he starts to better understand emotions of others. He knows them because he sees them. He feels them, other people's feelings.

Mulder found Will curled up on the couch. Usually he was doing homework in his room right after he got back from school, took after his mother that way, but today textbooks littered the coffee table in front of him. He must have gave up on them a while ago, because on tv Han Solo was trying to blast his way out of detention block AA23. He was hugging a pillow and watching Star Wars. Again. "Hey buddy, what's wrong?" "I can't stand it up there" "Your room?" "Emily's. She had a fight with Lucas. Again."

The swing had seen better days, but it's the one place she liked to go where no one bothered her. The slow sway back and forth, as mindless as cracking of sunflower seeds and spitting shells under her feet. He found her there, invaded her refuge unaware of the silent agreement they had at home. "Why did you run away?" Lucas asked sitting next to her "You think I want this?" Emily hung her head, hiding behind a curtain of hair. She knew it wasn't his fault. Salt from the seeds burned her lips, burned the feeling of his kiss. She wanted to forget. "Go away" her eyes burned as well, her throat almost closed. "Why?" He reached for her hand but she quickly pulled away. "Just go" "We still have a month, Em." A month, their sentence. "I don't..." his voice broke "Tomorrow" was all she could say, she needed time, she needed her mom, she needed her strength.

Mulder walked through the yard with every intention of protecting his daughter from whatever pain the boy might cause her, but as the kid walked his way and nodded at him, his eyes red, jaw clenched, unable to speak, he stopped himself. The kid looked as if he was in just as much pain as her. Emily stayed in her place, and he walked to her. Her fist clenched around the bag of seeds in her lap, her shoulders trembled with held back tears. Like her mother, she suffered in silence. He knelt before her, stoping her from swinging away with his palms on her bony knees. "What happened?" He asked, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, it was growing long, almost reaching her shoulder this year, she'll probably want to cut it again soon, he wondered. She looked up at him in that moment and her resolve broke, a hitched breath turned into a sob and tears spilled down her cheeks and she collapsed into his arms, crying and holding on as tight as her 16 year old arms would allow. All Mulder could do was hold on to her, hold her pieces together as she fell apart, still oblivious to reasons behind it. Her breath hitched, body trembling, she tried to speak but her voice wouldn't come washed away by wave after wave of tears that shook her. He stroked her back, her head, whispered words of comfort swallowing his own tears. Her pain was his pain, forever. He managed to the loose track of time before she calmed and took a shuddering breath, his shirt felt damp and cold when her grip loosened. "He's leaving" she said in a small voice, still hidden in his arms, "He dumped you?" Mulder tried to take a look at her face but she only hid deeper, hugged him tighter. "No, he's leaving, moving to London" she whispered "It's over" His heart broke for her and he pulled her closer, the powerlessness, the injustice, it had to feel like the end of the world to her. "Oh baby, don't say that" he tried to find words to ease her pain, but his own brain struggled through haze of memories. "But it's the truth" she sniffed and pulled away, wiping her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. "I'll never see him again" He knew the feelings all to well, each time he came close to losing Scully, it felt like drowning. But Emily was still so young with whole life ahead of her. Mulder searched for some shred of hope she could hold on to, a thread to tie around her heart, to keep it from breaking beyond repair "You never know, and even miles apart, you still can be friends." All he could do was hope he was right this time, he and Phoebe, his high school love didn't have that much luck, but he couldn't tell her that. "He'll forget about me" her lip started to tremble dangerously as he took her sweet face in his hands to look into her eyes "No, baby, he won't!" He said with full confidence this time before pressing a kiss to her forehead "Nobody forgets their first love"

#Emily AU #Dad Mulder #x files fanfic #msr mini fic

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admiralty-xfd · 5 years

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the whole truth

Mulder and Scully at The Falls in Arcadia. Diana witnesses an intimate moment. Mulder and Scully reinforce their bond to each other.

This is chapter 13, to start at the beginning click here.

Chapter 13: The Ascent

She thinks about this more than she’s comfortable; the images pouring forth like scenes from a favorite movie, or one of Mulder’s oft-visited porn tapes. She’s thought about it since it nearly happened: in dreams, in waking.

“I don’t want to do this alone.”

He inches towards her so slowly the anticipation is intoxicating, the sound of approaching truth deafening. She can smell him, he’s so close. Only this time, there is no interruption. There is no bee.

He comes to her with no hesitation or uncertainty. He grasps her face between his hands and kisses her the way she’s wanted him to for so long: with passion and fire, and the love she feels so desperately for him is reciprocated with intensity.

At first they know nothing, tongues gliding over lips and teeth, and noses bumping together as if they’ve never kissed another soul. As if this is the very first time for either of them. But then, as dreams go, everything becomes mind blowingly perfect. His lips are supple, wet and smooth. Perfection. She combs her fingers through his hair and her own lips part, letting him inside.

She wants to smile with utter relief but she does not, because she still doesn’t believe it. How can she believe this is finally, finally real? She is Dana Scully, she is his Dana Scully. She sees things with her own eyes, touches things with her very fingers and cannot believe.

But it’s the reason he loves her.

“I owe you everything.”

She allows her smile to show now, no longer thinking, no longer worrying. He smiles in return and carries her back inside his apartment, lays her down on a bed she’s never laid eyes on like she belongs there, like she’s always belonged there, and they start to tear each other’s clothes off. Yearning washes over her, engulfing her; a savage appetite. His hand slips beneath her shirt with ease and familiarity, skilled fingers that know exactly how to please her, and she gasps and arches into his welcoming touch.

Why can’t this be so easy in real life? Somehow she knows this is all a dream, it can’t be real, it’s much too good to be true.

But she wants to believe.

His lips travel along her neck, across every surface of her body until she is quaking with anticipation. She doesn’t have to wait long, because that’s how dreams work, and soon he is parting her legs and she arches again, guiding him inside her. She doesn’t see him but rather feels him as he makes her whole.

“You made me a whole person.”

He moves within her; warmth and comfort and desire that can only be described as the physical manifestation of their trust and it feels so perfect, so good, so right.

The only thing that feels right.

"Scully... I love you,” Mulder says; the three words she hasn’t stopped thinking about since he’d uttered them months ago, as her memories blur together with fantasy. “I only love you. There could never be another.”

She’s so desperate to know this, to hear him say it.

She doesn’t want to stop. She never, ever wants to wake up. And he is relentless. He will not stop either, not until she sees stars, and soon she does; soon she is coming so hard, her hands on his face, their foreheads locked together, as it should be.

As it always should have been.

1450 AUTUMN TERRACE

ARCADIA, CA

FEBRUARY 26, 1999

7:46 AM

Scully woke tangled in sheets, cresting. Her hand went to her mouth in surprise as she rode out a much needed orgasm, induced by merely a dream.

A dream. This had never happened to her before.

Her eyelids grew heavy as she finished, and she rolled over, recalling to her great horror that she was actually sharing a bed with the very man she’d been fantasizing about.

Mulder had finagled his way into her room last night claiming an inability to sleep on an uncomfortable mattress, but she knew he just wanted to be close to her. She wanted to be close to him too, so she’d let him.

The sheets were tangled around his own body as well, and demonstrating her complete lack of self control in such a vulnerable moment, her eyes landed on his crotch. It was clear that, indeed, he’d been quite comfortable on her mattress. The size of his bulge shocked her, and for a brief moment she wanted to laugh; between the sharing of the bed, his erection, and her orgasm, they’d practically had sex. Too bad they’d both slept through it.

By the grace of God he was sleeping soundly and hadn’t noticed her embarrassing infraction. She felt her body relax, coming down from before, and it was a strange but wonderful sensation to be looking at his face in real life during such a moment, rather than only in her mind. She had an urge to leave the bed but she stayed, watching him sleep, allowing herself this indulgence. She’d never been able to do this before, so close, his face so beautiful, his breathing slow and steady.

"You made me a whole person,” he’d said in her dream.

He’d said it in real life, she corrected herself.

She should have said it back. She should have told him the truth. She should have told him “I could never be whole without you, either.” Then maybe they wouldn’t be in this mess right now.

After the distraction of El Rico they hadn’t revisited their fight at The Lone Gunman. She felt better than she had before, however; their conversation in the train yard had been a long time coming. And now that Diana Fowley had disappeared and it was just the two of them on the X-Files again, she felt more secure in her role as his partner.

Although now, that role had switched to ‘fake wife’ literally overnight.

His left hand laid on his chest and she stared at the gold wedding band on his finger. For a moment she let her mind wander to what that might be like: Mulder as a husband, as a lover.

Or even a father.

She hadn’t seen any children around this suburban community, which she’d noted as odd. It made a strange kind of sense, as kids certainly would be a threat to the strict rules and regulations that were enforced. But the environment alone had gotten her thinking, and longing for something she knew she could never have.

As she watched him, she wondered what he was dreaming about. Who he was dreaming about, really. Either of the two scenarios she pictured were scary, and rather than let her mind linger on one in particular, she rolled out of bed and headed downstairs on shaky post-orgasmic legs to the kitchen. Surely the awkwardness of Mulder waking in his condition with her in the room would push their already glacial progress back another couple of years.

She leaned against the counter and waited for the coffee to brew. She’d forgotten to throw on her robe in her distraction and suddenly realized when he did come downstairs he’d see more of her than she was comfortable with. He’d already seen enough of her in a decontamination shower, courtesy of Diana Fowley, thank you very much. But there was really nothing to be done about it; she wasn’t about to go back upstairs and risk waking him.

After a few minutes of sipping her coffee and reading reports, she heard the shower turn on. She tried to focus on reading but it was hard not to think of Mulder, naked in the shower, an image she now knew by memory rather than simply imagination. She pictured steam swirling, water dripping down his body as he surely moved his hands down south to take care of his morning situation--

Stop it, she scolded herself. Then, almost as abruptly, oh, fuck it. She censored her feelings enough for Mulder. She was tired of censoring them for herself.

She let her thoughts wander where they wanted, and her legs closed involuntarily to keep her arousal at bay. She was wearing shorts and a camisole, a far cry from the nightgown ensemble she’d sported before to keep all this from becoming too… intense. Apparently it hadn’t worked out the way she’d expected.

Eventually he appeared, wearing sweatpants and a white T-shirt. She felt immediately exposed, having far less on than him, but from the way his glance roamed over what she knew was a pair of extremely pert nipples she figured it was worth it. He was surprised, having never seen her in quite this state of undress before.

“Morning,” he said, trying gallantly to keep his eyes off her chest and failing miserably. She raised an eyebrow as she sipped her coffee, but was smiling on the inside. Eat your heart out, Spooky.

“Morning. Sleep well?” she asked knowingly.

“Um. Yeah, your mattress is much better than mine. Thanks.”

He avoided eye contact as he went to the fridge and pulled out some orange juice, sipping it directly from the carton.

“That’s all yours now, you know,” she said with veiled irritation.

“Sorry,” he mumbled with his mouth full of orange juice. He pulled a glass out of the cabinet anyway and poured himself some. “You got in kind of late last night.”

It sounded harmless but she could tell he was fishing. She had gotten in rather late, and had missed the creature Mulder saw attacking the Schroeders because of it.

“Traffic,” was all she said. Her response was so clipped that she could tell he knew she was lying.

“Scully. What took you so long?”

She looked him in the eye, unsure of how to proceed. There was virtually no reason for him to be upset at her revelation except for the very huge and obvious reason before them. But deep down she wanted to see how he’d react.

“I bumped into Detective Kresge,” she said. “He happened to be at the San Diego field office working on a case.”

He looked confused, but she could pinpoint the moment recognition crossed his face. “Oh.”

The truth was, she’d been about to head back to Arcadia early in the afternoon when Kresge had asked her out to dinner and she’d accepted. They’d eaten, they’d laughed, and he hadn’t once asked her about Emily Sim, which she was grateful for. But when he’d tried to kiss her at her car she’d gently pushed on his chest, knowing it wasn’t going to lead anywhere. She was in way too deep with her feelings for Mulder. She didn’t want Ed Jerse, the sequel.

“How’s Detective Kresge doing?” Mulder asked, enunciating each syllable of the name.

“He’s doing well. Promoted to superintendent, actually.”

“Mm-hm,” Mulder nodded. “Good for him.”

She smiled, kind of enjoying this. It was nice to see the shoe on the other foot for once.

“Did he have any insight on the case at all?” Mulder asked.

“Oh, we didn’t really talk much about the case,” she admitted. “Just, you know. Catching up.” Her eyes flickered up to his and she sensed his distress, although he was trying to remain calm.

“I hope you told him you’re married,” he smirked.

“Must have slipped my mind.”

“So… are you gonna leave me here in this house all by myself again today?” he asked, apparently done talking about her date.

“What will happen if I do?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but my sanity is in jeopardy, Scully. This place is pretty much my worst nightmare.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” she laughed, knowing this to be the case already.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said you fit in here, though,” he added. “I like what you’re doing with your hair. It’s very… suburban.”

Her hand went to the bottom of her hair, where it had been curling up a bit. She actually didn’t like her most recent haircut and was surprised he’d even noticed.

“Suburban? Is that a good thing?”

“It suits you,” he said. “But then again, everything suits you.”

She was taken aback by this overt flirting. She’d noticed it a lot lately and wondered if it was compensatory for everything Diana-related that was still lingering in the air.

“Thanks,” was all she could think to say. She didn’t press the obvious unspoken observation: that she fit in here, and he didn’t.

Picking up her coffee, she moved to the couch. “Is that really what you think of me, Mulder? That I belong in a place like this?”

He looked at her, and she could tell he thought she’d taken offense. “No, not a place like this, exactly. Just… you know. Your normal life.”

“I think that ship has sailed,” she said a bit wistfully. In more ways than one. She tried daily not to think of the children she would never have. She failed daily.

“That’s nonsense,” he said. He grinned at her in a familiar way, and it was nice to feel somewhat normal with him again. “You’re a catch, Scully.”

She looked at him skeptically, questions in her eyes. It was a nice compliment, but all she wanted was for him to want to be the one to catch her.

“Well-” he said, probably to prevent yet another moment from getting too heated. “I guess I’m gonna go and put on a polo shirt or something. Check one of those CC&Rs off the to-do list.” He turned with a smile and headed back upstairs.

She wanted to believe him, that he really thought she was a catch. It was all she wanted. He was her everything, even though she still was too afraid to tell him so.

But it felt like it didn’t matter as long as Diana Fowley was still out there, Diana Fowleying around. She had him in every single area that mattered except one; the area in which Diana Fowley still had her beat.

PARENTI MEDICAL GROUP

ZEUS GENETICS

GERMANTOWN, MARYLAND

JUNE 1999

Diana sat in a parked car, assembling her papers. Zeus Genetics was just one of the many establishments that had been utilizing her research for alien hybrid experiments. This was supposed to be a quick progress meeting with Dr. Lev.

“I’ll wait for you here,” Alex said next to her.

The repercussions of her research over the past several years were only now beginning to come to light. She didn’t want to think about the effect her work had on innocent people. She knew it probably didn’t matter in the end; everyone was headed for Armageddon regardless. But the deeper she went, the worse she got at compartmentalizing, which was something she always thought she’d been pretty good at.

Slowly but surely, she was beginning to feel the noose tightening around her neck, of guilt, of hopelessness. She’d come too far now to ever pay penance for any of the things she’d done. She wanted to be a good person, she always had. But she’d run out of options long ago.

As she prepared to exit the car she noticed a woman with bright red hair emerge from the front door of the facility. She recognized her instantly: Agent Scully. A man came out behind her and took her hand, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from Agent Scully, and she found herself wondering about her, curious to see that she had some kind of personal life. A life that involved making babies. It wasn’t necessarily odd or unusual; what was odd was that she’d never thought of her in that way before: as a person, a human being. Someone who wanted more out of the life Diana had pigeonholed her into.

Her eyes then drifted to this man Agent Scully was apparently making babies with and as she fully comprehended who she was seeing she swore her heart stopped dead in her chest.

It was Fox.

What are they doing at a fertility clinic?

Her mind raced through the variety of reasons they could be there. Was this an investigation? Or perhaps some other kind of procedure? Why was Fox holding her hand?

She watched them walk to a car in the parking lot, and before Agent Scully could open the door, Fox stopped to face her. Even from a distance of about fifteen yards she could see worry in Agent Scully’s eyes, maybe fear.

But then Fox did something so unfamiliar that it nearly took Diana’s breath away. He reached up to touch Agent Scully’s face, his thumb rubbing gently along her temple. The other woman’s eyes closed and she pulled his hand to her stomach. They stood like that for a good thirty seconds as Diana felt the hope draining away from her; the absolute certainty that Fox did indeed love this other woman crashing into her like a runaway freight train.

He’d never touched Diana like that, ever. Not in their entire time together. The intimacy before her was astonishing. And the way she held his hand against her abdomen was a clear indication of exactly what they’d come here for, together.

She ducked down a bit to keep hidden. She felt invasive watching them in this moment, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“Huh,” Alex muttered from beside her. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“What?” she asked him. She eyed him, taking in his meaning. Was he trying to get a rise out of her? Could he possibly know about her past with Fox? And how could he? “What are you talking about?”

“Oh nothing, just never saw those two as the mommy and daddy type.”

She looked back over to the pair and silently agreed.

Kids? Fox? Not only was the sight before her unusual on its face, she happened to know for a fact that Fox didn’t want children. At least he hadn’t before.

He hadn’t with her, she completed the thought.

The implications of Fox and Agent Scully attempting to make a baby at Zeus Genetics presented a huge dilemma for Diana. She knew exactly what went on at this clinic; what went on at half a dozen fertility clinics in this area alone. The odds of them winding up at one that was involved in Project Crossroads weren’t staggering by any stretch.

But could she warn them somehow? Should she interfere? It was obviously too late to stop it, but if they knew what they were getting themselves into...

“What… should we do, Alex?”

He shrugged. “Not my problem. Not yours, either.” He looked at her. “Is it?”

“Of course not,” she replied, maybe too quickly. Maybe too defensively.

Alex pinned her with a look. “You know him, don’t you?”

“We all know him.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” he clarified. “You know him, know him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She wasn’t sure why she cared what Alex thought. Regardless, her skills at being a liar were of little use against a better one.

“Wow,” he said, and she knew there was no use denying it further. She sighed.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Before or after?” he asked.

“What?”

“Before, or after?” he repeated, deliberately.

“Alex, I don’t know what you’re asking,” she responded, confused. She honestly didn’t. “Before or after you? Why do you care?”

“No, Diana. Before or after you got into all of this?” He gestured everywhere, and she knew what he meant.

“Before,” she said hastily. He eyed her suspiciously.

His words, however, made her wonder. Spender had, in fact, approached her shortly after she’d started dating Fox. It never occurred to her at the time to make that connection. Was it mere coincidence? And now, with what she knew about their relationship, how could it be? Even as a strong believer in fate, this seemed far too clean.

She watched Fox leaned in to kiss Agent Scully on the forehead and open her car door. After a few seconds, they were gone.

She tried to imagine Fox as a father. She could picture it in her mind, feel it in her heart. She could almost envision it more clearly than she could envision herself as a mother.

They’d had exactly one conversation about having children and, although she hadn’t thought about it much lately, she’d lied to him when she said she couldn’t imagine it, especially right near the end of their relationship when she’d considered leaving everything behind- leaving the Syndicate behind- to fix what she had with Fox. She wondered what her life would be like if she’d chosen another path.

Her thoughts then turned to Agent Scully, to the two of them holding a baby between them, Fox looking at his partner in a way he’d never, ever looked at Diana. She felt the familiar stirrings of jealousy once again and knew this time they would remain, perhaps forever.

In this moment Diana Fowley fully grasped the grand sum of her life - and she didn’t like what she saw.

#42 HEGAL PLACE

ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

JULY 1999 10:33 PM

He heard knocking and expected it was Scully. Ever since the IVF procedure had failed, she’d been spending more and more time at his place. Mulder never wanted to see her hurting so he welcomed it, and after their respective recoveries from the man-eating mushroom case at Brown Mountain, she’d kept even closer to his side.

Instead, when he opened the door, he once again saw the most unexpected person he could think of.

“...Diana? What are you doing here? Wh-where have you been?”

He hadn’t seen or heard from her in months, ever since the El Rico incident. When he and Scully were reinstated to the X Files, he assumed she’d gone back to Europe. Hoped, if he was being entirely honest.

“I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea; I’m expecting company.”

She smirked. “That company wouldn’t happen to be Agent Scully, would it?”

He sighed. “What do you want, Diana?”

“It’ll only take a minute.” She made her way past him and he closed the door behind her. She walked into his living room and spun around, removing her jacket and throwing it on the couch.

“I thought you said a minute,” he said, annoyed. “Don’t get comfortable, please.”

“I’ve always been comfortable here, Fox,” she purred. She crossed her arms over her chest and removed her top in one swift motion. Before he could say anything, do anything, she pounced.

She pushed him back against the wall, kissing him fiercely. His eyes bulged and he tried to remember the last time they’d even spoken. She’d kissed him, he’d told her this wasn’t the time…

He hadn’t been clear enough. As usual.

“Diana-” he began, but she was not in the mood to listen. She reached for the bottom of his shirt and began to lift it over his head.

He panicked, thinking if Scully arrived and found Diana here, surely he wouldn’t get another pass, if he’d ever even had one in the first place.

“Stop, stop,” he mumbled, pushing her away. Thankfully, she obeyed and stepped back, looking at him, face flushed.

“This cannot happen,” he said. “If I gave you the wrong impression before, I didn’t mean to, and I’m sorry.”

“I lied to you,” she suddenly blurted.

He blinked. “What? When?”

“I did want children. I do want children, Fox. I want them with you.”

What the fuck? Where the hell was this coming from?

“What? I- Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you lied to me too, Fox,” she said. He saw tears forming in her eyes and could barely keep up.

“I lied about what?”

“About wanting children,” she said. His confusion was palpable until she uttered her next words. “I saw you, Fox. At the clinic. With her.”

His first thought was absolute confusion at being assaulted with this topic at such a random moment, but he then became extremely protective of Scully. This was her business, their business. What the hell did Diana have to do with any of it? And how did she even know about it?

“What were you doing at a fertility clinic?” he asked.

She waved the question away, and he might have pressed if he weren’t more immediately concerned about this invasion of their privacy.

“I need to know, Fox,” she said. There was ice in her stare. “Did you change your mind about wanting children? Or did you just not want to have them with me?”

He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak. He wasn’t prepared to talk about this. He hadn’t lied to her all those years ago; he hadn’t wanted to have children. Maybe his willingness to participate in this endeavor with Scully meant he’d grown, or more likely Diana was exactly right: he hadn’t wanted them with her.

“I never lied to you. This is something I wanted to do for Scully, as… as a friend.”

He knew the words were weak and untrue the moment he said them. And every time he played down his feelings for Scully he felt shame. It wasn’t the reason and they both knew it. But she charged forth anyway.

“Then it’s not too late, Fox. It’s not too late for us. To start over. To go back to the beginning.” There was desperation in her eyes he was unfamiliar with.

He blinked. “Diana, I… I don’t want to hurt you. That was never my intention. But I don’t know why you came here, why you’d make these overtures out of the blue.”

“Because I want to know, I need to know,” she said. She looked very upset. “Maybe we can work on this, figure it out. We now know the truth, the real truth. We can do this together, be parents together.” She took his hand. “We were great together, don’t you remember, Fox?” She sidled up to him, dragging a finger across his chest. “And that night… the night we spent together all those months ago… wasn’t that great, too?”

He didn’t know what to do to make her understand, to make her stop. Besides the fact that this was all in fact much too late, he did not want to get back together with her, and he had truly never pictured having children with her.

“Diana, I don’t know what you want me to say. You lay all this on me after I sleep with you one time… are you serious? This is crazy!”

She stood there in her bra, uncharacteristically vulnerable, searching his eyes. Maybe she wanted him to have some kind of revelation; admit he’d been wrong this entire time and choose her. But that was never going to happen. He hadn’t been clear and he knew it. If he had, he wouldn’t be in this situation at all, he was certain of that much.

He bent down to pick up her shirt and handed it to her. “I’m sorry if I gave you false hope, I truly am. That was my fault. And I will take responsibility for it. But this is not going to happen, Diana. And it has nothing to do with you, or whether or not I want or wanted kids. Honestly, none of that matters.”

“Then what is it?” She looked so confused and disappointed, and he couldn’t believe they were back here: that he’d made her fall for him again and he was now in the position to crush her like she had done to him all those years ago. “Tell me!”

There was only one thing to say that would make everything clear. She’d asked him already, and now he had an answer.

“Because I’m in love with her!” he exploded.

Saying the words out loud felt so liberating, so right on his lips: truth tumbling out like an inevitability. Silence permeated the apartment as his stark admission hung in the air, bouncing around the walls that had witnessed that very love grow these past six years.

Diana stared, holding her shirt to her chest, probably having expected this. He didn’t know what else to say, so he waited for her to make the next move.

“What is it about her, Fox? Really?” she asked quietly.

He knew she wanted something more out of him, something that wasn’t simply listing all of Scully’s obvious qualities on his fingers. But the truth was far more than that. And far more simple.

“She never stopped believing in me,” he said.

Diana took a long, last look and nodded slowly. She pulled her shirt back over her head, grabbed her jacket, and left his apartment for what he hoped was for good.

***

“Do you remember anything, Scully?”

They sat on his couch, remnants of sushi takeout strewn across the coffee table. The plan had been to watch a movie but he apparently preferred talking to her. She loved that about him.

“What do you mean?”

“Brown Mountain. Before they found us.”

“Oh. That.”

His fish tank gurgled and hummed, spattering aquamarine lights on the walls. She was comfortable in his apartment again, finally; the incident that shall not be named having faded mostly from her memory.

He’d kept true to his word all these weeks and the name “Diana Fowley” hadn’t escaped his lips. Scully wasn’t entirely sure how transparent she’d been, how obvious it was that she was in love with him, but as far as revealing her feelings openly she felt like it was still the wrong time to take that particular plunge. Diana Fowley was still lurking around: a cobra surely awaiting its next opportunity to strike.

“Don’t underestimate a woman,” she’d told Mulder a couple of weeks ago. “They can be tricksters, too.” They’d both known she hadn’t been talking about Karin Berquist.

Scully turned slightly from her position next to him, propping her head up with her elbow, her legs tucked underneath her. “I remember you were dead,” she answered him. “It was awful. I’ve feared the worst about you so many times already, Mulder. It should be second nature to me by now.”

“...But it isn’t?” he pressed.

“No.” She would never stop worrying for his safety, ever. “I remember the feeling more than anything, knowing you were gone. Like in New Mexico… those days that passed, how hopeless I felt. How certain I was that was it. It was loneliness unlike any I’d felt before… it was difficult to comprehend, really.”

Mulder looked at her. “I know exactly what you mean.”

She gave him a small smile, relieved that it felt like the two of them again, somehow. She could still remember being whisked away from Brown Mountain in an emergency vehicle, not knowing which way was up and which way was down and what was real, if anything. It had been terrifying then and, even now, thinking back to the possibility of being stuck inside a hallucination with no escape, it was still terrifying.

But he’d been there, right beside her, and she could feel him reaching for her even with her eyes closed.

In a single moment as their fingers touched, she’d been snapped back to reality.

“It’s disconcerting not knowing what’s real,” she continued. “It’s hard enough trusting anyone, let alone worrying about whether or not I can trust my own eyes.”

He was quiet. She realized she’d implied she didn’t trust him and she didn’t want him to think that.

“Mulder, I-”

“Scully… have you forgiven me? Really?” He looked at her and she saw pain in his eyes.

Things had been much better since their fight in the Gunmen’s basement, but she was now realizing she hadn’t officially accepted his apology. So much had happened since then; it gutted her that this had been weighing so heavily on his heart.

“Of course I have.”

He closed his eyes and as he exhaled his chest visibly deflated. “Good. That’s good.”

She wasn’t angry with him anymore, but even if she wanted to be, she couldn’t. The nature of their lives forced her reliance on him, her trust. She would be eternally entangled with him.

She knew this in her heart as much as she knew anything. She only hoped he knew it, too.

“I accused you of making this personal when I should have seen what you were doing for what it was: searching for the truth,” he continued.

She nodded. Although she couldn’t stand the mere sight of Diana Fowley, and it had definitely become personal, he wasn’t wrong.

“What matters is the truth,” he said. “It’s what we’ve taught each other, what we’ve learned from each other all these years. And I need you to know this, Scully. I’m sorry I behaved in a way that caused you to doubt me, because the truth is…” he swallowed visibly, “...I need you.”

I need you on this, Scully.

Her heart nearly stopped beating. “You do?”

“Yes, I do. Without you, everything I’ve worked for, all of the things I’ve ever searched for… it all just falls apart.”

She smiled at his words, but his real meaning still eluded her. Yes, he was talking about the work, but back in his hallway he’d muddied the lines between professional and personal. He had done that. And now he was leaving her in such a state of confusion she didn’t know when things were personal and when they weren’t anymore.

She wished they could go back in time, get a do-over. A kiss would have been the perfect way to tell each other this was more than just work, this was more than just the quest.

“You said I owe you nothing, but I do,” she said. “You’ve taught me to open my eyes, Mulder. And I’m trying to do that, not only for the X-Files, or for you, but for myself.”

“You’ve taught me the same thing, though, Scully,” he insisted.

“What do you mean?”

“You taught me not to close my own eyes to the truth, to the real answers. When you think you can prove me wrong, you’re not afraid to try.” He smiled. “You’re that last piece of my puzzle, and I need that piece to get the full picture.”

“Even when the picture is something you don’t want to see?”

He shrugged. “The truth may hurt, but it’s all that matters.”

She smiled, at last, and in this moment felt that somehow, some way, they would be okay.

“Arthur Dales was right, you know,” he continued. “About you.”

“Who?” she asked.

“Florida. The hurricane,” he reminded her. “He said I was lucky to have someone as savvy as you by my side.”

Dales had also passed out after a few more glasses of whiskey but it wasn’t his opinion that mattered anyway.

“I am lucky, Scully. Very lucky. And grateful.”

She smiled and her insides felt warm again, the same way they had in his hallway. “Even though I challenge and provoke you incessantly?” she asked.

“Especially because of that.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I mean it. I will always want you around to prove me wrong, Scully,” he chuckled. “Always.”

She sighed and scooted closer to him, propping her feet up on his coffee table, and rested her head against his shoulder. He mimicked her actions, resting his own head on hers.

“Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

She slid her hand along the couch, the journey seemingly interminable until she found the warmth of his hand. “Do you remember the night they put you in that psych ward… you know, after the VinylRight case? Before the X-Files got shut down?”

Before, before, before. Before Diana Fowley came screaming into our lives.

“Vividly.”

“I never told you this, but…” she gathered herself. This felt important. “I did see it that night, in your room. That… creature. It wasn’t madness. And I wouldn’t have been there at all if I hadn’t believed you in the first place.”

You have to believe me, Scully. No one on this damn planet does or ever will.

He was quiet, maybe processing the weight of this. The trust she felt with Mulder was unlike anything she’d ever experienced and she wanted him to know it, to feel it the same way she did: that even when she didn’t see, when she couldn’t see, she could still see him.

She would always see him.

“I want you to know that I believe in you, Mulder. I always have.”

He tightened his grasp, squeezing her fingers. When he touched her she felt like a whole person.

“I know you do, Scully.”

He didn’t say the words aloud again, not here and now, in this time, this place. But she knew the truth.

You’re my one in five billion.

She’d never forget, because he was hers, too.

#txf #the x files #msr #fanfic #diana fowley #my fic #the whole truth

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mulderwantstobelieve · 5 years

Text

I Don’t Want You To Go Home Tonight

“Mulder... why are we choosing to be alone?”

Rating: PG-13

Description: A Post-Ep for the flashbacks shown in Per Manum. Scully’s IVF treatment has failed and Mulder decides to stay with her that night to comfort her with wine and her favorite salad.

Author’s Note: Basically, this fic is my idea of what led up to their “First Time”. I love the idea of All Things being their first time, but this is my IDEAL first time story for them. I think it makes sense with the IVF story arc and with their characters. I imagine this happening somewhere between All Things and before Requiem (probably right before Requiem).

cover photo yoinked from @iddoitforfreebaabe

******

"Never give up on a miracle," Mulder told her, his forehead placed against her own. Scully sniffled as she felt some snot trying to escape her nose. She pulled him in to give him a tender kiss on the cheek and then into a hug.

Mulder's closeness made her feel she was at yet another crossroads in their partnership. Part of her, the one that felt insecure and afraid, could tell him "Go home, Mulder, I'll be fine."

She was tempted to retreat to her room and send him to worry about her somewhere else. Anywhere but in front of her. They could go back to work next week and move on from yet another traumatic event, travel to a new city or state, and they could carry on without letting each other in.

This loss, the impossibility of becoming a mother with her own flesh and blood, was making her soul the weight of a millstone. She had nothing left. Chasing monsters and fighting all the damn time wasn't keeping her alive anymore. It was making her feel old now. Hasn't it gone on long enough?

That part of her wanted him to stay, the part that felt too tired to keep going. That part of her wanted him to slow down and not leave her behind. She wanted him to stay.

Before she could speak her mind, Mulder broke the silence.

"I'm staying here for a while. To make sure you're going to be okay."

Despite the battle going on in her mind, she let him make the decision. Honestly, she was too tired and her brain was so overworked to even talk. She gave him a nod against his shoulder and pulled away to look at him.

Mulder became aware of how dry his mouth was as he felt a small pang of anxiety in his stomach. He felt the weight of the atmosphere, not just from grief of Scully's lost hope, but because he was at a crossroads of his own.

Earlier, he had sat on Scully's couch for what seemed like hours, his mind reeling with all of the choices to be made. He thoughts of two worlds: Scully is pregnant, Scully is not pregnant.

If Scully were to be pregnant, what would he do? How would he fit in to her life? They hadn’t exactly discussed that part of it. Would he be around to become crazy uncle Mulder, sharing tales of myths and Sasquatch and teaching the kid baseball? Or would he and Scully drift apart as she enters motherhood? Would he be present to watch a child grow up with her eyes and his smile, her hair and his nose, her stubbornness and his adventurous spirit... without feeling connected to them? Would he watch as their child goes through first days of school and college, one day getting married, and having children?

Would he remain on the outside as an observer, watching everything happen in montages while he goes home alone, chasing whatever the hell comes next?

But there was another option: he could be here. He could feel happy with her. He could hold her when she feels sick or insecure. He could tell her he loves her. He could hold his child in his arms.

He could be a father.

These thoughts would have scared him a few years ago, but things have changed. And even if Scully were to come home with the news that they weren't having a child, they couldn't go back to their comfortable invulnerability anymore. Not after this.

Mulder pondered these thoughts again as he and Scully stood there for another minute, his arms still wrapped around her waist. He hoped he was comforting her despite the depressing results. Though they both knew there was a high chance the IVF wouldn’t work and Scully becoming pregnant was nearly impossible, it was hard to accept that believing wasn't enough this time.

"I'm going to take a shower, I might be in there for a while. I need to be alone," Scully said as she broke their embrace. He raised a hand to her cheek, but she stared at the wall behind him.

"I'll be here." She gave him a small smile in return and disappeared down the hall.

He decided to go pick up some food from a place down the street he knows she likes. They have these strawberry poppy seed salads that she'll even eat when lacking an appetite. He could at least try whatever he could to get her mind off of this.

He picked up some wine as well, hoping that it may dull her pain. He tried to think of all the topics he could bring up to get her mind off of it, knowing it wouldn't help much, but he could make a strong effort.

A short while after he returned with their dinner, Scully came out of the bathroom. She had taken the time to blow-dry her hair, which he took note of. She still had the energy to dry her hair, which isn't a bad thig but he was aware of the fact that restless working was how she coped, so he needed to be sure she relaxed tonight.

They watched a black and white TV movie that they didn't know the name of. It wasn't interesting, but it was distracting. Mulder and Scully ate their dinner on the couch in silence. He noticed Scully smiling after seeing what he ordered her which made something in his stomach feel warm. A full-tooth smile from her always made him smile back. When the first glass of wine was poured, it became easier to have a conversation.

"Thanks for being here," Scully said after a few moments of sipping her wine. She was facing the TV, cupping the glass against her chest.

"N-no problem," he said a little too quickly, happy she was wanting to talk now. "Actually my plans for the evening were a little boring." He said, facing her direction. He slung his arm over the back of the couch, his wrist hid in her hair.

"Oh yeah, what were they?" She smiled from the inside of her cup. She turned to face him now, her expression lifted.

"It's what I do every Friday night, Scully. Stay late at the office, get Chinese takeout, think about possibly doing my dishes but instead throwing a dart at a map and calling you to tell you we're going to wherever-the-hell, Oklahoma because there's gotta be some cryptic or source waiting for us there..."

Scully began to smile wide and a small chuckle escaped her lips when she realized he was joking.

"...then I take a shower and lay in bed, wondering about the mysteries of the universe. Is that not what you do?" He said, trying to hold back a laugh.

Scully replied with another big smile, "Wow, Mulder, that's exactly my same routine!"

"I thought so!" he grinned, looking at his lap. "Where are your darts, Scully? I'm a creature of habit."

She shot him a jokingly stern look and leaned towards the coffee table to pour herself another glass.

"Actually," she began, "my plans are more like: pick up groceries, clean the bathroom, wash my hair, then get into bed... sleeping soundly because I couldn't care less about Bigfoot or sentient plant life or demons trying to nibble my toes," She giggled and Mulder rolled his eyes.

"You don't have trouble sleeping, Scully? With everything that the universe could hold? You don't even wonder?" He urged.

She shrugged. "I guess I wonder more about stuff that's in my interest. So, less mythical sea creatures and more... real life. I couldn't sleep last night for obvious reasons." She took another swig of wine.

He nodded in understanding. "I guess I do the same thing," he replied.

"Yes, I know you meditate a lot about the Sasquatch, Mulder, but-" she laughed.

"No, no, not just that. Believe it or not, Scully, I am an actual living, breathing man," he laughed and she rolled her eyes. "I think about things that I want. I think about the future. I- I couldn't sleep last night either."

She looked at him, an unreadable expression on her face. "Why's that?"

He paused to form his words correctly and he felt his mouth go dry again.

"I just really wanted this to happen for you."

The lighthearted atmosphere became the familiar, heavy one they felt earlier in the day. They were both remembering what they were trying to escape tonight.

I’m sorry, Dana, but the results came back negative. You are not pregnant.

Scully could hear the words in her head. But she felt Mulder’s empathy, that he was feeling a similar pain. She realized that he lost something too; even if it was unspoken between them, she knew he saw it too. A future.

His words made her smile softly. She looked at him with a tenderness in her eyes he had only seen a handful of times. He saw it in her while she was fighting cancer, while she talked to Emily, while she was informing him of a death of a good friend, when his mother died... and now recently, through the IVF process, he had been seeing more often.

"We're still hoping, right?" He asked, giving her a tender smile.

Scully didn't answer with words. Instead, she set her wine glass on the coffee table and put her arms around him. Her head fell into his chest and they both breathed deeply.

Because of the awkward position of their legs, he decided to lean back and lay down, resting his head on a throw pillow. She accepted his gesture to lay down, remaining in the same position on his chest taking more deep breaths as she remembered the day allover again. He stroked some hair away from her face as his other arm was wrapped tightly around her.

They laid like that for a while, watching the old black and white movie which was full of music and dancing. He waited for her to speak, and if she didn't say anything, he wouldn't mind falling asleep here. Like this.

"Mulder?" Her groggy voice asked. She looked up at him and he hummed in response. "Have you ever felt like there's more? Not... in the universe. But more for you, in this life, in your life. Have you thought of having a family before? Not that it's for everybody."

He continued to gently stroke her hair and replied, "Of course I have, Scully."

Scully nodded in understanding. She didn't resent him for his freedom to start a family if he wanted to; She just wished he could see the joy of it.

There was a pause before Scully started, "At first, I wasn't sure if I wanted to have a family, but after years of traveling, seeing unimaginable things, going through some of the hardest situations of my life... I think at some point, I realized that what I really wanted was one of the most attainable things in the modern world. I can't explain it. Somehow it was the only thing that could be enough for me." She paused for a beat to look up at him. "Do you ever feel that way?"

Mulder met her eyes and rested his thumb on her cheek. He got lost in her gaze for a moment and replied, "I think I'm starting to."

He thought for a moment.

"I think after finding out what happened to my sister, I've started to see things differently. I've accepted the freedom given to me, but it feels emptier than I thought it would."

Finally, she felt a sense of unity between them. Like for the first time, they were on the same page.

Scully then propped herself up on his chest to meet his level and Mulder's arm remained wrapped tightly around her.

She evaluated their position: his arm gripping her waist, her hand on his chest, the smell of wine on his warm breath. This made her heart start thumping a little faster.

An actress in the movie they were watching started singing a song, a romantic song about moonlight and longing. The song seemed to engulf the room, and it was the only thing Scully could hear besides the blood in her ears.

He looked good tonight. Really good. The kitchen light made his features look warm and inviting. His eyes scanned her face, a soft smile appearing on his lips, and she knew she looked quite beautiful herself. She felt beautiful.

Scully then realized she had been staring a little too long without saying anything, and he gave her a subtle squeeze at her hip which reminded her he was actually there.

All this time, they've kept each other at a comfortable distance; seven long years of emotional cushion room, but closing the gap just enough to sneak longing looks and hold hands in the dark.

They could say it's their careers, or they're different people, or they have different desires. But mostly, and they both knew this, it was a shared fear of rejection - that being alone was better than searching for acceptance from someone other than themselves. And they could tell themselves it was enough for them, remaining people who keep each other at a comfortable distance, or they could give in and take a risk for something more.

Mulder swallowed and felt his heart begin to race. He couldn't believe how gorgeous she looked in low light, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her in closer. She was looking at him, almost a drunken haze in her eyes, except she'd only had a glass and a half. Her eyes were bluer than he's ever seen them, and her hair had fallen to frame her face beautifully. Everything was adding onto the emotions clouding his brain - her chest breathing against him, his thumb stroking a bit of bare skin at her hip, their stolen glances at each other's lips...

"Mulder..." she began, her voice hushed and her eyes scanning his face. "...Why are we choosing to be alone?"

Mulder processed her question for a moment. He was tucking some hair behind her ear when he noticed her cheeks were red. He wasn't sure if she was flushed from the wine, or if she was nervous to ask her question. He left his hand resting on her jaw.

If his mouth was dry before, it was a desert now. He was trying to read her face, to predict what would happen next, but only his answer would determine that. He could swear she was inching closer towards him, but it may just be the gravitational pull he felt tugging him to her.

"Are you saying... we have a choice?" He asked quietly, not-so-discreetly staring at her lips now.

She was looking at him in a way that made him dizzy. He couldn't tell if the buzz was from the glass of wine he drank or the way she was making him feel. She, too, seemed to be transfixed on his mouth now.

Scully nodded yes.

He had to remind himself to breathe.

"I-uh-.." He started to form a reply when Scully leaned in closer, not breaking her gaze from his lips. She hovered there, waiting for him to respond.

"Scully.." he said, his breath brushing her lips.

She was too hesitant of her actions, so Mulder reassured her by responding quickly. He pulled her in with the hand that was cupping her cheek, finally placing his lips onto hers. It suddenly felt like a curse broke inside both of them and each one of their fears were fleeing with every second. This kiss wasn't like they had shared for a brief moment at New Year's, this one was urgent and freeing.

His hands wove themselves in her hair, while hers clung to the nape of his neck. Their lips moved at a steady pace, only breaking away to change angles. The hand that gripped her waist was now trailing up and down her back, catching some bare skin every now and then as her shirt rode up. They couldn't count the seconds, or the minutes, or tell how long the movie had been over since this kiss had started, but Mulder knew he didn't want it to end.

Without breaking their kiss, Scully lifted herself up and put her legs on either side of him, now straddling his waist. It gave him a bit of sobriety as to where things were heading for them tonight, so he slowly broke away. Both of his thumbs were stroking her cheeks now, him and Scully breathing heavy against each other. She was looking at him in a way he had never seen and that made his stomach stir with excitement.

"Scully, I'm-"

"I don't want you to go home tonight," she interjected firmly.

He nodded in understanding, and smiled to tell her that's what he wanted too.

***

Moonlight peered in, leaving bright lines across both of their bodies. The room was still and quiet as they laid there together, Scully softly playing with Mulder's fingers. He held her from behind, and she fit perfectly into his embrace.

"I'm glad I stayed," he hummed softly into her ear. It made her shiver a little bit.

“I’m sorry I ruined your Friday night plans,” She joked.

“Good one.” He kissed her shoulder gently and breathed her in.

"What's work gonna be like on Monday?" She asked.

"Scully..." He groaned.

"I'm just asking, Mulder," she exclaimed, her voice sounding defensive. "We need to discuss things so they won't become problems later."

"It's going be like working, Scully, but now we have this cool secret that everyone already assumes of us anyway," he said, a touch of sarcasm in his tone. "Don't worry. Just sleep."

His arms felt warm on her belly, which in turn made her feel safe. Mulder smiled as he held her even closer.

#xf fic #dana scully #fox mulder #per manum #xfiles fanfic #xfiles fanfiction #my fic #fictober #im so sorry i cant do a read more option on mobile #todayinfic

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starbuck09256 · 5 years

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Hope

It’s Fictober!!!!

Post Ep Emily

tagging @today-in-fic @fictober-event @fictober @suitablyaggrieved

from the drabble prompts

Prompts “Don’t shut me out.”

She traces the images of a smiling 3 year old. Whose short hair mimics her sister. The scattered tissues that barely hold her tears mingle with the dried blood under the floorboards. As she sits against the hard wood door in a heap of convulsing sobs. She was so strong at the funeral, her sadness contained in the shell of her broken down body. Everytime she closes her eyes she sees a scared little face begging her to stop the tests. She sees Mulder clutching yellow flowers too tightly as his own sorrow for her pours from his eyes. He knows what this tiny child was to her. He knows that she wanted another life another path, not because of him or their quest. But because fate had chosen her to live on, she had been returned survived the incurable and yet her destiny wasn’t to find the joys that she had forsaken it was as if she was being punished for fighting. She lived but she will never live on in the form of another, she will never have a child that bares her dna. She will never get to feel a baby rolling around in her womb. Never have to worry about labor pains, morning sickness. She will never be able to give Mulder the family he has sought after for 20 plus years. When she was dying it didn’t matter what she did, it was almost easier not caring for the consequences, because in 6 months she would be dead and it would be someone else's problem. That they would have to see how she shattered herself, shattered her relationships, pushed people away so that when she died the pain would be less. Her mother, her brothers.. Mulder. She pushed back and worked and focus on things that were tangible and lacked the emotional connection, a connection she wasn’t interested in forming when death's door was all but a breath away. But now she is here in a world that has cursed her to relive a walking nightmare, happy families practically taunting her, Mulder trying to be closer but yet still keeping his distance despite her practically throwing herself at him. He knew when she told him she couldn’t have children, he knew and that was why he pushed her away months ago. Now she knows why she never realized it, never realized that all he wants is a family. The way he speaks of Samantha of a life lost in time. He is frozen there, in this disillusionment of the perfect happy family and he craves it so badly. She should have known, should have realized when he was talking about baseball and small towns. Saw how his eyes lit up with Emily. He thought there was a chance, a chance for them and this little girl. He didn’t care if it wasn’t his he just cared that it was hers. He wanted to do everything he could to protect them, Emily and her and in the end as always they both lost. Her heart breaks a little more as she squeezes the tissue in her hand. She knows the human body can’t possibly run out of water from tears, but in moments like this she feels like it's as much as anything. She feels the knock on her door against her head. The lights are dimmed and if she doesn’t move perhaps her will let her suffer the pain alone, like she should. It wasn’t his daughter that died, it’s not his chance for parenthood that is on the line. Just hers. Just her that will forever see Emily's face in tiny toddlers, her that will envision an entire life for a girl she barely knew.

Mulders voice comes through “Please Scully, don’t shut me out.” The last of the words are barely audible and she keeps thinking I have to, I can’t have us both broken at the same time. How will we save one another if both of us just want to die?

Her breathe heaves in and out of her lungs as she tries desperately to control her emotions for just enough time to tell him she is fine, cursed and miserable, but fine. But he is whole, safe, able to share his beautiful genes with any woman who would be so very lucky to have him. Deep breath.

“I’m fine..” her voice practically shatters at the word and she can’t help the tears that mingle with her lips as she repeats it to herself in a whisper, ”I’m fine, it’s fine… everything is ….” and the door clicks and before she can even figure out how to control her tears she is in his arms and they are both crumbling to the floor as her sobs wrack through her body in uncontrollable spasms. He’s there not reassuring her but stroking her back like he did to Emily in the group home. God, Emily those tests how could she as her mother ever make her child needlessly suffer for the small glimmer of hope of what could of been.

“Mulder, I was such a terrible mother to her, I let them test her, I made her suffer just so that I could have a few more moments with the only child I will ever have. I failed her, the one person in the world that mattered.”

Mulders hand continues up and down and her face gets buried in his neck.

“You showed her love Scully, and tried everything to save her, to give her the life she deserved, to love her unconditionally. You are what all mothers strive to be,” he stares deep into her water filled eyes and continues “a protector, who had to make the hardest choice imaginable, and you chose to set her free from the confines of a world that would have only caused her more pain than anyone should ever experience.”

He cups her face in his hands kissing her tears as she hiccups in sorrow. He takes them to the couch and she is so mentally exhausted she barely notices. Barely registers the warm blanket that he drapes around both of them before her body finally gives in to a dreamless slumber.

When she wakes he has a small cup of tea for her. She rubs her eyes and mutters her thanks.

“You don’t have to stay, thank you for coming over, I just..”

He pursues his lips stares at her paintings, and sits next to her taking her hands in his.

He clears his throat “I know you think that my mother was terrible to me, that she neglected me and that my family life was horrible. But the problem was.. It wasn’t. Before Sam was taken it was perfect, it was the perfect life. Summers on the vineyard, baseball, peanut butter sandwiches, endless hugs, family barbecues. It was like your family, everyone was just happy to be together. Sure Sam was annoying, but she would play stratego with me. My mom would try to make pancakes in the shape of the Enterprise. My dad would throw a baseball to both of us, from the second his feet hit the driveway until well after the street lights came on. He never even got to go inside and put down his briefcase. Over the years, after, the baseball gloves collected dust the pancake mix went bad and all that was left was two people who were shells of their former selves. They weren’t my parents they were people who were so broken that no amount of love or devotion or success would put them back together again, and I was there and watched it all. I saw what losing a family member does to people. What it did to me, what it did to them. So I know you will be fine, because you need to tell yourself that, need to believe it like you believe in god and science. But you will wonder, you will wonder if Emily would ever have loved ballet, if she would be good at soccer, if she would love math and science like you or history and art like me. There will be moments where you will swear that you see her on the street, moments where a candle will flicker out and you feel her breath on your skin. You will hear her laugh in wind and feel her tears in the rain, and in every single one of those moments you will not be fine, and you need to accept that those moments Scully, those are the moments that prove that life is worth living. I want you to tell me when those moments happen Scully. I want you to tell me because being shut out, taking it all on your own, doesn’t make you strong, it makes you hate the world. It makes you into the shell of a person, and there is nothing worse than living life with deep seated regret and pain. I can’t watch another person I love become… hopeless. So I need you to tell me, so you and I can work on it together. To grieve together for the life we could of had, and for the pain we must endure. Can you do that for me Scully? Please?”

As the tears stream down her face she can’t help but nod. Because he’s right, of course he is, and years from now, when she still can’t get rid of him and him of her they will see a girl who they swear looks exactly like Emily, playing in puddles in her ballet outfit. They will see a kid with her smile looking at a science project. They will feel her presence in the darkest of circumstances and know for a glimmer of a second that hope endures.

#mulder and scully #fictober #emily post ep #xf fic #sad #the x-files #s5 #hurt #comfort #not my best #i know

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greekowl87 · 6 years

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Fic: False Flags - Ghost Ship

Summary: A sequel to False Flags Redux. Mulder and Scully attempt to reconnect on a vacation down in the Outer Banks to cope with their new relationship and the ghosts of their entwined past lives while, at the same time, Buckley escapes to try and exact revenge against our two favorite agents.

Author’s Note: No beta except myself. It’s cool. I know, I suck at grammar and writing. I tried to catch everything. I think this might be able to stand alone but it would help if you have already read False Flags Redux to understand the universe I have this set in then all the better. I've linked to the masterpost for the previous fic here for Tumblr and on AO3 for whatever you prefer reading.

I have been trying to write this for a few months and I have about four chapters written but I have no schedule for this except try and post when I can. I am in my final semester of grad school, I have a tendency to take on too many projects, I need to prepare for my oral exams, somehow find a job after graduation and I am terrible at time management. Writing False Flags last year was what I did to break up my school work and save my sanity so it will likely remain the same.

But lastly, before everything else, a massive thanks to @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm for posting the original prompt and being my soundbox for the first fic and this one. Other massive thanks to @frangipanidownunder and her @just-fic-already workshops that helped me flesh out the skeletal plot and for being awesome overall. And please, let me know what you think. I'm always eager for feedback.

Tagging @today-in-fic

The weather was unseasonably warm for a March day as Mulder drove down the long stretch of beach highway at a leisurely pace along Hatteras Island. As the sun beat down from above, he smiled at Scully with her eyes closed, wearing those odd rose-colored sunglasses. Her seat lounged back and two bare feet stuck out a partially open window. Dunes whipped passed on side of the highway that separated them from the Atlantic Ocean and on the other side, a grassy dune that separated them from the Pamlico Sound. Bob Marley played softly on the radio and Mulder continued to smile. “You awake, Scully?”

“Mmph.” She lifted her sunglasses and frowned. “What? Are we at the lighthouse yet?”

“Well, not yet, still got another thirty minutes of driving. Why aren’t you awake to enjoy these breathtaking views with me and listening to Bob Marley?”

“Because I am enjoying the warm sun and the sea air, Mulder.” She pulled back down her sunglasses and closed her eyes. “It does my soul good and it was not my idea to come down and go chasing ghost ships.”

“I just said that in passing!” He huffed and rolled his eyes. “I did get us two weeks of vacation. The ghost ships were just an idea. The Graveyard Atlantic lays just offshore and I thought it could be fun. The whole point was for us to just be...us. No work involved.”

“I know, Mulder. I was just teasing.” She smiled. “But I thought Skinner was going to have a heart attack when we both told him and he might have caught onto our rouse. He doesn’t suspect anything, does he?”

“I don’t think so,” Mulder answered. He licked his lips and looked at Scully who still lounged back into the passenger seat. “Um, that was only part of the reason why I wanted to get away.”

“Mulder, don’t bring it up,” she told him shortly.

Her voice brokered no arguments and he shifted uncomfortably. “We need to talk about it, Scully.”

“No. We don’t, Mulder,” she snapped. “Not now. I don’t want to talk about it.” She took a deep breath and sat upright in her seat. She played with the seat control until she was sitting comfortably. “I'm sorry, Mulder.”

“Do you just want to go back to Kitty Hawk tomorrow and stay up there?”

“It doesn't matter, Mulder.”

“To me it does,” he pushed. “That’s the whole point of this vacation! So we could get away from D.C. and the things that have been problematic. We work fine but this new relationship between us has been less than easy.”

At the very end of December, while they had been on a case, something incredible had happened. Both of them had realized past lives and that they shared a happy marriage and future during a time when the country was torn by war. These new memories had spurned them to pursue what was already there, dormant between into something. Both of them realized their past but were eager to make their own future. The first round of IVF had been unsuccessful. They spent the end of that January in her bed, pretzeled together in mourning. Less than two weeks later, with El Rico air base, tensions regarding Diana Fowley, that Scully thought they had moved past, came back. It was almost like Mulder was not himself. But afterward, punctuated with an end-all-be-all argument that almost destroyed them despite all they had been through, a delicate peace had been reached. But with all that, it had been weeks since they had been intimate. Mulder hoped, lured by the prospect of a vacation ghost tours and the beach, they might be able to reconcile or do something more productive.

“Mulder,” she sighed, “I’m here, aren’t I? That should be enough.” On the horizon, the black and white twisted Cape Hatteras Lighthouse came into view along with the small town of Buxton. She rolled down her window further and took a deep breath. “Let’s just enjoy the vacation the best we can. I don’t want to think about the FBI or work, okay? I just want to enjoy this little break away from everything.”

“Okay, Scully.”

She remained quiet and adjusted her sunglasses. There was a lot on her mind too. The failure of the first round of IVF. Fowley. And March 18th was just around the corner. While both of them still remembered their past lives together, she still remembered more vividly than he did. March 18th was the anniversary of their death in 1865. How was it to celebrate the anniversary of your own death? While Francis Buckley was awaiting trial for seven murders and kidnapping federal agents, she still felt uneasy and did not know what the source of her anxiety was. She glanced at her partner and subtly reached across the armrest and took his hand. Mulder glanced down feeling her warm hand hold his. He glanced at her and saw her staring dreamily outside the window overlooking the Pamlico Sound.

“We're going to be okay, Mulder.”

. . . .

The motel had a king sized bed was welcoming and the room in the motel itself was a few steps up from what they were used to staying in when out in the field but Scully could not dismiss the beauty of this room simply because they were yards away from the shore and she could not wait to watch the sunrise with him. She was already in bed when Mulder came out of the bathroom wearing just a pair of sleeping pants. She licked her lips already sensing that tonight would go no further than them cuddling in bed if that. When was the last time they had sex? Perhaps two weeks? She did not know but she did know that both of them were itching. A few short weeks of intercourse was like taking a sip of water after being parched for years. She was getting the same thirst after only a week. She sat up on the right side of the bed, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, as she flipped through a tourist magazine they had picked up after dinner.

“I tried looking for ghost tours. There aren’t many,” she replied casually. “Maybe we can pester the landmarks and National Parks Service by flashing our badges.”

“Ah,” he reminded her, “but we are right next to th Graveyard of the Atlantic.” He crawled into bed next to her. “If not, I know how you love the ocean. We could just, I don’t know, lay out there and do nothing. Be normal. The weather this week is supposed to be nice.”

Small things like this always surprised her and that is one of the reasons why she fell in love with him in this life and the last. She closed the magazine and whispered, “Do you know what date is coming up?”

“March 18th,” he answered, surprising her. “I know what it means.”

“I thought you wouldn’t take it seriously.”

“Why would I do that, Scully?”

She shrugged her shoulders. Closing the magazine, she set it on the nightstand along with her glasses. “Just with everything that had happened in the past month or so, I thought maybe you would have forgotten, Mulder,” she whispered. “With what happened in February. The IVF failure, El Rico...we’ve been fighting.”

“No. We haven’t.” Silence. He leaned next to her and pushed away a loose lock of red hair. “Have we, Scully?”

“Silence is deafening,” she whispered. She looked at him. “We haven’t...we haven’t talked like we used to. Not since before the IVF. Are you upset with me? Or was it El Rico? I can't stand feeling abandoned, Mulder. Talk to me, please.”

Mulder sighed and lowered the volume on the television. “I...you were right, Scully. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He leaned back into the pillows. “After Norfolk, she’s been trying twice as hard to get my attention. I lost focus. Of you, of us...after the failure, Scully…” His voice faded as he shook his head. “Those memories are still there, just like yours. I can recall them like any other. I remember you telling me about our...can I even call her our child? It was over a hundred years ago.”

“It was still our child. Or unborn child whether it was then or now,” she murmured. “I have been feeling it more acutely as well. Emily was hard, realizing what we had then and remembering it being ripped all away, and now this,” she murmured. “I hurt as well, Mulder. We both hurt. How do you think I feel knowing my womb is a barren wasteland unable to give you a child? You could have a family with anyone you want to. I don’t know why you waste your time with me.”

Scully had tears in her eyes and this was the first time in weeks they had expressed their feelings, truly expressed them, since that night they mourned the IVF failure. He was at a loss at what to do and old Mulder would have done nothing, but things were different now between them. Two lifetimes of memories and knowing who his true other half was made him do otherwise. “Scully,” he whispered tenderly, “look at me.”

She shook her head. “Forget it, Mulder. It’s not important.”

“It is,” he encouraged. “Scully, look at me.”

She shook her head again. “Just forget I said anything, okay?”

“No,” he pushed. “I fucked up. I get it. Just don’t shut me out. I don’t want you to keep me out like you used to.”

“You didn’t fuck up, Mulder,” she whispered. “I just let myself hope too much.”

“You should be allowed to hope,” he continued. “You should be allowed to be happy. Scully, if given a third chance to be with you, no matter what, I would still take it. I don’t want to have a family with anyone else but you. Look at me, please.” She shook her head and Mulder cupped her cheek. “Look at me.” Her blue eyes darted to his warm hazel eyes and he smiled. “No matter what, Scully. You are the only one for me, I promise.”

She let out a breath she had been holding without knowing. What was wrong with her? When did simple words soothe a painful ache in her chest like a healing balm, although temporary. “I’ve been wanting to hear that for weeks,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry, Scully. Feel free to let me know next time, okay?”

She nodded and kissed his cheek chastely. Mulder gave a weak smile. “Let’s hit the sack, huh? We have two whole weeks of nothing. Best get an early start.”

“I want to watch the sunrise,” she whispered into his chest.

Scully was already sliding to Mulder’s side instinctively. He wrapped his arms around her and hooked his leg over her thigh. “Of course. Coffee and we can use those rocking chairs out front. Then what do you want to do?”

“Have breakfast with you,” she yawned.

“Then what?”

“I don’t care. We can decide then.” Scully wrinkled her nose at the television as The Drew Carey Show came on. “Turn the channel.” Mulder flipped the channels until he came across a cooking show on PBS. “This is good.”

“Cooking? Really?”

“It’s fine.” She kissed his breastplate and pressed her ear to listen to his heart. Mulder nodded and turned out the lamp on the table. Scully closed her eyes, feeling his left hand gently rub up and down her back. She closed her eyes and felt some the hurt and resentment that had lingered ebb away. She was relaxing. “I missed this.”

“I never went anywhere.”

“We need to talk about our feelings more,” she murmured. “Both of us.”

He nodded, kissing her hair in affirmation. “Will do.”

“Mulder?”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m glad we decided to take a vacation.”

“Me too, Scully, me too.”

. . . .

Mulder awoke with a soft grunt as he felt feather soft kisses against his neck and her small hand tracing suggestively against his lower abdomen. He was momentarily disoriented as he opened his eyes and saw that is was still dark outside. Scully had already wormed herself onto his lap, straddling him, and wrapped her arms loosely around his neck. “Wake up, sleepy head.”

Mulder groggily opened his eyes, blinking in the dim light coming from their en-suite bathroom. He smelled coffee. She kept rubbing his biceps up and down as if trying to keep him warm. As he opened his eyes and he met her keen blue eyes as she smiled. Memories blended together as they both smiled. “Morning, Scully.” He gave her a gentle kiss. “Did you sleep okay?”

She nodded and continued to hold him. “I’m glad we talked last night, Mulder.”

“You are?”

She nodded and arched an eyebrow quizzically. “Why are you surprised?”

“I just thought, after all that, you’d be more upset? Angry even with me. I don't know. We aren't the best about talking about our feelings.”

She pursed her lips in thought as she stroked his chest. “I’m still hurting inside, Mulder, from everything that’s happened to us but you are here now. Maybe I was being jealous.”

“Which you had a right to be.”

“Smart man,” she teased, resting her forehead against his. “But when it’s all said in done. We’re here together, after everything. I say that counts for something, doesn’t it?”

He closed his eyes and nodded slightly. She was too good to him, too good. Sometimes, Mulder questioned why, after such a long life of failure and loneliness, she still stuck around him and put up with him. “You’re a good man, Mulder. I would not stay around with you this unless you weren’t.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Mulder,” she sighed, kissing his forehead, “stop being a martyr. How many times do I need to tell you? Stop. Come watch the sunrise with me, Mulder.”

“Sunrise?”

“I made coffee. We can canoodle.”

“Canoodle? Is that scientific term for coupling, Dr. Scully?”

“Shut up, Mulder.”

She could always rescue him from the darkness, even at his worst. “What would I do without you?”

“I don’t even want to entertain the thought, Mulder.” She took a deep breath to steady them. “I want to move past everything we’ve suffered. Do you remember what you said back in December? What we decided?”

“The future is unlimited.”

“Right.”

She pulled him out of bed and he shivered slightly and pulled on a sweatshirt as Scully wore her on aUniversity of Maryland. He smiled and probably thanked his stars for the nth time that he and Scully had evolved over the past few months. She caught him staring at her and she flashed a coy smile. “What, Mulder?”

“Nothing, Scully. I just… I just never get tired of this.” She poured them two small cups of coffee and handed him one cup. Together, the went outside to the porch of the motel where two plastic rocking chairs sat, just like every other motel room, and they sat next to each other. Mulder chuckled softly and she arched an eyebrow questioningly. “I just...I never imagined that...this I mean. Never mind, Scully.”

“No,” she soothed, rubbing his forearm. “Tell me, Mulder.”

“There had been a few times since this…” He gestured between them. “I just…”

“What, Mulder?”

“I m just glad you’re here.”

. . . .

Buckley's chest hurt and with the flurry of noise in his head, it made it hard to concentrate. Three lifetimes was enough, he decided, to have all those voices in his head. Somewhere, on his transportation to some maximum federal security prison in Kentucky, he found himself outside of the prison bus, drenched in his orange jumpsuit. He stumbled on the road for a while, his chest heaving with fire and his head disorientated. He had been on a bus in the middle of North Carolina when two black SUVs had come out of the air and stopped the bus. Everyone else was shot but him. Buckley’s memories had been more troubling lately and after the setback in Norfolk, become more unbalanced. The prison doctors tried to dope him up with meds with he awaited to stand trial. But along with the men that emerged from the black SUVs was an older man smoking a cigarette. Buckley could not remember what he said but the next thing he knew he was free and had note crumpled in his hand, reeking of cigarette smoke.

Finish what you started.

. . . .

After they watched the sunrise, Mulder and Scully packed up their few things that they had brought out from the car and headed up northwards towards Nags Head and Kitty Hawk from Buxton. March was still unseasonably mild and it influenced Scully’s thoughts right before they were ready to climb into the driver’s seat. “Mulder,” she called. “If I can find a place, what would you say to a couple’s surf lessons?”

“Surf lesson?”

He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Surf, Scully?” Scully let herself drop into the passenger seat before slamming the door. Mulder snorted in amusement as he slid into the driver’s seat. “Surfing. Where would you ever get such an idea?”

“Don’t forget who grew up in San Diego during my teenage years. I did my fair share of hanging ten back in the day. It’ll be fun, Mulder. Come on.”

“I’ll give it some thought. So, we won’t be staying in some dingy motel room.”

“I like last night's room,” she countered, “wasn’t that bad, Mulder.”

“The view paid for itself.”

“Tell me what you planned.”

“You know, after Arcadia, I really dig this domestic thing with you,” he smiled, taking her hand.

Scully chuckled and looked out the window bashfully. “Arcadia. Mulder. We aren’t the Petries anymore. We’re Mulder and Scully. What is our domestic thing?”

“Ah, a lifetime…”

“Three years,” he murmured softly. “And so much time lost.”

“But we are here now, aren’t we, Mulder? A little thing like death couldn’t stop us.”

“I suppose.” He kissed her knuckles. “We have a small two bedrooms one bath beachfront cottage for the next two weeks. Just you, me, sex, and the beach.”

“A beach house.”

“A beach cottage, “ he corrected with a sly smile. “It sounds more romantic.”

“Fox Mulder is romantic. Who knew such a thing existed.”

“Give me some credit, Scully. How many times have I been wrong?”

Scully continued to smile and she rolled her eyes. “I’m glad we did this, Mulder.”

“Me too.”

. . . .

Mulder smiled as he watched Scully’s face light up in a warm smile as the sounds of crashing waves carried from beyond the sand dunes. She took in the small beach house with its quaint blue paint on its walls and the bright yellow shutters and doors. She glanced at her partner with a sly smile. “It looks like a hobbit hole, Mulder,” she said, “well a hobbit hole on the coast.”

“Scully,” he smiled, “I didn’t know you were into Tolkien.”

“I’m not per say but I did read The Hobbit and The Silmarillion.”

“But not The Lord of the Rings?”

“That was Bill’s thing,” she shrugged. “Or it tried to be. Mom and Dad bought him the entire collection, including all three books, The Hobbit, and The Silmarillion. He read a hundred pages of one, I can’t remember which one, but he gave up. We went to San Francisco or some family vacation. I was eight, still young enough to bother my older siblings but too old to hang out with my baby brother. That left me alone with books for the summer.”

“So you just read all summer?”

“And learned to surf,” she shrugged. “Apparently my small height made me a natural and made me the envy of my siblings.”

“I still can’t picture it.”

“I didn’t get the chance again until my senior year of high school. It was just like riding the bike and still made me the envy of the girls that summer, even though I was as red as a lobster.”

“Have you done it since?”

“No,” she grinned. “Wouldn’t that make our little vacation fun?”

“Are we going to do the whole tourist thing? We can’t lay out on the beach for two whole weeks.”

“Why not?”

“You said it yourself, you’ll become a boiled lobster, and as much as I love lobster,” he said, waggling his eyebrows for emphasis, “I don’t want you to suffer sunburn. So if I indulge in your couples’ surf lesson, you have to pretend to be a tourist with me.”

“Fine,” she conceded. She paused their unloading of the car. “Why don’t we take a moment and check out the house?”

“Is that code for something, Scully?”

“Shut up, Mulder.”

She took the rental keys from his outstretched hand. She pulled teasingly at his arm as he playfully dragged his feet. They climbed the wooden steps, admiring the quaint view. Mulder pursed his lips in thought. “I can hear the waves. I can’t wait to see the view.”

Scully turned the keys and heard the deadbolt unlock. The door swung open and they took in the first floor of the rental. Like many of the rental homes on the barrier island, some sort of variant of nautical or sea theme weaved its way through the decor and this rental was no exception. Two bedrooms and a shared bath made up the first floor and Mulder nudged Scully along. “Unless you want to sleep in separate rooms, move along, Starbuck.”

“Unless you want playhouse again.”

“Stop it. Let’s go upstairs and see the main floor. I read that the master bedroom, kitchen, living room, and the deck is all on the top floor and it overlooks the ocean,” Mulder informed her like a brochure.

She chuckled and they ventured up the flight of stairs and into the wide open white space where all the amenities home mingled together like a loft. She was immediately drawn to the sliding glass door and the breathtaking view on the Atlantic with an empty beach and breaking waves. She could see a few surfers in the water and she jumped slightly when Mulder came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her hair. She relaxed back into his embrace and sighed. “This is lovely.”

He kissed her neck and whispered. “I know it’s no river…”

“Mulder, what did I tell you?” He quieted. “We don’t let our past define our future. I love it.” She turned her head slightly giving him a sweet kiss. “And I’m glad I’m here with you and away from Washington.”

“Me too,” he agreed softly.

. . . .

Close to three hundred miles away in a gray, drab building known as the Hoover Building, Assistant Director Skinner rolled his neck and heard something pop. When his agents came with the surprise request of two weeks off of vacation time, he thought there was some sort of joke being played, but surprisingly, they were serious. Skinner wisely kept his mouth shut at the well-timed vacation requests noticing how much closer they had grown since the events of last December. He knew about the water cooler talk that floated around the Hoover building about those two. He had no doubts about the validity of those rumors but the way he figured it, it was just rumored and he let them have their time off. Hell, at the very least, he would not suffer from one his chronic headaches those two were known to cause. Distracted, his desk phone began to ring.

“Skinner,” he greeted gruffly.

“Assistant Director Skinner? This is Special Agent Darren Benson from the Norfolk Branch.”

Skinner dropped his pen and leaned back into the chair. “ASAC Benson. We met briefly in December.”

“SAC Benson now. I’m in charge of the Norfolk field office.”

“Congratulations on the promotion but I have a feeling that there is more than just this tidbit of news.”

“Yes, sir. I tried to reach Agents Mulder and Scully earlier this morning but I was unable to get them.”

“They are on a leave of absence for the next two weeks which is probably why you got forwarded to me,” Skinner grunted. “And likely their phones off.”

Benson sighed on the other end of the line. “Have you been watching the news, sir?”

“No. Should I?”

“It’s all over the local news down here and I’m surprised it hasn’t made national headlines yet. I am already coordinating with the Eastern North Carolina field office.”

“Spit it out, man.”

“At 11:25 last night, the guards on the prison transport were found gunned down, all of the execution style. Francis Buckley was not found with no sign of his location or possible escape.”

“What?”

“Yes, sir and my guess is, after what happened after he was recaptured, that he will likely go after your agents again.”

Skinner sighed, took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling another headache coming back on. “I’ll try to reach them.”

“You better hurry, sir. I’ll keep you in the loop with what’s going on done here.”

“Heard on that, Benson.”

Skinner slammed the phone down and sighed. Jesus, he thought, here we go again.

. . . .

Finish what you started. That’s what the smoker had said. It’s harder to keep everything straight these days but the cigarette smoking man, he’s got the right idea. Damn, right I’m gonna finish what I started.

. . . .

As the day progressed, the partners carried their luggage up to the first-floor master bedroom suite, made up the bed with cheap king size bed sheets that bought at the Wal-Mart as soon as they crossed over the Wright Memorial Bridge. Scully’s dazzling smile and laughter kept distracting Mulder as she took advantage of it and pinned and straddled him on the bed suggestively, which he, of course, responded to, and they lost a couple of hours testing the bed. They tried to clean up but they also tested the shower in the process. As they dried off, Mulder mumbled something about how the rental was already earning its money. By early evening with the agents showered and changed and their luggage put away, Scully stood in the bare kitchen admiring the empty cabinets and fridge. Mulder strolled through the living room with one of those entertainment guides.

“Mulder,” she called gently. “We should pick up some groceries after we go out to dinner.”

“That’s a good idea. Hey, what are you feeling for food tonight? Fancy or no?”

“Just find us a place to eat, Mulder. It’s not that hard.”

“There’s a place down the road near a grocery store called Hurricane Larry. All you can eat steamed shrimp is on special tonight along with pitchers of beer. Or there’s this other place, a bit fancier, called The Black Pearl.”

“We can save the fancy place from a few days from now, let’s just hit up this Hurricane Larry and do grocery shopping afterward,” she told him. “I really want to take advantage of the fresh seafood while we are here, Mulder.”

“I don’t blame you. I looked at the forecast yesterday before we came down. The weather is supposed to be nice all this week.”

“That’s good to know,” she acknowledged, shutting the cabinet doors. “You ready to go?”

He nodded and set the entertainment guide down on the coffee table as she collected her purse from the kitchen table, purposely ignoring the cell phone and the nagging feeling that she should check it. She nodded as Mulder placed a warm, guiding hand on the small of her back as they jogged down the steps and out to their awaiting car. Outside, the spring air carried the heavy humidity of summer but somehow was whisked away by the Atlantic sea breeze. She watched Mulder fumble with the car keys in a strange twilight moment where her past memories and emotions collided with her current ones and she felt a love for the awkward knight in shining armor who just dropped his keys strongly. Mulder picked up the car keys triumphantly and noticed the glazed, distant look in Scully’s eyes. “Still with me?”

“Yeah.” She blinked a couple of times, refocusing her gaze and giving him a warm smile. “Yeah. I'm still here.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“As if you don’t as well. Come on, my stomach is growling, Mulder.”

They climbed into the car and Mulder pulled out onto the main drag of highway as Scully turned the radio up slightly as the Red Hot Chili Peppers “Otherside” came on over the car radio. Without thinking, he took her hand and held it over the headrest. “It should be right up on mile marker 4,” she told him.

“You know I have an impeccable sense of direction,” he told her proudly.

She hummed in suspicion before looking back out to the passing lights and other cars as he continued to drive. Mulder looked over at his partner and then focused back onto the road. Maybe this trip would be good for them if earlier that was any indication of the rest of their vacation, it would be very pleasant indeed. “Have you checked our cells yet?”

“Why would I? I do not want to deal with anyone, not work, not family,” she shrugged.

“Oh, how did Bill take the news over your birthday?”

“Be glad we were undercover,” she laughed, “and he didn’t know that we were in San Diego at the time. I feel like it would have been another missing family.”

“You would protect me though, right? Me and my manly honor?”

“Isn’t it suppose to be the other way around?”

Mulder slowed and turned onto a side road near the ocean side as he looked at her incredulously. “No, if it weren’t for you, well, let’s say I should have died long ago.”

“Don’t talk like that, Mulder. Remembering once is enough.”

“And you,” he coughed. “Don’t go doing it on me anytime soon.” He thought of Ritter and that bullet, how she should have died a second time but some miracle, just like this life, she had a second chance. “I would have killed the weasel, for the record.”

“Noted, Mulder.” She perked up into the passenger seat and pointed to a small building crowded with bikes and other cars. “That’s it.”

“Hm. It looks like somewhere we would go to on one of our cases,” he chuckled. As he pulled into the parking lot, he slowed, hearing the beginnings of music. “And it sounds like they have a band here tonight.”

As they got out of the car, she nodded to a small catwalk that carried out over into the parking lot into a sort of crows nest. “And an outdoor bar.”

“What do you think, Scully? Inside or outside?”

“Let’s eat outside tonight,” he proposed. “I bet the view is to die for.”

As they finished parking the car, Scully took his hand as they climbed the steps into the main building and she laughed as they entered the main dining area and saw it cast a psychedelic glow with the main dining room cast with blues, purples, and yellows in a hurricane of cosmic galaxies and other-worldly things. She pressed against him and whispered. “Must be love.”

“Cosmic galaxies get your juices going, Scully?”

“You know better than to ask me that.”

A hostess appeared giving them a tired smile. “Good evening,” she greeted. “Two for tonight?”

“We were actually wondering if we could eat upstairs on the deck,” Scully replied.

“Of course. Would you like a table or go to the bar?”

“Table,” Mulder answered.

“My pleasure,” the host answered grabbing two menus. She led them back outside up a quick flight of steps to the upper level of the restaurant where there was a small bar and handful of tables spread out. She gestured to a table that sat next to the end with a perfect view over the dunes and of the darkened beaches and waves. “Will this do?”

“Perfect,” she answered pulling out a chair. “Thank you.”

“I could have gotten that for you,” he told her feigning mock hurt. “But I know better.”

“Of course you do, Mulder.”

Before Mulder could sit down, a waiter vaporized out of thin air and was smiling cheekily. Scully caught her partner’s smirk as he sat down in the chair next to her. “Good evening, folks. Can I get you started on something?”

She was already glancing at the menu, ordering for Mulder without even consulting him. She ordered them a pitcher of beer and an appetizer of fried oysters and mahi mahi. He arched an eyebrow and whispered, “Fried, Scully? Be still my heart.”

“Must be love, Mulder.”

She reached to take his hand and give it a late squeeze and he rewarded her with a soft smile. Dinner was a quiet affair as they talked about their coming vacation, past cases, and they also found themselves reconnecting after the past tense month. Mulder sipped his beer thoughtfully and whispered, “We should celebrate your birthday too, Scully.”

“We did.”

“Pretending to be married and chasing garbage monsters don’t count, Scully.”

“We were married.”

“We haven’t adequately addressed the present, have we?”

“Or the future.”

“No.” Silence engulfed them and she shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “We haven’t really talked about the last…”

“I know,” she replied, cutting him off.

“We need to, Scully.”

“We need to do a lot of things, Mulder.”

He sighed and looked at the Atlantic. “It’s hard, Scully. I remember what you said when we came back down to Yorktown. You said you were yourself all at once, that memories from 1865 and our marriage are the same as the ones we had as I had to watch the cancer ravage your body. We were happy, Scully and I am happy now too but we aren’t married, are we?”

“Mulder, how would that change anything between us?”

“We just got the x-files back less than a month ago. I know, well I hope you know, that whatever was between me and Diana is done.”

“I haven’t thought about that since December,” she spoke softly, picking at the leftovers of their dinner. “And I thought we were past that, Mulder.”

“I just...I sense some doubt lingering, probably mine, but I just want to make sure.”

She sighed, taking his hand. “You, Fox Mulder, are the most insecure man I know, and you shouldn’t. I have witnessed it first hand.” He chuckled. “But there should be no doubt, Mulder.”

“I just thought, with the past month and all,” he mumbled as his cheeks grew a shade darker. “Between the cases and the IVF…”

“We can,” she started, drawing a deep breath to steady her voice, “we can always try again, Mulder.”

“But do you want to?”

“I...I don’t know yet,” she admitted.

“I’m sorry, Scully.”

“Mulder, don’t make me box your ears,” she threatened to try to change the tone. “We’re on vacation for two weeks. Maybe we can chase a ghost ship or something.”

He gave her a weak smile, pulling her knuckles to his lips. “What would I do without you?”

“Mulder, shut up and drink your beer. I think they have a band about to start.”

. . . .

As Mulder’s wristwatch neared 10:30, Scully left a few bills on the table for a tip, gathered up her purse, slipped her arm through Mulder’s, and they descended the deck back to their car. The beer warmed Scully’s blood and the ocean air invigorated her. She wasn’t drunk but could feel the beginnings to a good buzz coming along. She mused as they separated and climbed into the car. They came to the Outer Banks without any particular plans or goals. Since the first failure of the IVF, things were tense. Playing as husband and wife should have come easily to them in Arcadia, but the tension worsened, forcing Mulder to sleep on the couch for the first couple of nights. She shivered at the thought.

“AC too cold, Scully?”

“No,” she responded. “Everything’s perfect.”

Was it though?

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m just tired, Mulder.”

She gave him an easy smile as he made the short drive back to their rented beach house. Scully started up the steps in front of Mulder, unlocking the door as he came behind her, wrapped a strong arm around her waist, kissing her cheek. “You ready for bed?”

“Uh, yeah,” she replied holding him momentarily. “I picked up some of those tourist magazines. What do you say we watch the sunrise, have some coffee, and figure out what to do this trip?”

“I would like that.”

She tugged at his hand as they entered the home. He locked the door soundly and followed her upstairs as she flipped the living room lights on. She dragged her feet into the bedroom and began to get ready for bed. He titled his head in thought gauging his luck. Not tonight, he decided, tonight was just reaffirming what they had. He walked into the master bedroom, stripping his shirt in the process and watched as the crawled under the blankets.

“Wanna watch anything in particular?” he asked. “I can see if a game is on or something for you. Or PBS?”

“Local news is fine.”

“Okay.”

Mulder dressed down to boxers and climbed in on the left side of the bed and flipped on the television. “How long with the sleep timer?”

“90 minutes,” she yawned.

Mulder set the sleep timer and turned off the lights. Scully immediately reached for him and settled comfortably next to him as her arm and leg coiled around him. She sighed contently as her head rested against his chest.

“I'm glad, we're here, Mulder.”

“Me too.”

Her eyes began to grow heavy as she listened between Mulder's heartbeat and the 11 o'clock news. His fingers absently played with Scully's red locks as he watched the weather forecast.

“Sunny skies all week,” he said.

“Mmm...'at's nice.”

He smiled and watched the newscast pan away from the meteorologists to the lead broadcast journalist. “In other news, a prisoner escape happened late last night in Pastequtank County. The prisoner was being transported to a max federal security prison. The prisoner, Francis Buckley, was caught this past December in Norfolk after taking two FBI agents hostage. He is awaiting trial for kidnapping charges and allegedly killing seven people. The FBI, the U.S. Marshalls, and local police are involved in a two-state manhunt. If you see anything suspicious, call this number or 1-800-LOCK-U-UP. In other news, the Norfolk city...”

Scully had heard the new anchor and Mulder had become tense. “Did he...”

Mulder had already torn himself away from Scully and was digging through their still packed bag. He found his phone and pushed it to his ear. Scully watched an array of emotions play across his face: fear, anger, determination. “Skinner left us messages and SAC Benson too. Buckley's escaped, Scully.”

“What?”

“They didn't say any details. I'm calling Skinner.”

“Mulder!”

He stormed into the living room and saw him picking up the cordless phone and dialing a number. She followed as he put the call on speaker. “Where the hell have you been, Mulder? I have been trying to reach you for hours.” Skinner was on the warpath.

“I'm on vacation, Skinner.”

“Have you been in contact with Scully?”

“I'm here, sir.”

Mulder glanced up and held out his hand to Scully. She took it as he pulled her close. “Agent Scully, I thought you said you were on vacation.”

“I am,” she murmured.

“Fuck it. I don't care why you both are on vacation together. You saw the news I take it?”

“Yes, sir,” Mulder answered.

“What progress has been made?” Scully piped up.

“Nothing. All the guards were found dead, execution style. There was a pack of Morley's found at the scene.”

Mulder and Scully shared a long gaze. “Anything else,” Scully asked.

“Not yet. The evidence is still being analyzed and Benson is running on point, I'll let you know when I hear something.”

“We should do something, sir.” Scully looked at Mulder for affirmation.

“It's probably best you don't do anything,” Skinner sighed, “or get anywhere near this. I noticed the area code. 252.”

“We're in the Outer Banks,” Mulder answered. “Kill Devil Hills.”

“Good. Stay there. Don't get involved. I'll call you if there are any changes.”

Their boss hung up without another word. Scully sat on the couch and rested her face in her hands. Mulder sighed, feeling another moment where he did not know if it was his current or past memories causing his deja vu. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a hug as she kept her eyes shut tight.

#false flags redux #ff ghost ship #xfiles #xf fic #txf #txf fic #msr #msr fic #case file #novel length fic #mulder #scully #mulder and scully #fluff #angst #season 6 #xf season 6 #i think of more tags later.

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contrivedcoincidences6 · 7 years

Text

The Invisible Cord ch. 11

Need to catch up?

Thank you to @lepus-arcticus for editing!!!

@fictober

December 2011

Location unknown

“We believe they’re somewhere north of Winnipeg.” The Krycek look-alike informs me.

I let out a long-suffering sigh. “How is it possible that you don’t know where they are?”

“Manitoba is a large area, all of Canada’s even larger. It’s like finding a needle in a haystack. We think they have connections in the First Nations, and are hiding out on a reservation somewhere. People on the reservations don’t trust us, we stink of government.” Though he was just a clone, he still had the annoying arrogance of the actual Alex Krycek.

“Then convince them to cooperate,” I growl.

“I thought you wanted us to remain low key?”

Sighing, I fantasize about putting a bullet in the clones head, just for the sake of it, but decide it’s not worth the trouble of training a new one.

“Just don’t attract any more attention than necessary. On a local level we can deal with the people on the res.” I wave him away.

We’d been after them for a month. At times we would be close, but they always seemed to fall through the cracks. Two weeks ago, we’d even engaged them in a high speed chase that ended in three dead clones.

The children were developing their abilities, and it appeared to be working to their advantage. I open their files and glance at the catalogued photographs. Brian had been showing signs of extraordinary empathic abilities since he was a boy, but the other two hadn’t exhibited anything out of the ordinary.

Although it had been suspected early on that May would eventually demonstrate telepathy, no one could quite figure out if April was gifted at all.

But the car chase from a couple weeks ago hinted that April had indeed developed her own gift. One clone had survived the accident and had described an invisible force knocking them off the road and killing his three companions in the accident.

I held no doubts that either Kurt and Samantha or Mulder had connections in the First Nations. Mulder had lived amongst Native American’s for a time when he’d been alone on the run. Though Arizona was a long way from Manitoba, the various tribes of Native American’s have been known to fight against the Syndicate across state and country lines.

If they were indeed being aided by the Native American’s, they would be much harder to track down.

December 2011

Pinaymootang (Fairford 50 Reserve), Manitoba

My mother’s hands run through my hair as she plaits it and I watch the barren landscape through the window. The area was pretty but desolate.

Months before we arrived in Fairford, the Pinaymootang people had been struck by a flood that nearly destroyed their community. As we drive through, Kurt assures us that his source, Jacob Doyle, had stayed and rebuilt and had a place for us.

“How do we know we can trust this friend of yours?” Mulder asks for what had to be the tenth time.

Kurt’s face doesn’t change.

“We have known Jacob for many years. He has helped in the fight against the invading alien race and the powers that be. We trust him.”

“How does he have the resources to take in six total strangers?”

“He is a powerful member of the community.”

Not long after crossing the border, we’d switched to a large passenger van so that Kurt and Samantha could join us for the ride.

As we drive, I practice with a small, pretty stone I had picked up along the road. I hold it in my hand and try to move it with my mind. The night I discovered I was telepathic was also the last time I was able to do it. Dad says it was the stress that allowed me to do it. That it would just take time and practice. But I want it to work now.

It had happened in the midst of a high speed chase with the people who have been tracking us. We were still in two vehicles at the time, and were being followed by another two. I didn’t panic until my dad shouted out that we were running low on gas, I turned to look out the back and wished I could swat them off the road. As if on cue, the cars veered off the road as if it by an invisible train. Everyone watched silently, but neither car slowed down.

When we all caught our collective breath, I told them about what happened.

I could tell that Dana was still hesitant to believe it. May told me privately that my mom just wants a normal life for me and hates the idea that I can’t have that. My father, on the other hand, is excited by it.

I find it frustrating to no end. May has helped us avoid disaster multiple times, while I sit here uselessly.

She works every day on widening her reach and she is getting quite good at it. Brian has remained steady as ever in all the stress, keeping everyone on an even keel.

Violet and May have reached an uneasy, but kind, relationship. May still resents that we need parents. she craves independence, but has also began to admit that it’s nice to have a mother. Their mother dotes on them just as much as mine does, but in a more quiet and reserved way.

I like Violet, she’s kind and good natured but there is a deep pain about her that is also unsettling. My parents also carry pain with them but they also had each other. Violet has been alone for many years.

She and my mother talked about their experiences. Violet was amazed at my mother’s story of her recovery from the brain cancer that stalked abductees. As she told the story of her recovery, I watched my mother’s tender gaze often shift to Mulder.

The intimacy between my parents made everyone slightly uncomfortable.But I understood that they had only depended on each other for so long. they weren’t used to having others around. It wasn’t that they were very affectionate, it was how they would look at each other. When their eyes met, it was like there was no one else in the room.

May romanticizes it, calls it fairy tale love, but I have a feeling that it was a hard fought love that came from years of pain and devotion.

As we turn down a dirt path up ahead, I can see multiple mobile homes gathered together. The area is obviously poor, but the thought of getting out of the car is so appealing that I don’t care if I’ll be sleeping on rags. it has got to be better than the pleather seat of the van.

“Pull around the back,” Kurt orders, and we circle behind the ramshackle homes. The poverty is a striking juxtaposition to the beautiful scenery that surrounds it. Evidence of spring flood can be clearly seen, but these homes are on a slight rise,and it looks like they were nearly untouched by the destruction.

We pile out of the van eagerly, but the freezing air quickly dampens our excitement. Manitoba in December is not a welcoming place. a thick layer of snow covers the ground and I am once again happy that we’d stopped and stocked up on winter boots and coats.

Suddenly, the previously dingy mobile homes look inviting, with their small curls of smoke coming from little chimneys. A tall man with deep ochre skin and black hair came out of one of the homes to greet us. He is imposing but his face is kind. It’s impossible to tell his age, the lines on his face indicated age but there’s a feeling of youth about him.

“Hello! I’m Jacob, welcome to your winter home. Let’s get you inside, and then we can make proper introductions.” His voice matched the kindness in his eyes, and we all grabbed our belongings and followed without a word.

Scully and I are given our own room. Well, more of an alcove but it is still a space of our own. I throw myself down on the queen mattress, which drawing a small laugh from Scully.

“Come here,” I growl playfully grabbing her hips before she can escape.

“Mulder! Not now!” Her tone is firm, but there’s a smile on her face as she tries to bat away my hands. I sit up and pull her forward until she’s standing between my legs and I’m looking up at her. Her eyebrow is raised, and the smirk on her face looks perfectly kissable.

“Later, Mulder. Let’s get settled first. Aren’t you hungry?”

When she asks the question, I wiggle my eyebrows playfully, “I am hungry.”

She chuckles and swats at me playfully. I move my hands to her behind, and give a little squeeze before letting her go.

Scully places a small kiss on my head and shoos me out of the way so she can put a clean sheet on the bed.

I leave her to it, and move on to explore the rest of the small space that we’ll be sharing with the rest of our small group. Brian will sleep on a cot in the ‘living room’, April and May have a room for themselves, and Violet has her own little alcove on the other side of the trailer. It’s not a very big space, but it will do. I’ve heard nothing of where the clones plan on living or sleeping, and I wonder if they’re planning on leaving us for the winter. It seems likely.

And I'm not sure if I care or not. Their presence is comforting and unsettling at the same time. I still have a hard time looking at the clone of Samantha,and she seems to sense this and keeps her distance. I can't help but wonder how many of her there are.

I’m surprised to find April sitting at the small kitchen table. she looks up when she hears me, and gives a small smile. I grin back at her and sit down.

“How ya doing?” I ask. I haven’t been quite sure how to be around her. I want to be affectionate and take her hand, but I’m still unsure that she wants affection from me. She and Scully had hit it off relatively quickly, whereas I felt bumbling and unsure. Suddenly I was the father of a teenage daughter, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it.

As she looks around for an answer, I’m struck again by the fact that she is mine. The reality of Emily had always been an abstract idea to me. When I’d known her as a child, I hadn’t known she was mine, and by the time I found out, we’d thought her dead.

With William, the loss was painful in a more real sense, and with Emily it had brought more anger than hurt. There were times I’d cried over her life and death, but many times the sadness was overwhelmed by fury at the injustice of it all.

She looks up at me with the same eyes I see in the mirror every morning. “I’m alright. Exhausted. I suppose I’m happy we’re stopping for a while.”

“Still frustrated over the telekinesis?” I ask knowingly.

She sighs and nods, “I just wish I could be more useful.”

“If you hadn’t have found your powers when you did, we wouldn’t be here now.”

“That’s true, I guess.”

I cover her hand with my own. Everything about her is long and thin, and it reminds me of myself when I was a teenager.

“Give yourself some time. These are superhuman abilities we are talking about here.”

She gives a little laugh and I squeeze her hand before letting it go.

I spot Jacob and Kurt talking outside and decide to go listen in.

Before walking out I kiss the top of her head.

“I’m so glad you found us.”

#the invisible cord #the x files #txf #txf fanfic #x files fanfic #i wrote this

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soft-thrills · 7 years

Text

X-Files fic: Philadelphia

Mulder and Scully drive to Philadelphia after her mother’s death. A missing scene for “Home Again.”

Rated R

With thanks, as ever, to @agoldenpalace

i walked the avenue ‘til my legs felt like stone

i heard the voice of friends vanished and gone

at night i could hear the blood in my veins

just as black and whispering as the rain

on the streets of Philadelphia

-Bruce Springsteen, “Streets of Philadelphia”

“Mulder, let’s drive to Philadelphia,” she says, gripping at his shirt with the same hand that clutches the mystery her mother has left her. Her fingernails work for traction on the slippery material, and she throws her body up against him, half begging and half demanding. “I need to work.”

“No,” he says. “No, no, no.”

“Yes. Right now.”

“No, I get it, Scully, I do. But not right now.”

She remembers, for a moment, the night his mother died. The night he asked her to cut Teena open. No, she had said, no, no, no. But she couldn’t refuse him anything, not even that, when he was so full of raw need. She would have cut herself open to soothe him.

“Mulder, right now,” she says, picking up her briefcase, putting an end to the conversation. “I need to work right now.”

She walks out of the hospital. She doesn’t look back because she knows he will follow. He'd never refuse her anything either.

Mulder drives them to Philadelphia in rainy silence.

She doesn’t care for Pennsylvania. When she was younger, a friend was scoping out big affordable homes in quaint towns and Scully told her not to move there. “Too many X-Files per capita,” she’d joked.

Scully doesn’t really have friends anymore. She doesn’t joke anymore.

For a long time, she looked for meaning in the bad things that had happened to her. She believed that she was meant to learn from them, that they were meant to teach her something. She had searched so hard to give them purpose, to understand, even when she came up empty time and time again.

As the tragedies big and small piled up, she wondered if each one was meant to harden her for the next. Her cancer helped her to know how to cope with her infertility. Mulder's disappearance and three-month stint in a coffin — a vision of her worst nightmare, and most awful of all the possible endings to their story—made it easier for her to survive when he left after William was born. From the loss of Emily, she was a bit more weathered to withstand the loss of William.

She began to believe that she had lost so much, been tested so much, because she was meant to know the truth, meant to help people, meant to save the world with Mulder by her side. That was worth suffering for. But then 2012 ended and the world didn’t. So she convinced herself that she had gone through these trials to bring her to Mulder, to bind them together. But then he shut her out and she left the house and she had nothing: not the X-Files, not a master-plan to save the world, not her partner.

Maybe she was like Job. Maybe she’d done nothing to deserve her misfortunes and she’d ultimately learn little from them, other than that God is cruel and cavalier and what he gives he can take away. Naked we came out of our mothers’ wombs and naked we will depart.

Nothing will come from her own womb and she will never see her own mother again. She will never see her son again. She will never forget her mother’s last words, to somebody else, about the son she gave away.

But Mulder is back; he is holding her hand where it rests in the center console of the car, not far from where he keeps his sunflower seeds.

That is something.

She feels tense from the moment the skyline rises into their windshield.

Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love and the city of her grandest mistakes, at least where sex is concerned. The dingy place where she got her tattoo is probably long out of business, gentrified into a coffee shop. The Russian who wielded the needle is probably gone, too.

Ed Jerse is still in prison. She used to get little postcards when he was up for parole, until they lost track of her on the run. But every couple of years some part of her, the dangerously curious part that missed the FBI while she was a doctor, looks him up. Her tattoo is still on her back, catching her eye sometimes as she moves past a mirror.

She’s not sure she regrets sleeping with Ed, even after how it all ended. She knows she doesn’t regret the tattoo. It reminds her to keep moving, even when she’s fucked something up seemingly beyond repair.

As she and Mulder walk through the lobby of a nicer-than-usual hotel, she feels herself moving like a train on a doomed track, ready to collide with someone. Only this time it's not a stranger and that’s really the problem. It’s been years since she was this unsure of what she and Mulder were to each other. She feels not unlike she did when she was in Philadelphia all those years ago, adrift and alone.

Mulder tells the woman at the front desk that he’d called on the way and been told the hotel had vacancy.

“One room, or two?” she hears the woman ask.

It is the city of brotherly love. As complicated as her feelings for Mulder are, Scully is sure of one thing: they are not fraternal.

“One,” she says, a woman who feels like making a mistake, a woman who probably won’t regret this one, either.

She doesn’t want to talk, not yet, so she tries not to give him the time.

She stalks behind him as he places their bags on the luggage rack, and when he turns she’s there, pressing her body into him the way she did a few hours ago in the hospital. But she isn’t crying now. She is staring up, on her tip toes even in her heels, ready to kiss him.

“Scully, I—” he begins, but she knows from his face where he’s going.

“Don’t,” she whispers, unable and unwilling to accept rejection, even if it is well meaning. “Please.”

He hesitates. She watches the conflict play across his face as he tries to chart his course: He doesn’t want to refuse her or make her ask for what she needs (though he’s reveled in making her beg before, she remembers with a flush, it would be uncouth of him to do it now). But he is balancing that with the need to be sure he isn’t doing something she will regret tomorrow, something to make her pain worse. She knows because she has been there, stood in his place and wondered the same thing, how to navigate an emotional minefield and walk away unscathed.

So she tries to explain.

“When your mother died, Mulder, that night, when we were together—I didn’t understand it,” she says, shaking her head. “But I do now. I need… I don’t know.”

She shakes her head softly. His hand finds her face, a thumb strokes her cheek. She wills herself not to cry, afraid it will scare him off.

“Tennessee Williams wrote that desire is the opposite of death,” Mulder says.

She should roll her eyes at him for quoting a play, or at the very least point out that the one he is referencing ends pretty badly. She could think of her last misbegotten trip to Philadelphia and wonder if death — the specter of it lodged between her nose and her brain — was what fueled her desire then. But she does not want to think.

“Yes,” she says instead, because he has managed to sum up the feeling thrumming inside her pretty well.

Mulder nods, a little too solemn for her liking but then he puts a hand in the hair at the nape of her neck and he kisses her, offering himself up to be another distraction from her grief, just like the case would be. He’s more to her than that, and her heart makes her brain promise to tell him so. Later.

They have kissed in a hundred hotel rooms, and if she shuts out her grief, his touch in this place feels nostalgic. There were years of this, fucking in nondescript rooms with weird carpets and boring pictures on the walls. Even the grief inside her isn’t unfamiliar in their history of rented-room romance. She remembers the way he’d kissed her softly and sadly that first night on the run in New Mexico; she remembers the way he’d fucked her after their first real discussion about William had devolved into their first real fight about William.

This is somewhere in between, she thinks as his hands move across her body and she responds on autopilot. He is hitting all his marks: hand in her hair tugging just a little, touching her just demandingly enough to make her melt. He is not gentle but there is no anger in it: he is playing the role she needs him to play right now.

She feels stupidly, deliriously, dangerously alive. Her heart pounds. She doesn’t think about her grief for her mother or her endless doubt and aching sorrow about her son. She doesn’t think about why they’ve started fucking again since they returned to the FBI, or why she didn’t return home once they started fucking. She doesn’t think about what it means or what comes next or what it says about her or him.

She thinks about Mulder, a man who wants her and loves her despite the things she has done that have made it so hard for her to love herself. She thinks about how good it feels to be desired, to desire someone — then she stops thinking about it and just feels it. She is unvarnished and undone, splayed open for him in all the ways a person can be.

This, the two of them together like this, is the only time she has ever been able to shut off the rest of her brain. She feels safe, and whole, and at home in this strange hotel where she’s never been and will never be again.

He is her dark wizard that way.

Later, they sit on the bed, their legs spread out and their backs against the headboard, and drink bourbon poured from expensive mini bottles over too-small ice cubes in unimpressive hotel glassware.

She is wearing his t-shirt again, the one she wore on the last case, when his eyes had lit up while talking about monsters and, as soon as his rant was done, had raked appreciatively over her bare legs. They had slept together after that case, a happy and easy thing they did while a no-longer-stray dog scratched at the bedroom door.

She thinks, disjointedly, about her mother's coin and how completely you can think you know someone, only to turn over a new mystery about them when you’re out of time to solve it. She thinks about her mother and her brother, the things big and small that kept them apart from one another for so many years.

“I want to come home,” she says, before she really realizes she’s saying it.

As soon as the words are out of her mouth she regrets it — not because they aren’t true, but because of when she’s said them. Despite his propensity to believe anything, he won’t believe her. He’ll chalk it up to emotion and exhaustion the way she had when he’d told her he loved her after he almost died at sea.

She suppresses her urge to apologize for her admission and watches him consider his response.

“I want that, too,” he says evenly. “But I won’t hold you to anything you say right now, Scully.”

It is the right thing to say to a woman whose mother just died, a woman who is momentarily desperate for some semblance of a family. It is careful of him. He is careful with her lately, the way he was when all this — them— first started. A lot of things feel like they did back then, as they work in the basement and chase monsters and live in separate households and quietly sneak away to bed together now and then. She feels ready to close the circle again.

She thinks of the circle at her back. The circle her mother wore around her neck. The circles her mind will travel to try to understand, before she’ll accept that sometimes your parents aren’t exactly who you want them to be — her mother has always been unassailable to her, but she left behind a son, too, for reasons Dana never really agreed with but never questioned. She’ll have questions her mother will never answer. Her own son will have questions she’ll never answer, questions she’ll probably never even know.

The thoughts leave her off-balance, adrift. But Mulder, despite his eyes being turned ever upward, grounds her.

She wants to tell him that, but she’s not sure how. So she settles for making a promise and deciding to keep it.

“You can hold me to it, Mulder.”

#xfiles fanfic #xfiles fanfiction #xfiles fic #xf fanfic #xf fanfiction #xf fic #msr fic #mulder x scully #xfiles: home again #my fic

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stcrlghts · 7 years

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Bones Series Finale Recap - via Entertainment Weekly

I’m not entirely kidding when I say I didn’t think this day would come — the last Bones episode. Bones seemed poised to outlive us all. But it’s also a show about the basic biological truth that everything ends, coupled with the reminder that it’s up to us, for the duration of our little lives, to find the joy in that. And there’s plenty of joy in this episode. A few endings, too. Maybe.

We pick up in the bombed-out Jeffersonian, making dreams come true for David Boreanaz, who directed this hour. (He’s always said he wanted to drive a tank through the lab; they blew it up instead. You get what you need.) Booth, Hodgins, and Angela are quick to pull themselves out of the rubble, leading to a nice — in a this-is-already-ripping-my-heart-out kind of way — moment between Hodgins and Angela, who lean on each other as they worry about their baby. And while I’m glad this isn’t how it happened, since it’s probably not how science works, did anyone else half-expect Hodgins to be able to walk again after the blast? It was a bomb that put him in that wheelchair to begin with.

But it turns out two bombs don’t cancel each other out; they just make a bigger mess. Booth finds Brennan face down in the rubble outside what used to be her office. As he begs his wife to stay with him, he calls her “Temperance” for the first time in a while, which is fine, it’s fine, I’m FINE, OKAY. Brennan coughs and opens her eyes. Everybody breathe.

But something’s not right; she feels “different,” and she’s struggling to focus. There’s a paper in her pocket with the names of four bones written on it. “I don’t know what that means,” Brennan says — by far the most terrifying utterance of that phrase ever on this show. She clarifies: She knows they’re bones, but she doesn’t remember their significance to the case.

Brennan’s brain isn’t cooperating. When Angela, looking almost as worried about Brennan as she is about her child, enlists her help to check on the baby, Brennan is surprised to learn that a stethoscope and a beaker can be used as a makeshift fetal Doppler, even though she’s the one who taught Hodgins that trick in the first place. Afraid and frustrated with herself, she takes longer than usual to find what she’s listening for, but she does find it: a steady baby heartbeat. The women take a moment out from panicking to hold hands, because these last two episodes are really doing justice to their friendship.

Meanwhile, Booth and Hodgins are looking for another way out. There isn’t one (“ironically, for safety”), so Booth, desperate to get Brennan some help, grabs the bomb he managed to defuse. He’s ready to blow his way out of here, but this building literally just exploded; it can’t withstand another blast. “You don’t have to be a hero!” Hodgins yells. That’s usually Brennan’s line. Booth wouldn’t be Booth if he didn’t do the hero thing, but he doesn’t do himself or anyone else any favors when he carries helping people like a burden.

Hodgins rolls his way over to his friend and offers an olive branch, admitting that some of his insults about Booth’s sniper past may have been off base: “Killing Kovac’s father, that was the right thing to do.” I’m not sure I needed our big moment between these two to involve Hodgins endorsing an old war; I was happy just to see them fight again. But it is a truth universally acknowledged that pseudo-arguments between Booth and Hodgins must end in That Face David Boreanaz Makes When Booth Is Secretly Very Touched. And it is a truth unique to this finale that those apologies must then be interrupted by rescue crews tunneling into their workplace.

The Jeffersonian Four are free, much to poor Cam’s relief (get her a thicker shock blanket, stat), but Brennan isn’t out of the woods. Her CT scan doesn’t show any internal bleeding, but there’s a contusion, annnd for the first time in her life, Brennan doesn’t understand the medical jargon, so let’s cut to the chase: Brennan’s memories are fine, but her ability to process complex information has been compromised.

The idea that she’s lost her ability to do what she does better than anyone else is, well, too complex for Brennan to process. So she does as she always does and gets back to work, insisting that they don’t have time to waste if they want to catch Kovac before he strikes again. But she’s going to have to call in some reinforcements; every bone in the lab has been shaken out of its storage drawer. The bone room is just a huge pile o’ bones. It is haunting.

Squinterns new and old, with doctorates and without, gather at the lab to sort through the bones and find the body they were investigating before the blast. They tell Brennan about “irregular projections” on sharp ribs like it means something, but she doesn’t understand anymore, not that she’ll let that stop her from setting the young scientists straight on her anthropological past. When Wendell compares the lab to a mass grave, Brennan shuts him down with a story of the horrors she’s witnessed. The bomb can take her intellect, but it can’t take her reverence for life.

It can’t take her memories with her students, either. Arastoo asks if she’s getting any better, and Brennan takes a moment to prove to her old interns that her memory is not the problem here. She remembers watching Cam propose to Arastoo, the cigarette Wendell tucked behind his ear, Clark’s “mawkish” book (poor Clark), “chirping” (tweeting) with Jessica… “And I remember fighting off attackers with you by my side,” she tells Daisy. Daisy nods: “In the Maluku Islands.” Brennan shakes her head: “I was thinking of the motorcycle bar.” Cut to Wendell looking delightfully confused — a perfect comic beat in the middle of a speech that had me in tears.

“I remember the day each of you was hired,” Brennan says. “I remember the name of every victim I’ve ever identified. I remember just how meaningful this work can be. But I don’t remember how to do it.”

Wow. Emily Deschanel told me that filming this scene really got to her, and it’s not hard to see why; I cried again just typing that quote. Brennan still remembers the name of every victim she ever identified. That’s so Brennan, and while I’m not at all surprised, it feels like we’re years past the last time she said anything like that. She used to worry that dead people were the only ones she could connect with; now, Brennan’s empathy for the victim goes hand-in-hand with her love for a group of (very much not dead) people she once tried not to get attached to.

It would all be uplifting if not for the head trauma. Is there anything worse than staring at the life you’re supposed to have and not being able to live it? (Brennan and Booth circa seasons 1 through 6 would say no.) Brennan asks the interns to give her some time alone with the bones, which has always been her thing, but it doesn’t help, and she misses the obvious idea to compare them to X-rays of the victim’s skeleton. So she goes where she always does when nothing makes sense: straight to Booth.

“So much of my life,” Brennan confesses to her husband in his office, “my intelligence is all I’ve had. I may not have had a family, but I understood things that nobody else could. My brain, the way I think, is who I am. Who I was… I mean, if the thing that made me me is gone, who am I?”

This is where the whole idea behind this episode starts falling into place: The last story Bones wants to tell is the story of who Brennan is. It’s a parallel to the first season finale, when she learned that her parents weren’t who she thought she was; her birth name wasn’t even Temperance Brennan. As she recited her name to herself, Booth came up behind her: “I know who you are.” Now, he sits down with his wife to remind her that’s still true.

“You’re the woman I love,” Booth says. “You’re the one who kissed me outside of a pool house when it was pouring rain, took me to shoot tommy guns on Valentine’s Day. That’s who you are. You’re the one who proposed to me with a stick of beef jerky in her hand even though you’re a vegetarian. You’re the Roxie to my Tony. You’re the Wanda to my Buck. Who else is gonna sing ‘Hot Blooded’ with me? And besides, we are way better than Mulder and Scully.”

(It should be noted that at this, I stopped crying long enough to full-on gasp, “You did not.” But, you know, A+ callback to the pilot, courtesy of David Boreanaz. And there’s no denying that Booth and Brennan are getting a much better send-off than Mulder and Scully have ever gotten.)

Then, because Booth and Brennan fell in love on the job, Booth answers the question she didn’t ask: He loves her even if they can’t do this job together. In that sense, this scene also has echoes of the season 7 finale, when Brennan assured Booth that she wasn’t just with him because they had a child together. Family and work are too important to each of them to be excuses.

Anyway, speaking of work, the investigation is still happening. Unlike Booth and Brennan, I cannot emphasize enough how much I’m not paying attention to it. Which is a compliment! The Gravedigger herself could claw her way out of the grave, and I would not have the emotional energy for her headless ass right now. The case in this episode is literally life or death, and it’s woven organically into the story, but it also unfolds in as little screen time as possible because Bones understands our priorities. We just got two speeches that were basically just lists of callbacks! I’m busy.

Here’s what you need to know: Booth, who has not worn a suit this whole episode, and long may his FBI T-shirt reign, did this investigation a real solid when he defused that bomb. The killer set it without gloves, and Hodgins is able to pull DNA from an epithelial cell — it’s a partial match to, get this, Mark Kovac. Since Kovac was still in jail when the bombs were set, his accomplice must be a relative. Booth’s magical gut instinct figures it out instantly: The accomplice is Jeannine. She’s not actually Kovac’s wife; she’s his sister.

When Booth and Brennan call her out on her deception, she keeps up the innocent act long enough to ask, “You’re accusing me of incest?” setting up Booth for this chestnut: “No, we’re accusing you of murder.” Brennan launches herself at Jeannine, yelling that she killed Max, but Jeannine tries to pin it all on Booth, as if he doesn’t pin enough on himself. He killed her father, so she killed Brennan’s. First of all, Jeannine, what did Brennan ever do to you?

Sister-wife clams up, but the squinterns are having some luck back at the lab, where Hodgins urges them to take everything they’ve learned and solve this case for Brennan. She said in the season 10 finale that she’d never be able to step away from her work without knowing the lab was in capable hands, and as sad as it is that she can’t solve this case, it’s still her victory that the squinterns can. They notice that the four bones Brennan noted show signs of lead poisoning, meaning the victim grew up somewhere remote — Kovac escaped with this particular prisoner because he had a place to hide. By taking a sample of tooth enamel, they find where that is.

One last time (at least on our screens), Booth and Brennan charge into danger. On the drive out to the farm where Kovac is hiding, Booth apologizes for inadvertently starting all of this, but his wife won’t hear it. After all these years, they’ve finally found the right balance between guilt and accountability: Booth takes responsibility for every shot he ever took, even though he was following orders, and Brennan tells him that she stands beside his choices. Then he asks Brennan to stay in the car, which has never once worked before, but ya gotta love him for trying. “Where you go, I go,” Brennan insists. No matter what state her brain is in, that never changes.

The partners share a casual pre-shootout kiss when they roll up to the farm with the rest of the FBI team, and Brennan lives out her season 1 dream of getting to carry a very big gun. (It’s so big! Is she certified for this? Does the FBI just give anybody an automatic weapon now?) They take out one of Kovac’s men, but Kovac is still on the loose, and I mean that in the most absurd way: He’s just doing circles on the lawn in a jeep. Why?! I Do Not Care.

Kovac makes a run at Booth, who rolls out of the way but hurts his hand in the process, and listen, no one has ever been so extra about a hand injury. Our former Army Ranger falls to the ground as soon as he and Brennan get away from the car, so Brennan takes a knee beside her dramatic husband and studies his wrist. A light bulb goes off: She knows what’s wrong. She rattles off some bone science and snaps his wrist right back into place, because nothing brings Brennan back to herself like having to fix Booth. She lights up — she did it.

When Booth’s hand was hurt, my first thought was that it should have been his heart to balance out Brennan’s brain, but it couldn’t be his heart because then he’d be dead. Now I think his hand might actually be a more fitting counterpoint: Booth, as a sniper, and Brennan, as a scientist, have both allowed their steady hand and sharp mind, respectively, to define them at times. But they’re both more than that. I was worried for a little while that by taking away Brennan’s intellect, this episode was going to suggest that Brennan needed to change while Booth didn’t — that in the debate between heart and brains, the scales had just tipped in favor of the heart.

But even without her ability to look at a bone and know how someone died, Brennan is still defined by her brain. She leans on her memories with her coworkers and with Booth, so her unique, logical approach to empathy is still intact. This episode had to walk a delicate line: affirm Brennan as a whole person with more to offer than her ability to solve crimes while still celebrating the intelligence that sets her apart. I believe that it did that, especially because Brennan gets that intelligence back. It’s an important part of her; it’s just not the only part.

Meanwhile, Mark’s still driving that jeep. He takes another run at Booth and Brennan, and Booth shoots him square in the head, right where he shot the shooting range target in the scene that we all know is the reason the pilot got picked up to series. The jeep drives off an embankment and crashes into a bunch of barrels; Booth and Brennan watch the explosion like they’re taking in a nice fireworks show.

There are still 11 full minutes left in this episode, and nothing bad happens in any of them because this is Bones, and Bones loves us. Back at the Bureau, Caroline bustles into Booth’s office and, as always, speaks for us all: “You and your damn sense of duty. Do you have any idea how stressful it is for me to have such a brave friend?” Amen. But she’s just going to have to live with that stress; Booth has no plans to ever stop nearly getting killed. At least he’ll have Aubrey with him — Uncle Aub got an offer to take over for a retiring agent, meaning he gets the same promotion, but in D.C. And Booth and Brennan get to keep their babysitter.

On his way out of the office, Aubrey runs into Karen, who heard about his breakup and decided to send him a consolation gift: two buckets of fried chicken. He invites her to join him, and you just know they’re going to get together. I tried for about two seconds not to find this adorable, but I do — and not even necessarily because they’re cute (but they are! Sue me) but because this is the most Bones thing. These people aren’t allowed to date outside the team, and these people must date.

Back at the lab, Brennan gives Cam, Angela, and Hodgins the good news: The doctor says her agnosia is almost gone, and she’s going to be okay. Cam’s news is a little less happy — repair work on the lab starts tomorrow, so they’ve only got today to pack up their things — but these people just survived an explosion, so putting a few things into boxes doesn’t seem so bad. They study their burned-out but still sunny husk of a lab and get meta, in the way all TV series finales must. “They won’t change it much, will they?” Angela asks.

“They try not to,” Cam answers, “but you know how it is.”

Bones has always been good at finding the bright side of change, but as Angela said in the season 5 finale, that doesn’t always have to mean picking a fight with your old life. As the team packs up, we get the chance to say goodbye to that life: Hodgins’ rubber band ball (which he throws away along with the band on his wrist), the book of Farsi poems Arastoo wrote Cam, a photo of Max on Brennan’s wedding day, the dolphin he left at her mother’s grave (now on a necklace), a photo of Hodgins and Zack in the season 1 Christmas episode, the salt and pepper shakers Cam shares with Michelle… It’s a lot. Moby sings in the background (I’ll decide at a moment’s time/ to turn away/ leave it all behind).

Hodgins and Angela stumble upon a project they’ve been working on, and the team gathers to look: It’s a pop-up children’s book about all of them, but they’re farm animals for some reason. It’s a little out-of-left-field but very cute. More importantly, Cam has a confession: Her six-month leave of absence isn’t a European vacation after all. She and Arastoo have petitioned to adopt three brothers, who look to be teens or pre-teens, out of foster care, and they want to give the family time to settle in. They are perfect humans! Brennan already knew this, and the look of appreciation she, as a foster child, gives Cam is the perfect wrap on their relationship.

And there’s one more surprise: The position of interim director of the lab goes to Hodgins. Jack Hodgins is officially king of the lab.

That brings us to our last Bones scene, set to John Lennon (out the blue you came to me/ and blew away life’s misery). Booth — wearing his cocky belt buckle — strolls up to a bench in the Jeffersonian garden and sits beside Brennan, who isn’t quite ready to leave the lab. (Booth says it’ll be back up and running in a couple of weeks, which seems… optimistic?) “It’s a special place,” she says. That it is.

As if we hadn’t all cried enough at callbacks already (not that I’m complaining), Booth rummages through the things Brennan is bringing home from the lab. She’s got Sweets’ book, cueing up one last look back on the team’s baby duck. She’s got Jasper, the toy pig Booth gave Brennan to comfort her after she took her first life. It’s Brennan’s turn to dangle him in Booth’s direction now. And she’s got a drawing Parker gave her 11 years ago. He told her he liked her. Like father, like son.

The last thing in Brennan’s bag is one analog clock, lightly singed, frozen at 4:47. It stopped when the bombs went off, and Brennan wants to hang it in her new office. “Why would you want to be reminded of the moment when everything almost ended, Bones?” Booth asks. Brennan smiles: “Because it didn’t.”

I don’t know about you all, but this is the only resolution I needed to the “mystery” of 4:47, which has been popping up in Booth and Brennan’s lives for years. The meaning that matters is the meaning they take from it, which is also a good lesson to take from this finale: Everything ends, but endings are rarely absolute. Brennan said it to Angela in season 1: “Nothing in this universe happens just once.” For Booth and Brennan, 4:47 is what keeps happening, usually when they’re on the precipice: of losing each other (season 4 finale), leaving each other (season 5 finale), or getting together (after Vincent’s death). They could have ended, but they never did.

With that, the partners hold each other’s gazes for a while and then set off to retrieve their kids from the diner, bickering all the way. In the place where they chased each other and then got married, in an image that echoes the end of the pilot, Booth and Brennan walk off into the night to keep solving murders.

Bits and pieces:

• Hodgins thinks their baby is going to be a boy; do we think he’s right? • All these years, Angela’s been listening to Hodgins’ conspiracy theories. He’s never loved her more. • I tried making an anagram out of the four bones Brennan made note of, and I only got as far as “Cam naps.” Let Cam nap. • The fact that everyone gets to keep working together has me very emotional. • Check out Emily Deschanel’s thoughts on this finale here and co-showrunner Michael Peterson’s thoughts here. And thanks for joining all these years. It’s been a pleasure. • “Squints of the world unite, baby.”

#IF YOU THINK IM OVER THAT SERIES FINALE #GUESS AGAIN BECAUSE ILL NEVER BE OVER IT #AND THIS ARTICLE PRETTY MUCH SUMMED UP HOW I FELT #bones #temperance brennan #seeley booth #camille saroyan #jack hodgins #angela montenegro #shows

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starbuck09256 · 5 years

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The bed you’ve made

The Ivf works the first time but Mulder is sleeping with Diana.

Part 1

He hears Scully's’ familiar knock on his door. He swallows hard, thinks of the things he should clean up so she doesn’t make some bad yet accurate assumptions, he’s not sure what he is doing. He looks at the coffee table with the two drink glasses, he searches the floor for Diana’s bra, hoping that Scully misplaced her key and waits for him to open his door. Scully and him have done this dance for so long, he isn’t sure where they are really headed. Before Diana came back after the cancer, Scully had seemed so different touching him more inviting him over more. He wasn’t ready then, wasn’t ready to take that leap with her. How funny that he would run away for the brightest star in the world. He thought he was after Jerse but then cancer. But now after Emily he just wants things to be less complicated. He wants to have sex and not have it be some deep meaningful emotional roller coaster of arguing and complexity. Diana is comfortable, familiar. He knows what she likes, that she goes back to her place when they are done. That it isn’t them getting back together it’s just comfortable. While she wrecked him before, he had the x-files to hide his sorrow. Now she uses the x-files to make him feel alive. She brings secret files to him. Lets him look things over, gives him access. If he pays for that price with his body, he’s more than willing to make that trade for his fix.

Scully though, she is more complicated. Everything with her is complicated and hard, exhausting to argue with, she makes him work for it. Now though she isn’t fighting for the x-files, she is content to be a lakey in the motor pool of background checking sludge. She’s focused on her own personal life. He can’t blame her, so much taken from her. So much lost, those ovum he found suddenly a light in a path of darkness. That’s her fix, the possibility of normalcy. While he should jump at the chance to just be for once, he can’t help knowing that what he saw in Antarctica is coming for them, much sooner than they thought. Scully though she doesn’t think like that, she thinks of tests and trials of how long it takes for science to make those leaps. She wants to savor being saved, she wants a family of her own. He understood it, understood that she didn’t have the same burning quest as him. She didn’t feel the files in her soul. He isn’t sure what she saw, what she sees in him even. He meant what he said that he owed her everything, and like Diana she asked for something seemingly small. Not completely insignificant, just a chance to have her child mixed with genes she trusted, someone she knew. Someone she loved and him being flattered and realizing how much he had stolen from her in the first place agreed. He’s not sure exactly why, he researched the chances knows that the chance of success is so minut, miniscule even that agreeing after research was almost a way to keep the status quo. He could give her what she wanted almost without consequence. But lately it’s like his subconscious has run away with the possibilities as it often has. He sees a boy on the beach building a spaceship. He sees her asleep next to him with his child maximizing her small frame. Her voice singing “Jeremiah was a bullfrog” with a small bundle in a ridiculously looking alien hat. The last 4 weeks every night a new dream, vision of them, him building rockets with their son, her saying goodbye to their child at school. A house in the country like he mentioned a few years ago. Comfortable easy, uncomplicated. The dreams always pleasant and then somehow shaping into something different when he tries to free himself.

He doesn’t want normal he wants to see what goes bump in the night. He wants to chase the monsters and the ghosts until he has to use a motorized scooter. He wants to believe he will save the world. Her knock again a little louder now, with her voice calling “Mulder? Are you there?”

He can’t avoid her, he doesn’t want to, her voice sounds different than normal. She sounds happy. He thinks of all the things that have happened lately wonders what would bring on such a joyous feeling.

He opens the door and before he knows it she throws her arms around him. “Mulder oh my god, it worked Mulder it worked.” He thinks quickly, not remembering that she had the follow-up appointment to see if the in vitro had work. She is kissing his cheek and he feels the tears on her face as his arms wrap around her too. She radiants jubilants and he can't help but smile into her hair. She pulls back “sorry,” she mumbles running her fingers under her eyes. She is still grinning from ear to ear. “We’re gonna be parents,” she laughs and hugs him again. He shallows the deep lump in his throat. He meant what he said that he didn’t want to change things between them. They are best friends, and it seems like his desire for less complexity has fallen on deaf ears. In the corner of his eye Diana stands with her toothbrush in her hand and a questioning look on her face. As he pulls Scully closer in his arms.

tagging friends @scully-eats-sushi @today-in-fic @improlificinsarcasm @peacenik0 @lappina @marinafrenzy

#mulder and scully #xfiles #msr #msr fanfic #fanfic #my writing #thebedyouvemade #part 1

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lokisgame · 6 years

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Opposites

[part 1]

Mulder followed her to the kitchen, taking in the room. Usually meticulously tidy, now looking like a scene of a slumber party. The couch was pulled out, pillows on the floor around it. Crayons and sheets of paper littered the coffee table while plush Marvin the Martian was wrestling Duffy Duck in the middle of it.

"They were supposed to stay with mom, but she had some emergency at the community center and called me when I was on my way home, to pick them up from the airport." Scully explained, taking two mugs from the cupboard and pouring the coffee from the paper cups into them. She handed one to Mulder and suddenly remembered the pancakes.

"Oh dear!" Hastily cranking down the burner, she prodded the pancake, not yet burned luckily, and sighed, relieved, noticing something else too ad looked up, looking sheepishly. "I should probably get dressed."

Mulder set down the coffee and took the spatula from her. "Go, I'll keep an eye on this."

Stirring the pancake, a motion caught his eye and he saw the little girl standing 6 feet from him, hugging her toys, and watching him carefully.

"Hi," he smiled his warmest smile and suddenly noticed the resemblance. Pretty, round face, same bright blue eyes, though her hair was lighter and curlier. Emily. If only an echo, and like that, everything became clear. He knelt on one knee to look less threatening. "What is your name?"

"Claire," she spoke shyly, hugging her martian tighter.

"Well, Claire, I'm Mulder, you want to see a magic trick?" She nodded and smiled, finally.

Mulder went back to the frying pan and swallowed hard, it was ages since he did this but he told himself it was like riding a bike. He shook the pan a bit, making sure nothing was sticking and held his breath. One, two, three! The pancake leaped into the air, did a perfect backflip to land precisely in the middle of the pan, ready side up and sizzling. The little girl giggled and he smiled at her, 10 points from the judges.

Her dad came into the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, ruffling her hair in passing.

"Sorry about earlier," he grinned reaching out, "Charlie Scully."

"Fox Mulder." They shook hands, the man's grip firm and friendly.

"I know, Dana spoke about you, she wanted you to have lunch with us." The kid came back and tugged at his hand, reaching, drawing in one hand. He picked her up and tickled her tummy, "this is Claire."

"We met already." Mulder smiled and glanced at the pan, then slipped the pancake of it into a waiting plate and poured the batter for another one, and that was probably the full extent of his culinary knowledge, but they didn't have to know that.

"I drew a spaceship!" She grinned, showing him the drawing of a wonky lens-like object with blue and red dots al over it.

"Nice, what planet is it from?" Mulder asked, totally serious.

"Mars!" she declared, showing her mascot, "home of Marvin, the Martian!"

"She's crazy about Looney Tunes." Charlie turned to the girl and tickled her again, doing a pretty good Bugs Bunny impression, "Eee.. what's cookin' Doc?" She laughed and tried to escape his arms.

"Yeah, how's the cookin' Doc." Scully appeared, looking over his shoulder.

"All good." Mulder laughed, moving the spatula out of her reach.

"Show aunt Dana the magic trick!" Claire chimed in.

"Yeah, show Dana the magic trick, Mulder." Charlie grinned, bouncing the little girl.

"What magic trick?" Scully sounded genuinely curious so there was no going back.

Offering a little prayer to the kitchen gods, Mulder checked the pancake, stirred it a little and felt his own hands shake. This was the real deal, he rocked the cake back and forth and went for the gold. Claire gasped when the pancake went airborne and clapped her hands once it landed safely in the pan; Scully laughed with her.

"Okay, I think you got this." She patted his back and Mulder, for once, felt like a gold medalist.

"Now that's real skill," Charlie teased before turning to his little girl. "What is this? Why aren't you dressed young lady? Look, I'm dressed, aunt Dana is dressed, and you?"

"I like my pj's." She said, defiant. The crease between her eyebrows was apparently part of Scully family genetic makeup.

"C'mon, let's find you something we'll both like instead." He said and took her out of the kitchen. Passing Scully, he whispered something into her ear, earning a cluck of her tongue and an elbow below the ribs.

Claire helped her dad make the bed, though her attempts at starting a pillow fight were thwarted.

Scully busied herself around the kitchen, making fresh coffee and toast, setting the table. The cutlery clinked, the plates clanked, the refrigerator doors slammed. Sometimes she stopped beside him, sipping coffee he brought, smiling.

His sweatshirt gone in the heat of battle was replaced by a sensible apron. Mulder was slipping the last pancake off the pan, when Scully appeared again, raw bacon in hands.

"You can burn this," she joked but her next words were sincere. "Thanks for helping me."

"Don't thank me," he said taking the bacon and cranking the burner to max, "it's me who's crashing the party."

"Right, you wanted something," she leaned on the counter, finishing her coffee.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it."

"You sure?"

"Positive." The doorbell rang.

"Right on time." Scully grinned and followed her brother to the door.

Mulder stayed in the kitchen, trying to make sense of his feelings. This was a different Scully, one he only saw glimpses of. She was always composed, professional, rarely showing her playful side. She tolerated his jokes, even made fun of him from time to time, but this undiluted happiness, her care for the ones she loved, it disarmed him. He watched the family reunion like Scrooge looking in through the window on Christmas Eve. Maggie hugging both her kids, kissing her granddaughter's cheeks, until she saw the piece that didn't fit.

"Fox!" She said, surprised and, to his surprise, delighted. He earned a hug as well. "It's good to see you again."

"Hi mrs Scully," he gave back the hug, if awkwardly.

"Oh, she roped you into cooking, let me." Maggie tried to bump him out of his post by the pan, but he didn't budge.

"It's okay, I got this." Mulder chuckled.

"He can do magic tricks, Grandma." Claire piped up making Charlie and Scully laugh.

"Come on mom, sit down," Charlie pulled her away, "let the man finish what he started."

Maggie took the head of the table, with Dana on her right and Charlie on her left, Claire beside him, sipping her orange juice.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't pick you up yesterday."

"It's okay, Dana gave us a proper welcome."

"I'll say this again, you can stay if you want."

"Dana, there's more than enough room at my house," Maggie scolded, "and besides, they're staying the week and you've got a job."

"She could take the time off." Mulder chimed in, from his spot by the stove.

"Mulder!" Scully protested, her contrary side rearing it's pretty head.

"Just saying." He shrugged, flipping the bacon with a pair of tongs.

"Anyway," Charlie laughed and poured the coffee. "We're here, ready to go sightseeing and do all the tourist stuff we always laughed about."

"You have a list?" Scully laughed, taking the full mug.

"Sure I do," he replied, unfazed, "I'll show you later."

"I've never really went sightseeing, since we moved here." She admitted, sheepishly.

"You didn't?" Mulder sounded surprised, she knew so much about the city.

"I mean, we've been to the Smithsonian a few times, but I never seen the museum itself for example. I've seen the Washington Monument and all the other memorials, but I've never been to the botanic gardens or the Air and Space Museum."

"You've got so much catching up to do, dear sister." Charlie looked up, and grinned at Mulder, "and you, are going with us. I'm not taking no for an answer."

Mulder laughed, moving the bacon to a plate laid out with paper napkins and sitting down next to Scully.

"If there's something life has taught me, it's that there's no point in arguing with the Scullys."

"You got that right."

"What? We argue all the time."

"Hush," Charlie said, taking the bacon. "So we do the standard tour from Monday and do the..."

"Museum?" Scully filled the blank he made cautiously.

"The Air and Space Museum today." He turned to Claire, placing a couple of pancakes on her plate. "You'll see real space ships."

"From Mars?" Everyone laughed,

"We'll see sweetie, we'll see." Charlie kissed the top of her head warmly.

#msr mini fic #x files fanfic #opposites

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lokisgame · 6 years

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Good Things Come...

[part 1-4] [part 5] [part 6]

October 13th, 1994

They kissed hello, arms around each other for two seconds too long. Her new wedding band didn't stop him nor did she say a word, instead she kissed his cheek once more before letting go. "Happy birthday" Scully smiled, more comfortable in his space space than most married people. "Congratulations" he replied sounding only a little forced, having a few months to get used to the thought of her marrying yet another man, when all he got was a phone call. "Thank you, and thanks for the toaster" she giggled linking her arm through his, pulling him outside and across the street towards tall windows hidden beneath striped awnings.

The bar wasn't crowded, a jazz band played some lazy number for a barely awake audience. Scully caught a passing waitress and whispered a few words, the girl smiled and nodded leaving them to take their seats in a booth in the far corner. She sat by the window and patted the couch beside her. The waitress came back, took their order, disappeared again. "You cut your hair" she smiled, brushing his temple "I like it" "It's been a while" he didn't try to fight the warmth, but let it push the case and the weariness aside "You love this don't you" "It does kind of make me laugh" she admitted, withdrawing her hand "me at a conference, same hotel, I'd like to know the odds on that" "Long, very long" he smiled taking her hand "almost as long as finding a gift I actually like" "Well then, we're both very lucky tonight" leaning into his side, she laced her fingers through his "who goes first, me or you?" "You go first" he made himself comfortable, a fraction of an inch to one side and his lips brushed her temple. "Dad hates my new husband" she admitted. "Your dad probably never liked any guy you dated. Take me for example" he chuckled "Emily isn't even five yet but I begin to understand why he felt that way." "Isn't it a little early to worry about that?" "It changes the perspective you know, today I look at boys and cringe, what if my girl likes a brat like that, was I anything like him?" feeling her warm and as comfortable around him as ever soothed him better than anything he might think of as a distraction an hour earlier. "Mulder, any father would eventually give you his daughter's hand" "Why?" "Because any mom would love to have you as a son" she laughed and sat up, kissing his cheek and smiling wide. Only then he noticed the waitress come back with their order and a huge slice of cake, two small forks on the side. "To long odds" Scully raised her glass, clinking it against his as he joined her toast. They tossed back the shots and before he knew, her lips were on his, burning hotter than scotch, killing brain cells faster than pure ethanol, fast enough to make him chase after her when she pulled back. Realizing what he'd done, head hung low, he laughed at himself, shaking the moment off before looking up. He met her her smile, expecting warm but sad, but instead saw half a promise, quarter of a challenge, eighth of come on, sixteenth of hope and a few drops of why not. On the street outside, twinkle lights draped around the trees made the yellowing leaves shine bright against the city night, shimmering with gold as the wind picked up. They shared the cake, dragging things out, talking about everything and nothing, laughing and drinking until they were, very politely, kicked out.

On their way up, both leaning against the back wall of the elevator, she found his hand, held on when doors opened. He followed.

Scully straddled his lap, knees digging into the mattress, keeping his face in her hands and kissing deeply. Mulder devoured her mouth, each sweep of her tongue matched, as if she was his first and last meal, full lips pressed against hers, breathing loud in his ears. He didn't waste time, large hands firm over the curve of her back, drawing her in without resistance. His shape still familiar despite years that passed, made her give in and relax. However the silk of her blouse wasn't enough, Mulder made quick work of tugging the hem free. Single draw string that kept the sides in place surrendered to his long fingers and once touching bare skin, he closed his arms around her and held on tight, his kisses slowing, finally convinced she wasn't going anywhere without him. Hips grinding shamelessly, grip loosened just enough for him to unhook the bra, push it out of the away, squeeze breasts, flick nipples until hard. He remembered what she liked and the thought made her smile, breaking the kiss into smaller parts, letting them breathe, savor the touch. Short hair felt like silky smooth wires slipping beneath her fingers, when he trailed kisses down her neck, following a path she showed him by leaning back. Letting go one hand at a time, the featherlight silk fell to the floor, sheer lace not far behind. Mulder finally reached her nipple with the tip of his tongue. One arm around her waist other across her back, she felt herself lifted and swung sideways, yelping as she hit the bed, the cool comforter, the bounce made them laugh. His shirt gone in one fluid motion that she always loved to watch, they paused, gazing at each other for a silent moment, searching for a reason to stop. She reached for him the second he leaned in. They hid in each other's arms, as if there was no tomorrow.

Nine months later, she held a secret in her heart and a beautiful green-eyed boy in her arms.

#Good Things Come...#msr fanfic #x files fanfic

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contrivedcoincidences6 · 7 years

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The Invisible Cord ch. 6

Looking for chapter 5?

November 2011 Location unknown

“How the hell did this happen?!” I yell at the useless clone before me. “They were working with someone. We have yet to find out who.” Spender’s clone responds as he puts another cigarette between his lips. I swat it out of his mouth in anger, “Check fucking security cameras! Talk to witnesses! Do what you have to do to find them! They are too valuable to lose!” “I understand ma’am but it may become more complicated if it turns out Mulder and Scully are involved…” He has the grace to look nervous as he suggests this. “If they get involved I will burn up your body and build a new one of you. It’s been done before. Maybe the next one will actually be able to do it’s fucking job. I don’t want to hear any more excuses take care of it.” The clone just stares at me for a moment and then nods, “And if Mulder and Scully are involved?” “Kill them.” I say and I feel a faint protest deep inside but push it aside. “I doubt it will be that easy.” “All I hear are more excuses.” “What if the children fight back?” “Don’t kill them. You can knock them out, sedate them, or anything else to get them to come with you but don’t kill them.” I make a mental note to talk to my biological engineer about making the clones more effective. “Who would you like me to take?” I look around the room at the various clones that we have in constant circulation. They are the syndicate. All of them have the memories and personalities of the real men who, in their pride, decided to record their consciousness before they died. I doubt they imagined it would be used in this way. That it would be used to make them slaves rather than leaders. That they would be forced to take their orders from a woman. A small smile forms on my lips as I recall all of the times they gave me various orders and degraded me. I have to admit that I get a sick kind of pleasure in seeing these once powerful men that I used to work for reduced to my lackeys. “Take Krycek and some back up. Next time I hear from you it better be to tell me you found them or you won’t live to try again.” I warn as he nods and walks away. “Jeffrey!” I snap and he materializes at my side. “Yes Diana?” He asks. “I want you to go keep an eye on Mulder and Scully. I don’t want them getting in the way of this. Take some of the grunts with you.” “Do you still want them dead if they interfere?” I pause at this. It’s been years since I’ve seen Fox but I still find my heart beats a little faster when I hear his name. I allow myself this one moment of weakness before I answer him. “Kill them and anyone else who tries to help them.”

November 2011 The Eagle 24- hour Café Washington D.C.

“Mulder it’s been two hours. No one is coming. It must have been some kind of prank.” I say slumped in my seat watching Mulder crush sunflower seeds between his teeth. “Just a little while longer Scully. They did say in the message between eight and midnight.” Mulder tells me, his eyes still focused intensely on the building in front of us. I sigh, “And that doesn’t seem a little odd to you?” “Of course it does. That’s why Skinner is on call. And why I did all that fancy maneuvering to make sure we were not followed.” I fiddle with the radio for a while until we see a nondescript car pull into the dark parking lot. I sit up and we watch as five people exit the car. Mulder puts the binoculars up to his eyes and I hear a sharp intake of breath. “What?” He doesn’t respond so I touch his arm, “Mulder, what is it?” “The clones of Samantha and Kurt Crawford.” He says softly. I take the binoculars from him and look for myself. The Kurt clone opens the door for the rest of the odd little group while he glances around suspiciously. With Kurt and Samantha are three teenagers who also seem jumpy. My eyes zero in on the girl with the red hair. There is a pang in my heart that I can’t account for when I look at her long red hair. I can’t get a look at her face as she tends to the girl with her. “Mulder…” I start. “Yeah I saw. It might be bait Scully. I mean they are sitting there with clones…” I am out the door before he can continue. Something is pulling me forward and I can’t name it. But I don’t stop until I reach the door and make eye contact with the Samantha clone. She nods her head at me and I feel a churning in my stomach. It’s as if my instincts have taken over, there are almost no thoughts in my head. “Scully wait…” Mulder says in a loud whisper as he runs over to me. I do wait for him. He comes up behind me and places a hand on the small of my back while he peers at my face. “Do you want to go in?” He asks. My eyes have not left the clones and I just nod. He opens the door for me and leads me in. Mulder’s hand on my back as usual is my anchor to reality as I try to decipher the confusing thoughts in my head. The whole table looks up at us as we enter. I freeze when I see her. She looks so different but I just know it’s her. It’s Emily. She blinks at me with hazel eyes. Her nose is long and straight but as a small closed lip smile crosses her face all I see is Mulder. I see him in her tall thin frame and bright eyes and it nearly kills me. My hands fly to my mouth and Mulder stops in his tracks. I can feel him shaking behind me as she gets up from her seat to stand before us. “Emily?” I say ready to sink to the floor. She nods silently and takes a step toward us but before she can I, against my better judgment, move forward and swallow her in my arms. The tears start almost right away. I picture myself before my abduction as I always have when I think of her. I picture how young I was and as always kick myself for not knowing I was pregnant, as if there was anything I could do about it. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” I hear the words coming from my mouth like a chant. Her arms wrap around me, “You don’t need to be.” “I gave up on you. I let you go. I should have fought for you.” All of the guilt that has haunted me for sixteen years pours out.

What surprises me first about my mother is how small she is. I wouldn’t call myself tall but I’m on the high end of average. But here stands my biological mother who is practically swallowed by the man next to her. They both stare at me like they’ve seen a ghost. And I suppose to them they have seen a ghost. When she calls me Emily I don’t bother to correct her. That’s all she knows me as. I let her cry and hold me close and I feel my own held back tears flow from my eyes. The warmth from her sinks into my bones and I feel myself slump in her arms. Her love is nearly overwhelming and I shake with it. Both of us begin to sink to the floor but are caught by the man who came in with her. When I look at him it’s my own eyes looking back at me. Kurt told me a little about them, about how hard their lives have been and I see it etched into every line of his face, as he looks at me, unbelieving. My mother gradually lets go of me when she feels his hand on her back. She puts her hand to my cheek and wipes away a tear before she moves out of the way and he moves slowly, as if afraid he will spook me. He tilts his head slightly and his eyes narrow just a bit as he takes in my face. His hands move to my shoulders and then I remember something. The image of this exact man but so much younger making a silly face in the foster center I was staying at. It was the first time I’d laughed since my mom’s death. I practically lunge at him and wrap my arms around his middle. He’s taken off guard by this but quickly pulls me close and I feel the wetness on his cheek against the top of my head. I can hear my mother talking to Kurt but I can’t hear anything except for the heartbeat of my father. That’s when I realize I have parents. They are real and they are here. After years of doubting and worry here they are in the flesh. “We can’t stay here.” Kurt’s voice breaks the spell. I feel my father’s hand cup the back of my head as he lays a kiss on my hair before releasing me to my mother beside us who’s worry is palpable. She takes my hand in both of hers but her eyes stay on Kurt. “Follow us.” He says and keeps looking around like he’s been doing since we left the motel. Both May and Brian watch us with bright eyes. Meeting their mother at a new motel is the next item on the agenda. “We’re not leaving her.” My mother’s voice comes out shaky. “Take her in your car then but we need to go.” “Where?” My father asks. “Just follow us.”

We are silent on the way across the street to our SUV. I hold on to Emily as we cross and both Mulder and I are continually looking back and forth to make sure we are not being watched. I get in the back of the car next to our daughter while Mulder gets behind the steering wheel. As he pulls out behind Kurt he puts his cell phone next to his ear. Emily’s fingers are long, thin, and intertwined with my own. I can still feel my heartbeat in my ears and I can’t stop looking around to look for signs of being followed. “Hey… Yeah... Everything is fine for now. I can’t tell you what’s up yet but I’ll call you again later tonight.” Mulder says into the phone and I know he is talking to Skinner. “Thanks again. I’ll keep you updated.” He hangs up as Kurt makes a sharp unexpected turn, driving like a madman. “Where have you been?” I can’t stop the question from passing my lips as I turn to look at Emily. Her eyes are sad, “My first memories are right after I turned five. I was in a hospital in Wisconsin. I got moved around for a few years until I was finally placed in a Catholic foster center in Chicago where I’ve been since I was ten.” We’d been to Chicago after losing her. One time when we were on the run we spent a whole week in northern Illinois. The pain of knowing I was in the same state as her twice is too much to bare. I hold her fingers tighter, “I’m sorry we didn’t find you.” “Kurt said you thought I was dead.” She says. I nod and glance up at Mulder who meets my eyes briefly in the rearview. “I was lying with you when you died. I don’t… I don’t understand how this is possible. I was there when it happened. Though at your funeral we did discover that your body was missing... It was awful.” I feel the pain from that day all over again and it’s her turn to squeeze my hand. “You don’t remember anything from before your fifth birthday?” I ask after a beat. “I remember little things. Snap shots of my life but nothing that really makes sense of things. Recently things have become a little clearer.” She looks down at our hands, “Kurt told me all about how you both found me. Told me I was living with adoptive parents until they were killed.” She looks up at my face with wet eyes, “He said you were trying to adopt me.” I nod, “I didn’t know you existed until then, Emily I’m so sorry.” She gives me a small awkward smile, “They renamed me. April Meeks.” I take in this information and roll the name over in my head. It’s almost more appropriate that she isn’t going by her old name. April seems appropriate too. It’s a month full of hope and fear at the same time. April means spring is coming. Looking at my own April I pray that our own spring is coming. I put a hand to her cheek, “April.” She covers my hand with her own.

#the invisible cord #txf fanfic #x files fanfic #the x files #emily sim

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