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seat-safety-switch · 5 months

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Orbital mechanics: not my cup of tea. Don't get me wrong, I like it when things go around and around in a circle. The faster the better. Key word there is "circle." Orbits involve that oh-so-complicated third dimension, and that's one dimension more than a tire has. Or, at least, a new tire, not that I know what those are like.

Out there in space is another one of those tragedy of the commons deals. Folks park their garbage in low- to medium-orbit, it sails around, sometimes it clonks into other stuff. Scientists are afraid that if too much stuff clonks together, then there will be an impenetrable cloud of rocket-shredding dust surrounding the planet and we'll never be able to leave Earth ever again. Parking. I know a lot about parking, I told myself, so I drove over to NASA to help them out with the whole thing.

"Space Junk Removal" is what it said on the side of my battered 1993 Econoline E250 as I pulled onto the sidewalk outside the JPL and left it running. You really don't want to shut off a van like this, not when it's been on the highway for this long, because the battery is more than a little flat and the chances of the engine ever restarting are just slightly smaller than that of discovering extraterrestrial life. In the back of my van are several 1980s Shop-Vacs, American civilization's sole contribution to humanity. These babies are great: they will suck up a puddle, or a mouse nest, or a bunch of spilled gasoline, or empty a bee hive if you get the little narrow cone attachment for it.

Of course, the modern Shop-Vac sucks ass. It was sold to a foreign investment firm, at which point they started to lose every feature that made it good except for the name. A new one will last you about twenty minutes, which means it's definitely not appropriate to chuck onto the top of a departing heavy-lift rocket, hence the classics pulled from my hoard. This kind of knowledge, and this sort of procurement, is what they pay high-powered government consultants like myself to take care of.

As I show the assembled scientists, who assuredly do understand orbital mechanics, I see that I am winning over the crowd, little by little. Even the most skeptical math-haver is realizing that my strategy of "put a rubber band around the power switch" is totally plausible. By this time tomorrow, we'll have just one last piece of space junk up there in orbit, and it's bright yellow so it'll be a lot harder to hit. If we can find a long enough extension cord, we should be able to tug real hard on it and reuse the Shop-Vac for the next mission, too, as long as someone's willing to catch it.

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sisterspooky1013 · 10 months

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Parallel, Chapter 4/6

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Mulder bobs his head along to the radio as they fly down a sparsely populated highway. When she’s not admiring the ostentatiously large diamond that now adorns her left ring finger, Scully takes notice of a myriad of incremental ways in which this world is different from her own. The music on the radio is unfamiliar and has an edge to it. The backs of all the street signs are painted hunter green, and the speedometer in Mulder’s car—which is a make and model she’s never heard of—reads in kilometers instead of miles per hour. It all feels like a store brand version of her favorite childhood cereal: close enough to pass, but not quite the same. She’s a bundle of nervous energy, tapping her foot against the floorboard and chewing her well-manicured thumbnails to shreds. Mulder gives her a few sideways glances, but gratefully doesn’t ask why an impending lunch date with her sister has her so out of sorts.

She’s gathered that they live in Malibu, which surprises her; she never imagined herself to be that brand of Californian. As they travel south towards L.A. she keeps expecting them to hit heavier traffic, but it never comes. Perhaps Los Angeles doesn’t have the same appeal here.

“So what do you say? Are we finally gonna hit that ghost tour on the way back?”

She looks over at him and is momentarily surprised not to see a suit clad, clean cut man in the driver’s seat beside her—not that she takes any issue with his snug jeans and fitted white tee shirt.

“Ghost tour? Does that sound like something I’d be interested in?”

Her tone allows the question to strike as either genuine or rhetorical, given that she’s not sure where his version of her stands on the subject. Mulder shakes his head with a wry smile.

“Maybe if you took more interest in it, you’d agree that a high percentage of recorded paranormal activity can’t be otherwise explained. I know you think there’s some simple answer like air in the pipes or a lens flare, but you’ve never actually given it enough consideration to have an informed opinion.”

Scully scoffs.

“It’s difficult to have an informed opinion on something that has absolutely no scientific basis. What am I to read or study? Are there peer reviewed resources on the existence of ghosts, Mulder?”

He gives her an odd look, and she worries that she’s offended him. Perhaps he is more sensitive than her Mulder.

“Why do you keep calling me Mulder?” he asks with a curious glance. “I think that’s the third time today.”

She gapes at him for a moment, unsure what to say.

“Sorry, force of habit,” she mumbles. Which is true, but also doesn’t answer his question.

“Well, no offense to your colleagues, but I find it a bit impersonal,” he says as he checks his blind spot and changes lanes. “And to answer your question, probably not. But a lack of peer reviewed resources doesn’t mean that there’s no validity to the field of study, it just means that people are too afraid of damaging their reputation to risk putting their name to it.”

She considers him for a beat. Her Mulder has never been afraid to risk his reputation. Sometimes she wonders what his life could have looked like if he had been. Maybe she’s looking at it right now.

“Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials, M–Fox?” she asks, clearing her throat to mask her slip up.

He looks back and forth between her and the road with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Honey,” he says with mock sincerity, reaching across the console to give her thigh a squeeze. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The conversation that follows feels so comfortingly familiar that it distracts her from what lies ahead, and it’s only when he pulls into a pay-to-park lot and kills the engine that she’s overcome with excitement and nervousness. She exits the car and smooths out her dress, and Mulder steers her towards a sprawling outdoor restaurant with a hand pressed to her lower back.

They approach a podium just outside the restaurant entrance, and Scully allows Mulder to take the lead. A tall, stoic man in a suit gives them a cursory glance before grumbling, “POC, please.”

“Mulder digs his wallet out of his back pocket and flips it open to show something to the man. The man nods, and then turns to look at Scully. “POC, ma’am,” he says sternly.

“I’m sorry?” she asks, looking to Mulder for help.

“I need to see your POC, ma’am, or I’m unable to grant you entry,” the man repeats.

“Did you forget your POC?” Mulder asks quietly, looking mildly alarmed.

“Um, I don’t know,” she says, reaching into the purse that she found hanging by the door back at the apartment.

She pulls out a small wallet and Mulder takes it from her, then flips it open and shows something to the man.

“Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Mulder, go ahead,” the man says, then resumes a statue-like posture, staring straight ahead.

Scully takes the wallet from Mulder, and as she follows him inside she looks at what he had shown to the man. It’s clearly identification, but she’s so confused by what she sees that she stops in her tracks.

Proof of Citizenship

Territory of California

Dominion of Canada

“Dana,” Mulder calls from half a dozen paces ahead of her. “Something wrong?”

“Um, no,” she says, stuffing the wallet back in her purse and walking quickly to catch up to him at the host stand. “Sorry.”

“We have a reservation,” he tells the hostess as Scully stares vacantly, her mind racing. “Mulder, party of three.”

“Yes, I see you right here. Your other party is already seated. Right this way, please.”

As soon as they round a corner into the dining room, Scully sees her. Her hair is longer and pulled into a low ponytail, and when she stands to greet them Scully recognizes the flowing skirt and linen top that she would expect her sister to be wearing. Her face is slightly fuller, slightly more marked by the passing of time, but it’s undeniably Missy. Grief and relief collide in her throat, forming a lump that brings tears to her eyes before she’s close enough to open her arms wide. A flash of confusion passes over Missy’s face and she glances quickly at Mulder before she accepts Scully’s hug, patting her back comfortingly as the tears spill over and wet her linen top.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Scully whispers harshly, clinging to her like she’s wanted to do so many times in the years since her untimely death.

When she finally pulls away, both Missy and Mulder are looking at her like she’s sprouted a second head.

“Are you okay, Dana?” Missy asks very sincerely, her eyebrows knit with concern.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve just…I’ve really been looking forward to seeing you,” Scully says, swiping the tears away from her cheeks.

They sit down and Scully scoots her chair as close to Missy’s as possible without drawing more attention to her odd behavior, and she tries not to stare. They order their meals and Scully peppers Missy with innocuous questions that allow her to gather bits and pieces of information. Missy lives in Vermont. She does some kind of alternative healing work. She appears to be unmarried. Shortly after their entrees arrive, Mulder gets a phone call and excuses himself from the table.

“Okay, spill it,” Missy says, throwing her napkin down on top of her plate and crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?” Scully asks innocently, even as she feels her cheeks get hot and her heart begins to race.

“You’re acting completely bizarre, Dana,” Missy says resolutely. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Fox, but something is obviously up with you. So what is it?” Scully freezes, and for a moment she debates just telling her the truth. Missy, of anyone, might actually believe her, second only to the Mulder of her dimension. “Are you having doubts about the baby?” Missy finally asks, and Scully sighs with relief.

“Maybe, just a little,” she says, playing along. “The baby, but also…” She looks at her sister, who is listening raptly with an intensity in her eyes that has always reminded Scully of Ahab. So many times in the years since her death Scully has wished that she could call her for advice and guidance, especially when it comes to her relationship with Mulder. And now she’s here, for probably the last time ever. “Do you think Fox and I are good together?” she asks.

Missy is so taken aback by the question that her eyes go wide and she cocks her head back.

“You’re questioning that?” she asks, leaning in. “Are you having problems?”

“No, not necessarily,” she answers honestly. “I mean, we have our conflicts as anyone does, but nothing in particular.”

“So what would make you ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” Scully huffs, frustrated with herself. “We’re so completely different, Missy. Sometimes I wonder what he even sees in me. All I do is shoot down his ideas, and all he does is irritate the absolute shit out of me.”

Missy laughs, and Scully frowns at her. She didn’t mean for the comment to be funny.

“That’s why you’re good together, Dana,” Missy says with a sympathetic smile. “You’re like night and day in many ways, yes, but you can’t have one without the other. You balance each other out. I mean my god, think about how completely uptight you were before you met him. On your wedding day I thanked him for finally pulling that stick out of your ass.”

Scully’s mouth drops open in surprise and then curls into a smile.

“You did not,” she says, slapping Missy’s arm playfully.

“I absolutely did,” Missy teases back. “You need him, Dana. He’s your counterweight. And he’s so in love with you it’s disgusting.”

Scully sits back in her chair, feeling like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders. Missy checks her watch and the realization that they have a limited amount of time left makes Scully scramble for anything else she might like to ask.

“Can I see your POC?” she asks, and Missy quirks her head but hands it over.

Proof of Citizenship

Territory of Vermont

Dominion of Canada

Mulder reappears at the table and asks their server for the check, and shortly thereafter the three of them are back in the car en route to LAX. As they follow the signs directing them to departures, Scully’s chest starts to ache, and she wishes that she could slow time down. For the first time she thinks it might not be so bad if she never leaves this place. Staying in a world where Mulder is her doting husband and her sister is still earthside is hardly a downgrade.

“Call me soon,” Missy says, wrapping her up in a tight hug on the sidewalk outside the terminal. “And don’t do anything stupid,” she whispers.

Scully nods, pulling away just slightly so she can see Missy’s face.

“I love you, Missy. You’re a great big sister,” she says sincerely, blinking away the tears in her eyes.

Missy touches her cheek, then gives her a long look. Scully has the distinct impression that she’s seeing something that she hadn’t noticed at the restaurant.

“You don’t have to be perfect all the time, Dana,” she says softly. “It’s okay to make the wrong choice now and then, just to see what happens.”

Scully nods emphatically, then hugs Missy again. She doesn’t want to let go.

“She has to go, Dana,” Mulder says gently, rubbing her back.

Scully steps away, and Mulder pulls her close as they watch Missy walk into the terminal. When she disappears into the crowd, they get back into the car and drive in silence for a handful of miles. Scully feels shell-shocked and empty, and when Mulder reaches across the console and grabs her hand, tears begin to fall quietly down her cheeks.

“You okay?” he asks, and she nods.

“I just really miss her,” she chokes out, and he squeezes her hand.

“We’ll see her soon, Dana. She’s going to be at your parents’ house for Christmas.”

It takes a few seconds for her to register what he said. She turns her head toward him slowly.

“My parents’?” she repeats. Plural. Two.

“Yeah, your dad offered to pay for her ticket,” he adds casually.

Ahab. Of course he’s alive. Why else would she have his number in her cell phone? She has to find a way to be here for Christmas. She has to find a way to stay forever.

As soon as the thought enters her mind, she dismisses it. This isn’t her life. This isn’t her Mulder. He’s still somewhere out there, replete with scars and traumas and baggage beyond this tan, carefree Mulder’s wildest imagination. And she still loves him in a way that she’s only beginning to understand.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #txf #xfiles

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