#i do believe that the last time mulder ever thought everything would be okay was right before scully’s abduction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honeypirate · 3 years

Text

Going Home

Jet-Black Hero: Tsukuyomi / Tokoyami Fumikage x Fem!Reader - Pro Hero AU (in their 20s)

Tokoyami had it bad. He had it so bad he had to bribe dark shadow to keep his mouth shut about it when you would call him. Sure he’s older than he was in high school and has more control over his quirk partner- he could force him to keep his mouth shut, but it feels wrong to force him to do anything when he’s a friend

You met Tokoyami in high school, becoming instant friends and bonding over darkness and crime shows. You even went as scully and mulder one Halloween together. But then you moved to a different country before senior year and he hasn’t been able to physically see you since.

You kept in contact religiously. He was your best friend and you told him you’d die if he doesn’t remain that way. You talk every day whenever you have free time and FaceTime every Monday and Wednesday alternating evenings and mornings for each other whenever hero work allows.

You have a separate conversation going on Snapchat, Instagram, and texts that you both stay on top of. Your Snapchat streak said 1174 and you’d be damned if it ever broke before you got to see him again. And yes, somewhere along the lines, you fell for him, but you’d never tell him. You’d never ruin your friendship like that.

“Remember to pick her up at noon” Dark Shadow said into his mind and he rolled his eyes, like he would ever forget the date and time his best friend would be in his life again. The second his agency was confirmed he extended a contract toward you, a popular new hero who was looking for an agency. A six month contract with abilities to extend should it feel like a good fit.

“Seriously? Not just because I’m your friend? You honest to god think our quirks would work well if I’m your side kick? On the bracelet?” He nods into the phone camera and then looks down at the purple adjustable bracelet you had gotten for him on your last arcade adventure before you moved, a matching black one on your wrist.

“I swear on the bracelet” he said, heart skipping. Yes he knew your quirks would work well together that was true. But he also knew that he was dying to see to again and when you said you only needed a good enough opportunity to move back, he saw a perfect opportunity that fate had handed you both.

Your black bracelet was faded to grey over the years of never taking it off but your heart beat raced in your chest. “Okay” you say with a smile and warm cheeks “I’ll have my agent look over the contract and I’ll give it a serious thought career wise.” Your eyes sparkled and he hoped your agent liked the proposal. His heart racing as you smiled at him like that. God he loved your smile.

“I like it. It would be good for your hero image if you had hero work in other countries as well. Young hero going back home. We can make a good story out of it how you were home sick. It’s also good that it’s with your best friend.” You checked out after she said she liked it. You were going home. You were going home.

You called Tokoyami right away and he answered on almost the last ring. “I’m sorry I just needed to talk to you” you said and took a deep breath as he work up “no it’s fine. It’s always fine when it’s you” his voice was tired and thick and you could only imagine how it would be in person.

“I have some news” you said with a smile and he perked up, sitting up in bed and against his headboard as he looked out his window at the night sky “what is it?” He asks, trying not to feel too excited as the phone presses hard against his ear.

“Guess” you said with a teasing tone and he knew immediately

“Really?” He asks, not being able to hide the excitement in his tone as his empty fist shoots up in celebration

“She said she liked it. It’ll be good for my image” you said with a grin, holding the phone in the crook of your neck as you play with the bracelet you’ve never taken off.

“When?” He asks eagerly

“You should know when Fumi, you made the contract” you joke and he chuckles

“no I know when your first day will be but when are you coming here?” He needs to know how much longer. How much more time will be spent away from you

“A week”

he laughs once out of shock and joy “a week?” He asks and you laugh, joy lacing every part of your voice

“my agent got me a flight and an apartment. The building I asked for already had one open and it was easy peasy. It’ll be furnished for me so I’ll be there next Wednesday at noon. Then I’ll have three weeks there before I start work. With you”

He couldn’t believe it. It went so fast he feels like his heart is spasming. Eight years away from you and only one week to go. “I’ll pick you up text me your itinerary”

“Okay” you say with a laugh and then smirk as you say “you’re not gonna ask where I’m gonna be living?”

“Where?”

“#407” you say and it takes him a moment but he gets there

“You mean six doors down?” He asks and you laugh

“Yeah I hope you don’t mind. I just thought it would be fun” you feel nervous like he’s not gonna like it, your palms sweat

“That’s amazing I’m so happy” he says and you grin “really? You don’t mind I’m living in your building?”

“Why would I mind? The best person in my life is going to be my neighbor. I can’t wait”

You hear his alarm go off and gasp “I’m sorry Fumi I didn’t mean to ruin your sleep”

He laughs “you didn’t. Trust me. But I do have to go to work. To get things set for you to be here.”

“Okay. I’ll text you. Be safe today Fumi”

—

His hands feel sweaty as he stands at the gates. Jesus. Was this even a good idea? Fuck he was so nervous. Your plan had landed he was just waiting for the doors to open. When the fight attendants opened the door he felt dark shadow getting nervous as well.

But then he saw you, a hat on your head and sunglasses on to try and stay inconspicuous in American airports but since you were here now you took them off and ran your hand through your hair before scanning the room.

Fuck you were so beautiful his mouth was dry. You were so cute in pictures and face time but it had nothing on you in person. You were an angel. This was a bad idea he was too in love to do this.

Your eyes meet his and you smile wide, your hat and glasses in one hand and a water bottle in the other as you start making your way to each other. You started off walking and weaving around the slow walkers but once you had space you couldn’t stop increasing your speed before you were running for him, your water bottle clanging to the ground as you dropped everything and threw off your backpack to slam into his strong arms, laughing as tears fall into his neck as you bury your face into him.

“Hey Fumi” you whispered and held you tighter. You smelled amazing. Like fresh air and rosemary. He couldn’t get enough. He held you tight to his chest and realized you felt smaller in his arms but then he realized when you left he was 5’5 and tiny. He’s grown a lot since then and even though you have changed too, he’s still a much larger man than he was before.

He dwarfed you. You never thought it was even possible. He held you completely and you never wanted him to let go. “Fumikage” you say as you pull back, making sure he keeps his arms around your waist. You reach up and run your hand down his long feathers down the back of his head “you’re much larger in person holy crap. and your feathers are so beautiful!!! Fumi!!. I forgot the beautiful shades in the darkness of the black. How are you still single Fumi you must be dripping with fans” You joked but your heart hurt saying it. You wanted to hear him say he wasn’t dating. That he has feelings for you.

He looks down at you and feels pride swell in his heart as you praise him, controlling the urge to fluff out his feathers when you call them beautiful.

“No one wants to date a fan” he says shutting down your investigative prodding at his love life, but then says “You’re one to talk you’ve changed so much but I didn’t even know it was possible to be this gorgeous. Don’t think I didn’t read about America’s most eligible bachelorette.”

Your cheeks flush with heat and you hide your face in his neck “oh hush Fumi. Always flustering me. Like you haven’t FaceTimed me every week. And that article was a joke” he sighs softly and you can see emotions swirling in his eyes.

“It’s different in person” he says and you sigh as you gaze up at him with a smile “it certainly is”

Once dark shadow decided to ruin the moment you remembered you were still in the airport. Fumi carried your big suitcase like it wasn’t a hundred pounds and before you could object dark shadow had your backpack across his back. Dark Shadow just laughed when you stuck your tongue out at him. “we’ve really missed you” he said when he handed you your water, your glasses and hat already on his body

—

You fall back into an easy rhythm with Fumikage, teasing and playing while talking in his car back to the apartment. After laughing so hard and catching your breath, you look over at his profile and your heart skips. The sun is hitting his feathers, his black button up shirt that was unbuttoned at the neck pulled at his biceps as his right hand rests against the shifter and his left hand was on the steering wheel. God you didn’t know if this was a good idea. You thought you were going back to your childhood home but being with Fumikage nothing has felt more like home than this.

“The boxes you sent over should be here in the next few days. If you need anything or don’t have something you can always come over, I have a spare key for emergencies” he’s going over a few things that it seems like he’s really thought about before you came. He was prepared and it warmed your heart. You smiled up at him as the elevator dinged for the fourth floor and he looked down at you eyes widening as he catches you staring. you smile and reach out, taking a gentle hold on his free hand near you and give it a soft squeeze. “Thank you Fumi. You think of everything. I’ve really missed that”

He doesn’t let go of your hand until he has to unlock his front door, you’d be staying the night with him and your agent was meeting you in the morning with the keys for your place.

his fingers tingle to grab for your hand again but he doesnt

“You can have my room, I’ll take the couch in my office. It’s a pull out.” You smile from your place standing on the landing just inside the door, watching as he disappears with your luggage down a hallway then comes back walking a little slower and playing with his hands like he does when he’s nervous.

The edge of the landing went down a couple steps and he stopped at the bottom edge “feel free make yourself at your home” he says with a nervous chuckle and you grin, running and jumping off the landing into his arms and burying your face in his shoulder.

“Oh Fumi eight years was too long” you whispered into him and he holds you up effortlessly, his beak brushing your shoulder and he curves into you, desperate to hold you after so long “way too long” he agreed.

———

The weeks seemed to fly by, you were settled into your apartment and you just got done with your first official week at the office.

“So, Tsukuyomi, Sir” you say with a smirk and lean against his open office door “how was my first day boss?”

He crosses his arms over his wide chest and gave you his best Boss look, making your heart flutter and causing your cheeks to heat up. you chuckled and tried not to show how flustered you were when you walked farther into his office. He stood from his desk and gave you a nod with a soft chuckle “you did well. I think you’re going to love it here. Let me take you to dinner tonight to celebrate”

——

He showed up at your door at seven and your breath catches in your throat when you see him. Black straight jeans with a black button up tucked in with a red tie and black boots. He looked divine. Like a god of the underdark. His hands were fixing his tie and you stepped forward, not missing the squeak of his own breath catching in his throat at the sight of you, and fixed his tie for him.

You had on a red dress and a black jean jacket that has rolled sleeves and pair of black booties that look like you could kick someone’s ass in them. His brain immediately short wired and all he can think is how well you look together. How right. How good. Fuck this was going to be harder than he thought to just be your friend but he didn’t want to you to think he was a sleaze or make you quit his agency.

Your hands fix his tie and then rest against his chest, when you see his flustered eyes and nervous body language you chuckle and lean up, kissing his beak gently, then wiping the lipstick with your thumb “you look really handsome Fumi” you say softly and he feels a whimper catch in his throat.

your eyes turn from him up to Dark Shadow who had on a matching tie “is it too much?” He asks and you laugh “you look good in it but I do think you pull off natural look best” he nods and salutes you “message received” before taking it off and tossing it into your apartment behind you.

When you look back to Fumi he’s glaring at Dark Shadow like he was a bad child and you chuckled before boldly taking his hand, hoping you read the signs right and that he did feel the same.

“Are you ready?” You ask and he nods, his fingers tighten around your hand as he relaxes, giving you a soft squeeze before placing your hand on his bicep and holding you close as he cleared his throat “I got a reservation at this new restaurant downtown” he says as you enter the elevator and you smile up at him “anywhere with you is perfect”

Dinner went by incredibly quick, you sat in a back booth, talking and laughing the whole night. It was a new restaurant that catered to people with any kinds of quirks and had surprisingly good tofu and fish. (I mean who’s gonna get the chicken on date with a bird?)

By the end of the meal he’s grabbed your hand over the table and is running his fingers against yours softly. “Thank you for tonight Fumi, I really feel like being here was the right choice. I would have came no matter what my agent said” his eyes widened a little

“Really?” He asks and you laugh with a grin “of course! You’re special to me and I just needed a good reason to come back home” your expression was so soft he felt those three words crawl up his tongue.

His eyes look serious for a moment as he looks at the way your hands look together “y/n I need to tell you something” he says and gets extra serious

“What is it?” You ask, trying to keep your voice neutral even tho you know your face screams ‘I’m worried now’

He meets your eye for a few long seconds before he shakes his head. He couldn’t. He couldn’t ruin this close friendship when he wasnt positive his feelings would be returned. “Never mind. It’s not that important. What do you say about dessert?”

He was leaning on the table on his elbows, close enough to reach out and touch over the tiny table, and so you did. You reach up and ran your fingers lightly over the edges of his feathers with a soft smile. “Of course Fumi. But how about we go to the cookie place by the park you always talk about. I know you like it and it’s a perfect night for a walk.” He swallows hard and nods “that’s a perfect idea” he says as he signals for the waiter to pay.

You hold his hand all the way to the cookie place, talking easily and joking around, but you keep hoping for the perfect moment to confess. You had a feeling that’s what he was going to do at the restaurant, it changed your heart and convinced you to take the leap, almost positive he felt the same.

You sit on a bench in the park, one with perfect view of the city skyline, eating your cookies and dark shadow is teasing you about the time you kept stealing Tokoyami’s poptarts from the dorm kitchen. Your cheeks are hot and you’ve turned yourself towards Tokoyami, your left hand on your cheek and your face hidden in his shoulder as you laughed together, your right hand rested on his kid thigh. It felt so easy. So absolutely right.

You drop your hand from your cheek and look up at Tokoyami with a soft smile, heart racing at the emotion you find in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for stealing your poptarts” you say and his throat catches again at the way your eyes seem to shine with love for him he almost feels it’s too much but he wants to dive deeper, to drown in the love he finds.

He chuckles and cups your cheek “I never cared. I had the hugest crush on you then”

Your heart skips and your cheek heats even more under his touch “and now?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper

“Now I’m so in love I don’t know if it’s even quantifiable” he says with a hint of exasperation as he leans down and presses his forehead to yours.

Your eyes flutter closed as your heart thrums against your ribs, his confession echoing in your head as fireworks explode in your heart. You press a kiss on his beak and your heart skips when you hear a gasp catch in his throat

“I’m in love with you too, Fumi” you say and he pulls you into a hug, nuzzling his beak into your neck, wanting to get close to you to show you how much he loves you the best he can since he can’t properly kiss you.

He nips softly at your neck skin and you giggle so sweetly he feels light headed. You pull back and kiss his cheek before looking into his eyes. He cups your cheek again “that’s what I wanted to say back at the restaurant”

You chuckle and smile, taking his hand you press gentle kisses against his palm, trailing a few down to his wrist before saying with a smirk “I know”

315 notes · View notes

thats-h0w-th3-light-g3ts-in · 2 years

Text

The X Files 8x18 Vienen

// AE

[Just a cute little AE set after the end of "Vienen". Mulder quit the FBI and decided to show up at Scully's place to tell her]

“Knock knock“ A gentle knock on the door startled Scully out of her almost slumber. She had settled herself down on the couch to just rest her eyes a little bit after she got back from what would be one of her last days in the office. The thought of not going to work for some time scared her. For the last 7 and a half years she’s basically done nothing but work, and now all of a sudden this was supposed to be over? As she dragged her body of the couch an exhausted sigh escaped her. Her feet felt like as if they were filled with led, not to speak of her ever-growing belly she carried like a beautiful, miraculous present in front of her. Considering, however, the way she felt right now, she was glad she would be able to take a break soon. Who could be at the door at this our anyways, she hadn’t ordered any pizza and she really wasn’t in the mood for visitors. As she fastened up her bathrobe that was covering her PJ’s she got on her toes to peek out the peephole. The slightly distorted image of an all too familiar face appeared before her eyes. She really wasn’t in the mood for any visitors except … she immediately swung the door open and a broad smile graced her face.

“Hi!“

“Hey you,“ Mulder had this mischievous smile on his face she liked so much.

“What brings you here at this hour?“ Scully asked. A sour feeling crept up inside of her. Was it bad news?

“It’s only nine pm..“ Mulder remarked, following her gestured invitation into her apartment.

“You are right…“ Scully admitted after a rather surprised glance onto her wrist watch.

“You look tired, I could come back another time.“ Mulder realised he had probably just waken her up.

“No it’s okay, I wasn’t really sleeping.“ She kept her eyes focused on him, raising an eyebrow. “So what’s wrong?“ She needed to know.

„Nothing’s wrong, Scully. In fact I think everything’s right the way it’s supposed to be for once.“ Mulder answered mysteriously. Scully got even more suspicious, frowning at him. “I quit today.“ Mulder finally revealed. His voice had a surprisingly cheerful undertone.

“The FBI?“ Scully tried to clarify in disbelieve.

“Yeah, my gym membership ran out on itself after I hadn’t shown up in six month.“ Mulder joked.

“No, Mulder … but you can’t…“ Scully couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“There wasn’t really anything else to do.“ Mulder seemed surprisingly cool about it.

“But the X Files, your life’s work….“ Scully grabbed his hand as if she had to make sure he wouldn't slip away from her.

“Kersh would never let me back down there, and I think The X Files are in pretty good hands with Agent Doggett.“ Mulder raised his right mouth angle, knowing how contradictory to his past views this statement had been.

“I can’t believe that you won’t regret this.“ Scully was concerned, her eyes started to fill with water. Was it out of joy, that he had finally come to his senses, had it been compassion for the doubtlessly difficult decision to give it all up or was it just the hormones driving her crazy, she didn’t know but she couldn’t stop a tear escaping her eye.

“Scully don’t cry. Your future holds something so much more important than the X-Files in stock for you…“ his glance fell onto her pregnant belly. “…and I really couldn’t do it without you.“ He drew closer to her, cupping her face with his hands, his thumb wiping the tear off her cheek.

„Oh Mulder…“ The warmth of his hands on her skin sent a tingle through her body. Like being pulled by a magnet she drew closer to him, driving her fingers through his already roughed up hair. She felt his hand on her lower back pushing her tighter against him, her belly pressing up on his body. She rested her head on his shoulder. She wouldn’t have minded if they had frozen up like this for all eternity. A sudden, firm thump coming from inside of her womb broke the two apart.

“Wow!“ Mulder, gasped. He wasn’t really able to say anything else for a while, his eyes wandering from Scully’s face to her belly and back up again.

“He’s a pretty feisty kicker.“ Scully, whispered, her voice breaking from a wave of emotions befalling her. She had never seen Mulder’s face light up like this. No impossible monster, no weird occurrence or unexplainable phenomenon in all of the X-Files had ever had him stock in such fascination and wonder.

“Does he do that often?“ Mulder asked, absolutely taken by what he had just felt. Scully just nodded. “This is unbelievable.“ Mulder drew closer again carefully resting his hand on Scully’s belly. Scully shook her head laughing,

“*This* is unbelievable?“

“You are unbelievable.“ Mulder remarked empathetically.

„Yeah, and I really need to sit down now, or else my legs will give.“ She rather clumsily let herself fall onto one end of the couch, exhaling heavily.

“Are you okay?“ He nervously sat himself down next to her protectively placing his hand on her back.

“Very much so, yeah!“ She locked with his eyes replying with a comforting smile to his frowning face.

“By the way … I borrowed your Ed Wood Tape while you were …“ she didn’t wanna say ’dead‘ although this would have been the right word. “…away.“ She gestured towards her TV.

“Oh … I was looking for it actually, I was convinced AD Skinner took it.“ He jested. “Have you gotten around to watching it?“ Mulder asked.

“Not yet …“ Scully paused. “…but since you are unemployed and I’m not that tired anymore…“ Scully proposed. Mulder leapt to his feet like a child who had just been given permission to get some sweets.

“It really is the worst movie you’ll ever see.“ Mulder predicted, pushing the tape into the recorder.

“I can’t wait.“ Scully cheered, with what sounded like fake enthusiasm. Actually, she didn’t care wether she was watching the worst movie in the world as long as she was watching it with Mulder.

“Hey, you know what’d be amazing right now?“ Scully suddenly sat up after a good half an hour of Ed Wood’s ’Plan 9 from Outta Space’ and audio commentary by Fox Mulder.

“Mhm?“ Mulder replied, looking at her only turning his head towards her.

“Popcorn. With salt and butter.“ Scully eyed him biting her lip in excitement. Mulder had to laugh over Scully’s overjoyed face on the prospect of getting popcorn. “I think I’ve got some in the top shelf over the sink.“ She specified, her eyes begging Mulder to get her some.

“Yes, Ma’m!“ he immediately jumped to his feet.

“Should I pause for you?“ Scully asked.

“I can perfectly recite to you every word they’ll be saying in the next 20 minutes, so I guess I’ll be fine.“ Mulder remarked leaving for the kitchen.

“Oh yeah, I forgot you are a nerd.“ Scully yelled after him, chuckling.

After 15 minutes of trying not to burn but only pop the corn, Mulder successfully made his way back to the living room. The oversubtle sound of flying saucers and screaming men in black and white was still going strong. He arrived accompanied by the thick smell of popped corn and warm butter, only to find Scully sound asleep on her couch, her head tilted slightly to the left. Mulder carefully placed the popcorn on the coffee table as not to wake her. Settling down in his old spot right by her side, he strove a strain of auburn hair out of her face. He threw a couple of popcorn roses into his mouth watching Scully’s nostrils peacefully flare as if it was the most wonderful movie he would ever see.

After the flying saucer had exploded and the zombies had crumbled into nothing but skeletons, humanity was saved. The TV faded to black and Mulder pushed the off button on the remote control. In the dim light the Tiffany lamp next to Scully’s couch provided, Mulder glanced over at his partner finding her still sound asleep. As he realised her head was tilted slightly backwards, he was sure she would be more comfortable in bed. Determined not to waker her, he carefully slipped his left arm under the back of her knees and the other to support her back in order to pick her up. Although Scully hadn’t put on a lot of additional weight during her pregnancy, Mulder had still imagined her to be heavier than she was. The last time he had carried her like that, however, was in a spaceship in the Arctic and he hasn’t been exactly on his game then. Scully unconsciously buried her face into Mulder’s chest as he carried her towards her bedroom. He’d carry her to the end of the earth if it meant she was safe and comfortable. He placed her carefully on her bed and pulled the blanked over her body. He was actually surprised she didn’t wake up. So far so good, he resisted the urge to kiss her and turned away leaving her be. Debating in his head if he should actually go home at this late hour or just crash on Scully’s couch, he suddenly felt someone grabbing his hand. Scully had reached for him in the dark.

“Don’t leave,“ she whispered, her eyes barely open. His debate just having become obsolete he quietly removed his jeans and crept into Scully’s bed. She reached out her hand for his, pulling him closer towards her backside. Becoming the big spoon, Mulder wrapped his hand around her softly placing it on her belly. Maybe he would be able to feel the baby kick again. Burying his face into Scully’s hair he slowly dozed off to the calming sound of her breathing. Forgetting about the FBI, forgetting about his quest for the truth, forgetting about his own death and subsequent resurrection. All that was really, truly important to him, was with him right now and he had never felt more at peace.

#msr #fic #ae #vienen #the x files #txf #mulder and scully #dana scully #fox mulder #season 8 #fanfiction #gillian anderson #david duchovny #ship #otp #cute #the x files fic

13 notes · View notes

choralmeres · 3 years

Text

Photo Of Us

okay so a long time while ago, i wrote a one shot(?) called sucking on her lips that you can read here. so this one is basically around the same time nd all that but it’s mulder’s pov instead of scully’s. + tagging @today-in-fic

msr. pre-season ten/post breakup. mulder’s pov.

It had been so long. So fucking long since he had gone out on a date. Or kissed someone. Or fucked his feelings out.

Most people would tell him to just go to the local bar and fuck his heart out. He wasn’t most people. He was never good at fucking away his bothers- he couldn’t fuck away everything that happened in the last ten or so years. He wouldn’t give it all away to a stranger at a local bar.

Mulder didn’t think anyone really “got him”- never in his life. Except Scully. Even when Diana said that she understood him, he never fully believed it.

But now Scully was gone. His touchstone; his one in five billion.

And somehow it felt like his fault.

Before she left, she had told him that she ‘couldn’t do it anymore’. She had grown tired of him and his never-ending problems. He never really blamed her. In fact, he blamed himself.

Because of him and his slew of crazy ideas, she had everything taken away from her. She had cancer, she lost her sister and her daughter, and she even had to let go of William. She didn’t get to settle down in her late thirties with a nice guy that didn’t spring alien theories everywhere.

Or maybe she did. Maybe she forgot about him and found another guy when she left him, maybe adopted another child and was sitting in her living room right now, arm around that other guy.

She deserved it. She deserved the world.

The doorbell rang, pulling him out of his thoughts. When he opened the door, he found a small package from some online shop or whatnot addressed to Dana Scully. They must have mixed up the addresses.

He then opens the package, and he sees a medium-sized photo frame- with the sides surrounding the glass looking too ornate and ostentatious for Scully to ever want it. Or at least the old Scully, the one that he was still in love with. He knew because he bought something like that for her once.

Not a photo frame, but close enough.

He had changed. Went to therapy- shaved more often, and even tried to contact some of his old friends from Oxford. He’d changed for the better- for her.

Maybe she’d changed for some other guy too. Some other guy that wasn’t him.

He wanted to call her, against his better judgement- and listen to her voice. He didn’t care what she’d say, even a ‘shut up, Mulder’ would be better than nothing at all.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he calls the number of the company, listed at the bottom of the cardboard box in tiny black letters, the blots looking like little ants. And a day later, he returns the frame, wondering what Scully was going to use it for.

Would she insert a picture of her old life, with him and William? Or would it be of her new life, with whatever she was doing now? And would she leave the photos of him and her in a box left in the attic- and maybe when someone found them a decade later, she’d shrug it off and say that he was some guy she went on wild goose chases with?

Perhaps he should buy a photo frame too. And maybe insert a picture of him and Scully- put it on the cabinet next to his bed. Remind himself that he once knew love too.

He didn’t know that he’d find a photo of him and her kissing in the same photo frame a year later, buried in a pile of old clothes. He didn’t know that she still loved him- and looked at the photos every single day.

#the x files #the x files fanfic #fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #mulder pov #pre season 10 #post breakup #um random burst of inspo ig

34 notes · View notes

alexa-crowe · 3 years

Note

Hey, loaf! Based on that post from the other day, would you be up for writing something where Scully finds out she is infertile in s2?

Yeah, I can do that for you, loaf. 💓 I definitely took this prompt and ran away with it kjsdhfjsdhf. The first section fulfills the prompt but the rest leads into an AU because I decided that I don’t want to hurt my Scullybaby <3.

Branched

The doctors all agreed that once her body readjusted, her menstrual cycle would follow suit. It was irregular before due to birth control but she’s been off it since she was... Scully hates to even think the word. It’s been months since Mulder stopped looking at her as if a simple hand on her back could break her, and her menstrual cycle isn’t even irregular—she just doesn’t have one anymore.

It’s baffled all the doctor’s she’s seen. Scully writes it off as an effect of whatever experiments were done to her and accepts her doctors’ conclusions that there’s nothing to be done about it unless she’s interested in having children.

The idea hasn’t crossed her mind much, aside from a distant yearning when she’s with her godson. She always assumed that she’d have kids one day after she fell in love with the right guy. Scully doesn’t know what she wants for her future anymore. All she knows is that she wants justice, and she wants the truth—both for herself and for Mulder.

Her newfound infertility is...something. She doesn’t want more pity. If she was stifled after her—if she was stifled before, Scully can only imagine that if she tells Mulder and her family that she can’t get pregnant it’ll be worse. The—what happened to her is something she can move on from, but this is not.

—

She’s experiencing early menopause, her doctor declares. It seems so final. She cries herself to sleep and goes into work the next day as if the shards of her future haven’t been ground to dust.

Though she’d tried not to give any of this much thought, she’d somehow assumed that the chip had been inhibiting the release of her ova for an unknown reason—maybe propagation is counterintuitive to Their agenda, who knows—but to find out that she didn’t have any, that all her chances at motherhood were gone... It’s a grief unlike any other.

—

Allentown. The name sends shivers down her spine if she so much as thinks of it. Flashes of her abduction (say it say it say it, don’t let them control you, you’re stronger than the trauma) and the knowledge that all the women at the MUFON meeting had chips and fertility issues and cancer... She takes off the next day and books an appointment with an oncologist.

The scans come back negative. The women said it could take up to two years to appear, though. Scully prays to God that it never happens.

—

She’ll never be a mother. Some days it hits harder than others. Some days she wishes that she could lay her head down and wake up in a world where she and Mulder have the lives they always wanted. She feels so violated and so disrespected, some days. On those days, she lashes out at Mulder, tries to leave him and this life of lies behind, but she can’t.

He’s not someone she can just walk away from.

These are the days that she smokes. These are the days that she calls up Ellen and asks for all the gossip she’s amassed. These are the days she gets drunk over the phone with her friend and spills secrets that no one else gets to know. Trent’s turning eight, Danes. I’m infertile, El. It’s funny how the person she sees the least knows the most about what’s happened to her.

These are also the days when she hits the town and drinks until she forgets. Sometimes she’ll go home with someone for the night and leave early in the morning, Mulder on her mind. He doesn’t know. He can’t know. It would break him even though it’s not about him, even though it’s not his fucking life.

—

She wakes up to a nosebleed and prays to God that he’ll give her a few more months to live. Just until Mulder’s ready, she thinks, tears running down her face as she holds a wad of tissues to her nose. Just until he’s ready to let go. He’s been such a constant in her life, such a tether. When things get bad, they go their separate ways, but they always come back to each other and find their balance.

It makes sense for him to be the first person to see confirmation of her cancer. It feels like the final blow. First, they take away her ability to make life, and then they take away her own life. She’s made her peace with it.

Mulder hasn’t—he refuses to do so. Standing there in the hospital hallway days later, Scully lets herself love him. His lips are soft against her chapped ones and her edges feel burned and frayed, but his love keeps her together.

“I found something, Scully,” he murmurs when their kiss has faded into an embrace with her head on his chest.

Her brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“I found your ova.” There’s so much going on in that four letter sentence that it bowls her over.

“You—you did?”

“I took as many vials as I could and got them into a freezing container. I shipped them off to the Gunmen before I came here. They can keep them safe for when you get better.”

Scully’s chin starts to tremble and she presses her face into Mulder’s chest. “What if I never do?”

He cups her cheeks and gently makes her face him. “I won’t let that happen.”

She wants to believe him with all her heart. “I want to believe...” she whispers, a tear streaking down her cheek.

“Give me your fear,” he tells her, “and believe. I need you to believe.”

She nods against his chest.

—

Scully cries when she gives him the news of her remission, pulling Mulder into her embrace and showering his head with kisses and thank yous. He’s given her a second chance at life, but more than that, a chance at motherhood.

(“Dana, I have excellent news for you: your cancer is shrinking. You’re going into remission.” And then, when the shock and the joy had run their immediate courses: “It also seems that, in due time, your menstrual cycle will resume, so no worries on that end.”)

It’ll be months before she can truly start the process but she already feels lighter than ever before.

—

She waits a week after her return to work to ask him. They’re at his apartment, Scully curled against him as the movie’s credits roll. “Mulder,” she whispers, checking to see if he’s asleep.

“Hm?” He rolls his head to crack his neck.

“Will you make a baby with me?”

He looks down at her, eyes wide. “What?”

“I’ve been seeing a fertility doctor, a friend of mine. She’s examined the ova—along with several of her colleagues—and declared them viable.” Scully can’t keep the tremulous smile off her face as she gives him the news. “She said that I just have to secure a donor to begin the treatment plan. I want that donor to be you. I mean, you practically threw yourself at me in Home last year...”

She traces her finger along the back of his hand, looking away to give him some space. After a moment, he says, “You want me to...to be part of that equation?”

Scully takes a deep breath and sits up so that their faces are level, shaking her head. “I want to have kids with you.” She maneuvers one leg between his thigh and the arm of the couch so she’s straddling him, and sits down on his thighs. “I want you to be the father of my kids.”

Mulder gazes at her like a lost puppy until she reaches out to wipe away a tear trailing along his cheek. “Me?”

She nods and cups his cheeks. “You.”

He nods with her, a smile spreading across his lips. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Yeah.”

They’ve been reduced to monosyllabic words in their joy, giving up on words all together as they fade into deliriously happy teary-eyed laughter. Scully leans forward and kisses him.

—

To no one’s surprise and Bill’s chagrin, she tugs Mulder along to her family’s Christmas gathering at her brother’s place in San Diego. Emily’s existence only reaffirms their decision to do IVF together and their relationship. They’ve been more of a team than ever, and perhaps that’s what saves Emily in the end.

Mulder and Scully put off all the major changes they were planning to make in favor of giving Em time to adjust to her new life. She clings to them until she gets familiarized with everything, until “Dana” and “Mul’er” phase into “Mommy” and “Daddy”.

He learns how to make chocolate chip pancakes with his eyes half-closed at six in the morning. They both learn car seats like the back of their hands. They get used to this new life where the only reason they wake up in the middle of the night is to comfort their daughter and not board a red-eye flight for a case.

—

Scully’s known that Mulder’s a thorough person when he wants to be since they met. What she didn’t know is that he’s also extremely sappy. He kisses her frequently for no reason in the office, and his porn mag collection has been replaced by a stack of books on IVF and pregnancy and childhood developmental stages. He has a calendar tacked to the wall next to his door with all the important dates on it.

They tell Skinner about their relationship and the IVF in confidence, filling him in on all the relevant things to their decision to leave the X-Files. The department must go on, but they can’t be the ones to breath life into them with Emily and a baby. Skinner says he knows “some excellent agents” that can fill their roles.

Mulder goes with her to every appointment, even if he can only sit outside in the waiting room until he’s called in. He holds her hand during every comprehensive pregnancy test that’s done, and kisses away her tears when they come back negative.

They look at apartments together when they find the time between Emily and their new assignments, and sometime between moving in and starting Em with her new pre-school, something wonderful happens. When the test comes back positive, they both start crying at the clinic.

“Mulder...”

“Scully...”

—

“You’re really okay with passing on the torch?” she asks in bed that night once Emily’s sacked out.

He nods against her forehead, his hand on her belly. “I’ve spent my whole life looking for Samantha, but I’ve never let her move on. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found. Maybe she’s dead. Maybe I’ll never find out. But I can’t pursue the answer to the question of what happened to her at the cost of everything else. You’re the one who taught me that there’s more to life than trying to solve mysteries.”

Scully nuzzles his nose. “You taught me something, too.”

“Oh?”

“You taught me how to have the courage to believe.”

#mine #txf #fanfiction #bryony you asked for something simple and i gave you a wholeass au 😭😭#hdsjskshjdd i couldn’t help it

32 notes · View notes

cardiophileanonymous · 3 years

Text

Late Night Errands Chapter 1

Mulder x Reader

Summary: The reader is a paralegal preparing to help defend her client on trial in a week. The stress has finally convinced her to go out and get a stethoscope to help calm her down. Little does she know a certain agent was watching her out while she was out late at night, and it makes her a prime suspect in his eyes.

Y/n= your name

Y/f/n Y/l/n= your first and last name

B/f/n= your best friend’s name

...

Y/n slammed the door shut then started to punch the sides of the steering wheel. What in the world was going through her mind? Of course this store wouldn’t have any stethoscopes! Even if it was a pharmacy. People don’t have stuff like that lying around in their homes. Not normal people, anyway. What was she gonna say to the employee when they inevitably asked why she was looking for one? “Oh, I don’t need one, I just want it for my weird-ass heartbeat kink!” Yeah, that was one conversation she didn’t want to have.

She silently stared at the moon for a few brief moments. Why couldn’t she have a normal kink like everyone else? Like feet, maybe. It still would’ve been weird, but dammit, at least she’d be able to find porn of it. The best she could find easily was cardiophilia fanfiction, and even then, it was scarce.

She snuck glances around the parking lot. Nobody in sight. So hopefully, nobody would notice the blush on her face when she brought up an hour long “asmr heartbeat” video for the sake of calming herself down.

She smiled in bliss. When a heartbeat was in the background, it was like everything melted away. She groaned in frustration when she heard a text from her friend, B/f/n.

Don’t forget we’re having lunch tomorrow! I’m taking your mind off that trial if it’s the last thing I do!

She was double pissed now that the stress of last week filled her head. She was a paralegal, and one of her clients was set to go on trial less than a week from now. It was the oddest case she’d ever seen. The case of Bill Brown.

The man had killed exactly one-hundred people in the span of less than half a year. And the details he gave were chilling. They were vivid and graphic. So, he must’ve been a sociopath or something, right? Well he was super remorseful. And upon turning himself in, that’s right, turning himself in, he sobbed for three days straight. What’s strangest was he claimed he didn’t know they happened until the memories came back to him that night.

She wouldn’t have believed it either, if he didn’t point to bodies that hadn’t been found yet. He helped officers uncover at least a quarter of his victims.

It gave everyone working in his defense a headache. Argue innocence and a false confession? He flat out admitted details the public didn’t know. Did they argue insanity? He seemed pretty fucking sane during interviews and psych evaluations. Self defense? Not in a million years.

What got at her was the genuine feeling he was innocent, and that someone, or something, could be out there. The idea of being out there in the city alone with it out and about gave her the creeps.

“Whatever,” she whispered, turning the audio up so she could return to her blissful ignorant state. Where everything melted away. Where she was actually pretty happy with a smile on her face. With that, she began to drive away.

…

All she could think about when she finished getting dressed was the trial. The trial, the trial, the trial. This was gonna be the biggest train wreck she would ever see in her career, and she had only become a paralegal a mere three years ago. She didn’t envy the defense attorneys she was working under.

Her thoughts were interrupted by three knocks at the door. Strange, she wasn’t expecting anyone today, except for B/f/n, and she was always late for everything.

She looked through the peephole to see two people in fancy clothing outside. She opened the door just a crack.

“H-hello…?”

“Y/f/n Y/l/n,” the man asked. Y/n nodded hesitantly. The man speaking held up the badge and the woman behind him did the same. “Agents Mulder and Skully, FBI. We have a few questions about your client. The one who’s set to go on trial next week.”

She turned her head to the side.

“I’m sorry, I think you might be mistaken. I-I’m not an attorney, I’m just a paralegal.”

“Oh, we’re not mistaken. That’s exactly why we wanted to talk to you.”

She looked inside her apartment real quick, then back at them.

“Okay… come on in. Just come in quickly so the cat doesn’t get out. She has a habit of running outside.”

She was internally grateful that her friend talked her into going out for lunch. She would’ve felt embarrassed if she had had to talk to these well dressed professionals in her pajamas. Skully knelt down, petting Y/n’s cat that had just walked up to the two.

“Um… would you like tea or anything? I’m about to make some for myself now.”

Skully lifted up one of her hands while she let the small animal nuzzle into her other one.

“That won’t be necessary. We plan to be out as soon as possible.”

“O-okay… um... I’m guessing you’re here to ask about Bill Brown?”

Mulder nodded.

“That’s correct.”

“I… don’t really understand. He’s set to go on trial less than a week from now. Why is the FBI getting involved? I thought this was settled, more or less.”

“We think he may be the wrong guy. We’re investigating a series of murders strikingly similar to the ones he supposedly committed a year and a half ago. We need to look at some of the previous evidence and cross examine it with the crimes happening now.”

She still seemed unconvinced.

“Why haven’t you gone to my firm? Or better yet, the police? I-I’m sure they have everything on file.”

Mulder shook his head.

“The lawyers won’t speak to us. And the police department doesn’t want to reopen the investigation when they’re so close to closing it. They don’t want to cause panic.”

She nodded. That actually wasn’t that hard a story to believe, considering the people she worked with on a daily basis. She just looked around the room.

“Okay… you might want to rethink my offer about the tea, then. And have a seat. Because this’ll take a long time.”

...

She presented them with a long list of documents. Some images, most legal papers. She pulled out the two things that were most of interest to her, a map of where the killings took place as well as a few images of supposed murder weapons.

“I’m not really sure what you’re looking for, so here's everything, I guess.”

Skully started flipping through the legal papers, reading passages of the man’s confession. Y/n’s cat slipped under Skully’s arms and laid on her lap as she continued to read. Mulder took a keen eye to the map.

“When did these murders take place?”

“Um, September 14th through February 10th, sir.”

“And he moved here the day these murders started, correct?”

“C-c-correct. You… didn’t already know this?”

“Oh I did. I just wanted to make sure you did. Encyclopedic knowledge of a case is the sign of a good paralegal, don’t you think?”

“Oh!” She let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Thanks…”

“Tell me, Y/n. What do you think happened?”

“Well, the evidence clearly shows he’s guilty, so… we are going to be arguing that he did these crimes due to mania and insanity.”

“No, Y/n. What do you really think?”

She looked down, and started to get finicky. She sat up straight.

“I think he’s innocent… and I have a theory about what happened. But… I don’t think anyone would believe me.”

Skully raised an eyebrow.

“Why haven’t you brought it up with any of the defense attorneys?”

She looked away, then back at the both of them.

“You won’t… tell anyone, right? I don’t wanna lose my job because everyone thinks I’m crazy.”

Mulder nodded expectantly.

“Of course not. Now, what did you find?”

She flipped through the papers.

“While they were at his house… they found a lot of these DVDs.” She was somewhat mumbling under her breath. When she pulled out the image she presented it to Mulder. “I’ve looked them up and they’re all from a lesser known hypnotist.”

Mulder read the bottom of the DVD covers.

“Hannah Martin?”

“...yes. I’ve tried to find those specific DVDs myself, on her website or Amazon or whatnot, but, uh, I can’t find them.”

“Why do you find these significant?”

“Um… Skully, was it? May I please have the written interview?”

She handed it to her. Now that her hands were free, Skully began to pet the cat sitting on her legs, who purred in appreciation. She cleared her throat and began to read.

“Bill said ‘I moved to start a new life, I tried to smile every day, I helped my neighbors, I listened to hypnosis videos every night before bed to make me a better person. I did my best to turn my life around… but I guess I was a monster this whole time. Last night, my memories came back to me in my dreams. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…’”

Mulder nodded.

“So you think that the hypnosis videos he watched before bed may have mind controlled or influenced him into committing these crimes overnight?”

Her face began to turn red and a wave of feeling stupid hit her.

“I’m sorry! I know that sounds insane!”

“No, not to me.” She was in awe. He was actually entertaining her insane supernatural idea? “How far have you looked into this Hanna Martin?”

“You have to pay at least five-hundred dollars for her to create a hundred and fifty custom sessions to send to you personally through DVDs. Um, the first alleged murder was one hundred and forty-nine days before the last alleged murder. That day he confessed would be day one hundred and fifty.”

Mulder seemed incredibly interested. He gazed down at the image he was holding.

“Thank you for bringing this information to my attention. Can you please scan this and make a copy for me? I want to see if I can track down these DVDs.”

“O-okay!”

She was a little excited that her idea was being entertained. And, aside from that, this agent was very cute! So he was cute and as conspiracy crazy as she was?! She smiled like a dope when she was no longer being watched, her back to the two. She began making the copy.

“Another question for you, Y/n.”

She gulped. Something about this man saying her name made her stomach drop.

“Y-yeah…?”

“Do you go out at night often?”

The feeling of her stomach dropping was now from fear.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw your car parked outside the local drugstore late last night, any reason for it?”

She swallowed, hard. She was going for ulterior motives, but she was relieved she had something to fall back on.

“I was getting my medication. Um, I can show you if you want proof?”

“There’s no need to. But midnight is fairly late to be running errands like that, don’t you think?”

She breathed in.

“I couldn’t sleep. So I thought I might as well do something productive.”

He nodded. She turned to look at him, but she couldn’t quite read his face. Was he insinuating what she thought he was? Or was this all in her head? If he thought she was involved, he was probably crazy. She just laid out all this evidence to prove her client innocent, and possibly even helped point to the real killer, yet he thought she might be the guilty one?

“Did you happen to purchase anything from this hypnotist?”

“No, I don’t have that kind of money… and besides, i-if I am right, I don’t know if I would want to get anything from her.”

“Mhm.”

Her dopey smile and blush was gone by the time she handed the copied image to Mulder.

“I’m not sure about the legality of this…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it.”

She was a bit angry when they left. B/f/n was a bit confused walking in.

“What happened?”

“Ugh! The stupid FBI is involved in the case now. They wanted to see some stuff.”

She tilted her head to the side and her nose crinkled in disbelief.

“The FBI?”

“I don’t know either! Just… help me pick up these papers. Actually, don’t! I need to make sure they’re all in order before court in a few days!”

She nodded as Y/n began to put everything as they were supposed to be.

“...that guy was kind of cute.”

She sighed.

“I thought that, too. But actually, he’s a dick.”

#cardiophilia #cardiophile #hearts #Mulder #Mulder x reader #x files

29 notes · View notes

tatooedlaura-blog · 3 years

Text

Maybe WE don’t believe in YOU!

It’s throwback Thursday time ... this is a goodie from 2009 (dragged kicking and screaming from Gossamer) ... oi, these things amuse me at times :)

any and all errors are from the original post and have not been changed to preserve giggles and chuckles :)

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

He saw her sitting halfway up the bleachers, amidst yelling parents and clapping children. He knew she'd gone outside a good 15 minutes ago but since she'd neglected to come back, he though he'd better go and collect her. He didn't move fast, more at his usual long-strided amble given there wasn't much to hurry about anymore. Since the police station was next to the elementary school fields, he didn't have far to walk; soon standing beside the rickety aluminum riser seats.

She didn’t notice him at first but when she did a general sweep of her surroundings, as was natural habit at this point, she lit on his face staring up at her and with a barely noticed head-tilt, she gave him a half smile.

Figuring this was an invite of the most discreet kind, he picked his way through the scattered crowd, settling next to her without a word. Silently, they sat together through the last minutes of the game as well as through the exodus of people, kids, strollers and family dogs.

It wasn't until the last person stepped off the field that Mulder turned to her, squinting against the late afternoon sun, "hi."

Pushing her hair back, only to have the light breeze ruffle it again, "hi."

"So, got a little tired of Sheriff Blowhard and his parade of blightless minions?"

"A little. There's only so much blowharding and blightlessness one can take. Besides,” nodding towards the now deserted field, "they looked like they needed another fan."

Knocking shoulders with her gently, "you know, if we get our paperwork done, we can get the hell out of Dodge."

Holding silent for a moment, "promise me our next case won't be like this. I don't think I can do this again anytime soon."

"Well, I'll try to order us up a nice, juicy monster but don't hold your breath."

"Just promise to try. That's all I ask."

One glance into her tired, dull eyes made him nod, "promise."

"All right then." Standing and holding her hand out to him, "let's, as you put it, get the hell out of Dodge."

"If only the place was actually called Dodge."

"Getting the hell out of Parson Village doesn't exactly have the same ring to it, does it?"

Finally down on the ground, they walked back across the parking lot, "not really."

&&&&&&&&&

Working through the last of the forms, they said good-bye and left, glad to be leaving the place behind them. The drive back to the hotel was quiet but a companionable quiet, one where Mulder left the radio off and Scully stared out the open window, enjoying the fresh air and the colors of the setting sun.

Back at the hotel, "do you still want to leave now or wait until the morning?"

He knew she would prefer to go than stay and since he wasn't tired, "now works for me." Checking out went by in a flash and once Mulder had made a not so secretive trip to the vending machines, they were off, "you sure you want to drive first? I'm awake."

Scully just turned the car on, "I'm good for now. I'll let you know when it's your turn."

"Fair enough." Putting his seat back to a decent incline, he settled in, "mind if we keep the windows open for awhile?"

She gave him a smile, "as long as you don't mind me having the wind blown look."

"Naw, you wear it well."

"Okay, now you're just buttering me up."

With a laugh, he rested one arm at his side, the other on the middle compartment, hand dangling by the shifter, "just say thanks, Scully."

"Thanks, Mulder."

He was feeling a bit mischievous but held off until they had been on the road for a few minutes. From his position, he could tell no one else was on the quiet country road and in a fairly nonchalant way, he made like he was turning on the radio but instead, pushed the shifter forward into neutral.

The engine revved, Scully looked around in panic, then saw Mulder's hand beside the stick, "what the hell?" Shoving it back in drive, she swung and hit him near full force in the chest, "are you insane?"

Now for the fun part.

Wincing, he curled his arms to his chest, pretending the blow had actually hurt him, "damn. I was just gonna turn the radio on. I bumped it on accident." Plastering an appropriate grimace on his face, "there's less painful ways to kill me, you know."

Her face scrunching in honest apology, "I'm so sorry. I thought you did it on purpose. I … I'm sorry."

Rubbing his chest for good measure, "remind me to ask before moving next time." The urge to laugh nearly won but he held it in, "I feel extremely sorry for any suspects on the receiving end of your fist."

Automatically reaching over, she wrapped her hand around his forearm, "I'm sorry."

"S'okay." Wondering how long she'd keep her hand there, "was kind of funny though, wasn't it?"

She shrugged, "maybe it will be later but right now, I just feel bad."

"No harm, no foul, right?"

Keeping her hand on him with no sign of letting go, "right."

&&&&&&&&&

They switched places a few hours later, Scully beginning to yawn and stretch to keep herself awake. Mulder, who'd managed a nap, readjusted the seat and mirrors before looking over at her, "all set?" Head already lolling on the seat and eyes closed, she only nodded. As always amused by the swiftness she could fall asleep, he pulled the car out of the gas station and back on the freeway.She slept for about a half-hour, then woke again when he hit a bump in the road, "sorry."

Shaking the cobwebs from her brain, "no, it's okay." After re-positioning the seat back, she stared out the window for a minute before, "where are we, anyway?"

When he turned to look around, she swiftly reached over, flipping a small switch on the dash, "we're about 10 miles from the middle of nowhere."

"That's specific."

He gave her a lopsided grin before looking back through the windshield.

She wondered how long it would take for him to notice.

Not long, she soon discovered.

Taking a cursory glance at the speedometer, he slammed on the brakes, throwing them both forward slightly, "what the hell?" When he had looked, he saw in horror that he was doing 120. Still talking to himself, "there's no way in hell I was doing 120."

Playing along, "what?! You're going 120? I don't need to die tonight, Mulder."

"I didn't realize …"

"Just slow the hell down!!"

He shrank into the seat and heart pounding, he brought his speed back to 75 but when looking out the window, he would swear they were nearly crawling. She then watched him look from the speedometer to the road to the speedometer once again, then to the smile she couldn't contain, "why the hell are all the gauges in metrics now?"

Reaching over, she re-flipped the switch, turning everything back to normal, "did you really think I'd let the neutral thing go unanswered?"

Instead of being annoyed, he looked at her admirably, "nice."

&&&&&&&&&

She was sound asleep again an hour later when Mulder discovered he was contemplating how long he could shut his eyes before it got dangerous. Poking his finger into Scully's thigh, "hey, you awake?"

When she only mumbled, he knew they were both done for the night but with only an hour left to go, he debated pushing it.

Until he heard his tires running on the rumble strip.

Yeah, it was time to stop.

Especially when he saw it … a bright beacon of hope in the distance.

Wal-Mart.

24-hour, anyone can sleep in the damn parking lot, beautiful, shiny Wal-Mart.

He pulled off the exit ramp and soon, he stopped the car in the center of a vast expanse of parking lot. Cracking the windows so they wouldn’t suffocate, he put his seat back, stretched and promptly fell asleep.

A blissful sleep that lasted almost a full two hours, until, “what the hell?”

The sound of her voice jolted him upright and his hand caught the horn, beeping it obnoxiously as he blinked against the painfully bright light in his eyes, “huh?”

By now, she was rolling down the window and being the least polite he’d ever heard her, “what!?”

The flashlight lowered but all Mulder could see was the spot it had burned into his retinas. The spot spoke in a low, male voice, “evenin’ folks.”

Again, Scully rolled off with, “what!?!”

“Just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

He could feel Scully building rapidly towards some other, more improper phrases and heading her off with a hand on her arm, “we were tired and thought we’d take a nap instead of wrapping ourselves around a telephone pole.” As the spot began to fade, he could make out an older gentleman behind the lowered flashlight, “I thought people could park and sleep here for the night?”

“RVs can park but ya’ll aren’t in an RV so I thought maybe you were havin’ some trouble.”

Hearing Scully sigh resignedly through her nose, he spoke again, “no trouble, sir. Just tired.”

“Well, ya’ll be careful.”

As he turned and walked away, Mulder looked at her irate expression, “hi.”

“You’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

Unbuckling her belt, “I have to go to the bathroom and you’re coming with me.”

Opening his door, “why are you pissed at me? I didn’t scare the shit out of you with a flashlight.”

“Just come on.”

She stalked across the parking lot, Mulder trotting to catch up, then settling into an easy gait until they got to the store entrance, “are you gonna make me come in with you or do I get to wait outside the door?”

With eyes narrowed, she left him in the entryway and disappeared into the ladies room. Deciding to go himself, he still beat her back and was leaning on the wall when she came out drying her hands on her jeans. She seemed calmer and leaning next to him, “I’m hungry.”

Gesturing through the doors that led to the actual store, “I bet there’s something in there, if you’re willing to risk it.”

“Lead the way, partner.” Both were shocked by the amount of people in the store, “what time is it anyway?”

Finding her wrist with his hand, he twisted her watch around until he could read it, “um, 1:15.”

“Why are all these people here? Don’t they have homes and beds?”

“Insomniacs make the best shoppers.”

She let a small chuckle escape her nose, “just find me something to eat.”

Well, she should have known not to A) shop when she was hungry and 2) shop with Mulder. She should have also put her foot down when he suggested getting a cart.

An hour later, they were finally through the checkout.

Scully had found some sandwiches, drinks and chips for them both, then stupidly gave Mulder control of the cart. He immediately steered towards the entertainment section and was soon pawing through the $3.99 DVD bin.

That killed a half-hour right there. Damn those bins and their B-movie classics.

After he’d found several handfuls of movies, he veered through men’s clothing for socks, housewares for a new shower curtain (which Scully silently thanked God about), hardware to replace the two flashlights he’d left in their hotel rooms, back to menswear for the underwear he’d forgot on the first trip (black boxer briefs, much to Scully’s amusement), then finally through women’s clothing, where he stopped in front of a rack of slogan t-shirts.

Standing for a moment, he studied them, then picked one up with an alien beside a spaceship who was pointing out and stating, “maybe WE don’t believe in you.” Holding it against her for a second, he tossed it in the cart and finally moved to the check-out.

She followed, dumbfounded by the last hour of her life, “Mulder … why …?”

“Shhhh, it’s too late to argue and too early to win.”

Whatever the hell that meant, she graciously allowed him to pay for their food, along with the industrial size Payday bar she tossed in at the last minute.

&&&&&&&&&&&

As they ate their makeshift dinner sitting in the car, “why did you buy me that t-shirt? Do you really think I’m gonna wear it?”

Grinning with a mouthful of half-chewed turkey, “you will. You’ll be getting dressed for something and you’ll just get the urge to put it on. So you will and you’ll realize you like it and that’ll be that.”

“Is this how you get your shopping done because I can see why your cupboards are bare.”

“Never ask about a man’s shopping habits.”

“Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

“Trade you sandwiches?”

He handed the rest of his sandwich to her immediately, taking her partially eaten roast beef in its place, “no dressing?”

“Nope.”

“So much to teach you, grasshopper.”

&&&&&&&&&

“I’ll drive if you want me to.”

Scully shook her head, “naw, I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m not tired now so I’ll keep you awake.”

With a grin in his direction, “God help me.”

“God’s probably asleep Scully. All you got is me.”

“Again, God help me.”

&&&&&&&&&&

They were finally navigating Washington’s outskirts by 3:30. He watched her staring ahead and fought the demon lurking inside him.

He really shouldn’t.

He really, really shouldn’t.

It would be evil and wrong and cruel and more than likely funny as all hell … if she didn’t kill him afterwards.

…

He’d risk it.

Waiting another minute or so, he spied a light blinking in the distance and as they approached it, he braced his feet against the floor. Once they were about 10 feet away, he yelled, gripping the dashboard and the doorframe, “blinking yellow!!!”

She locked up the brakes, as expected, and bought the car to a screeching halt. The stop flung both forward, then back against their seats, with Scully screaming in his ear, “son of a bitch … it’s yellow Mulder! I don’t have to stop for a blinking yellow!”

Looking at her with as much seriousness as he could muster, “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“Then why the hell did you yell ‘blinking yellow’ in my ear!?”

“I didn’t know if you saw it.”

He had never witnessed her nostrils flaring before and though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, she looked kind of cute doing it but … “are you trying to get us killed?”

He was now smiling despite the fact she had steam shooting out her ears, “there was no one behind us. I checked.”

Another nostril flare came his way before she turned the car off, still sitting in the middle of the intersection, got out and moving to his side of the car, pulled open the door, “drive.”

Still grinning, he scrambled over the gearshift, Scully sliding smoothly into his seat, putting her head back and closing her eyes.

Silence, he had not expected. Yelling, hitting, yes but not quiet. Quiet from Scully meant planning, concocting, calculating, organizing … quiet meant bad things … quiet meant very deep piles of shit with him underneath.

“Scully …”

“Home.”

Suddenly sober, he restarted the car, “I was just playing.”

“Home,” she repeated, then, instead of returning to sleep, she dug some gum from the glove compartment and proceeded to chew a wad of it, very loudly.

Now, he could take bullets, he could take slime, he could take beratement of the highest degree and, as demonstrated, he could even take bile but he absolutely despised the cud-chewing noises she was making. He withstood it for a long as humanly possible before, “could you please get rid of that? You sound like a damn cow.”

“You want me to get rid of the gum?”

“Yes!”

“Where do you want me to put it?”

His mistake was answering too quickly, “anywhere. I don’t care. Just stop chewing it.”

“Okay then.” Undoing her seatbelt, she twisted so she faced him, and in a gracefully disgusting move, she rolled the gum in her fingers, then proceeded to push it up his nose.

He knew something was coming and completely powerless to stop it, he just sat there as a thumb-size chunk of grape Hubba-Bubba was fitted into his right nostril.

She then calmly sat back down and re-buckled herself in.

He left the gum there as he turned to her, “Scully?”

“Yes, Mulder.”

“I believe we’re even now.”

Her belly laugh echoed off the windows and he began laughing as well, slipping the gum from his nose and putting it in his mouth.

Through her laughter, she grimaced, “eww, that’s disgusting.”

“But it’s grape.”

&&&&&&&&&

They finally made it to Mulder’s apartment and since her brain had drifted completely, she didn’t really notice where they were until he stopped the car, “why are we here?”

“Literally or existentially because I don’t think I can take a metaphysical discussion at the moment?”

“Literal.”

“You drove. You drop me off then drive yourself home.”

“Where’s your car, Mulder?”

Pointing to where he always parked, he saw an empty spot, “your house.” His head dropped to the steering wheel, “damn.” Looking at her out of the corner of his eye, “I’ll take you home.”

“No. I want out of the damn car and I want to go to sleep. Right now.”

“Then grab the bags from the store … I’ll get the suitcases.” They managed to make it in his door before dropping everything simultaneously. Mulder then re-picked up her bag and set it in his bedroom, “I’ll take the couch.”

“No, I will. I shoved gum up your nose.”

“And I yelled ‘blinking yellow’.”

Contemplating for a half second, “you’re right.”

He gave her a grin, “just help me change the sheets first.” Nodding, she had the bed stripped by the time he came back with a clean set. They finished in no time and he stepped back, nodding his head, “two people make that way faster.”

“Anytime Mulder but for now, I’m using your bathroom then going to bed.”

“Aye, aye captain.”

Meeting him in the hall on the way back from the bathroom, “g’night, Mulder.”

“’Morning, Scully.”

Before going to the bedroom, she grabbed one last thing, then changed, crawled under the clean sheets and was out before her head hit the pillow.

&&&&&&&&&&

He woke up leisurely. The phone hadn’t rung, no one had knocked on his door, obnoxious garbage men hadn’t rattled the dumpsters … he had woken up because he had finally caught up on his sleep. Marveling at the idea, he stood and moved silently towards his bedroom to check to see if she was awake yet.

Finding her spread eagle on her stomach, covers twisted around her and bare leg sticking out, foot hanging off the side of the bed, he nearly laughed when he saw her wearing the neon green t-shirt he’d bought the night before.

Deciding to let her sleep, he went to the bathroom, then made himself a bowl of cereal. By the time he’d sat down with his second helping, he heard the creak of his bedroom door. Looking up, he saw her standing there, hair tousled, eyes partially open, wearing only the t-shirt, which fell to mid-thigh. Swallowing the frogs in her throat, “’morning.”

After a glance at the DVD player’s clock, “afternoon.” Without comment, she padded across the cool floor and dropped down next to him, curling her legs underneath her. Covering them with his blanket, she reached over, took the spoon and helped herself to a large spoonful of cereal. Shaking the milk off, she had it nearly to her mouth when he finally spoke, “I thought you said you’d never wear that shirt?”

As the cereal entered her mouth, her lips quivered in the slightest of smiles, “shut up, Mulder.”

#laura's gossamer throwbacks #msr #x-files fanfic #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #I have done all these things at one time or another to my cousin #while driving #I miss his metric switching car #grape gum up the nose and walmart wanderings

57 notes · View notes

cecilysass · 3 years

Text

Jackson Van De Kamp’s Not-So-Final Repose (1/3)

Read on AO3 | Next chapter | @today-in-fic

A dream café. A dead old man at a table. A message for Jackson Van de Kamp. Mystery, unconventional MSR, and family feels. It’s the post-revival Clyde Bruckman’s Final Repose sequel you never knew you wanted! Act One.

The boy realizes immediately it’s a dream, but of course that doesn’t mean he lets his guard down. One thing he knows for certain about dreams, from experience, is that they aren’t harmless. Even when they are mysterious or playful, they can also be dangerous.

So he is suspicious at first, because he does not recognize the old man.

The man sits at a café table drinking a tall glass of iced tea, smacking his lips in appreciation. He waves the boy over as though he knows him.

“Well, what?” The boy plops down in the ornate metal chair directly opposite the man.

He sees no reason to waste time on greetings. The old man either has a significant message for him, or he doesn’t. Either way, there is no point in revealing anything more about himself than necessary.

The old man looks at him for a moment, a tiny expression of amusement on his face. “Huh. You’re not what I expected.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“A young asshole, apparently.” The old man takes another sip of his iced tea.

The boy rolls his eyes. “Why did you bring me here? To insult me?”

The old man stares at him, an elven twinkle in his eyes. “I didn’t bring you here, kid. You brought me here.”

“I don’t even know you,” the boy insists, his voice taking on a whiny tone he immediately hates. He rolls his head, angry and frustrated. Nothing ever works the same way twice in his dreams, and it aggravates him. “Okay, fine. Let’s say you’re right. How do you know that? How do you know that I brought you here?”

“No idea.” The old man smiles an enigmatic smile, raises a hand in a ta-da gesture. “I just know. Your father once said I was a psychic.”

“My father,” the boy repeats, tapping his fingers on the table impatiently. “Who do you mean when you say that?”

“Oh,” the old man says. “Well, I guess you know I am not talking about Daddy Van De Kamp.”

“I was told my real father was a man named Spender.”

“Yeah,” the old man gazed off into the distance, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I know. But I don’t think so. I don’t think that’s the actual story.”

The boy doesn’t think so either. It doesn’t fit with what he has been seeing. But he wants to see what this man sees.

“Your dad is that other idiot,” the old man says, at last, as if he is certain. “I know you’re probably relieved, because sure, he’s better looking and seems nice enough, but there are plenty of reasons to be worried about being that FBI guy’s kid, too. I knew the guy.”

“The FBI agent Fox Mulder,” the boy says, trying to mask his rising interest. He finds he wants to hear everything about this now. “He’s the one who told you you were a psychic.”

“Yeah. Your dad ate that sort of shit up,” he tilts his head. “But honestly, he was wrong. I wasn’t a psychic who knew things like this. Like lotto numbers, or who’s the daddy, or what someone is thinking. I was never a fancy mind tricks guy like you. I only had one bullshit skill. I only could see how people died. Worthless.”

He looks down at his drink, takes another greedy gulp.

“So how are you knowing things about me now?” the boy asks.

“I think ... because I am the dead one.”

“You’re dead?”

“Yep,” nods the old man. “Putrefying. Under a field of tulips as we speak.”

Jackson scrutinizes him. A dead man. This has not happened before, to his recollection. If he now has acquired the power to speak to the dead, it is news to him.

He looks around. He wonders if there is a dream waiter who will bring him an iced tea, too. The details of the café around them are unnervingly sketchy, incompletely filled in. There are a few ghostly, half-there people at the other tables. Jackson doesn’t like to look at them. There are some billboards, half finished, on the walls around them, advertising real estate, travel destinations.

He wonders if he is dead, too. Could he have died in his sleep? Been murdered?

Jackson takes a breath. His lungs still work. He decides to start asking questions.

“How do you know Fox Mulder?” the boy asks.

“I don’t know anyone,” the old man says. “I’m dead.”

“Okay,” the boy says, trying to be patient. “How did you know Fox Mulder?”

The old man is staring at his sweating iced tea glass, holding it up to stare at the water droplets closely in the light. “The condensation on this glass,” he says, “actually reminds me of dying.”

Jackson winces a little. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” nods the man.

“Were you, uh, poisoned?”

“No.” The man is still looking at the droplets on the glass, lost in his memory. He looks up at Jackson, smiling fondly. “Your mother was there, you know.”

“My mother was there when you died?”

“She was so lovely,” the old man said, lost in reverie. “Just so lovely in every way. Inside and out.” His eyes land on Jackson, and his soft look hardens. “You take more after your father.”

Jackson can’t hide his confusion. “Who are you?”

There is a train whistle, loud and disconcertingly close, and both the boy and the old man start a little, sit up, and look at one another.

“This is a train station?” the old man asks him, surprised, looking over his shoulders at their surroundings. “It’s a café inside a train station?”

“God, I don’t know.” The boy doesn’t see any trains, but now he can hear the hissing of a train brake on a track somewhere. “I have no idea where we are.”

“Oh, okay,” the old man nods. “Train station. I get it. You’re making this a dream heaven in a train station like in those dumb books and movies you liked so much.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” the old man says knowingly. “Your childhood obsession. The kid with the dark hair and the magic powers and the special destiny blah blah blah. The birth mom with the pretty red hair. I guess the attraction for you is obvious. You read them again and again and again like a little psycho.”

“I did not,” lies Jackson primly.

“Have it your way,” the old man says, gesturing indifferently. “Makes no difference to me. I never read them at all. Dead.”

The old man looks around. “It’s just interesting to think why you made things here the way you made them. Like, why am I drinking iced tea?” He holds up the glass. “Not that I am complaining. Very refreshing.”

“You were already dead when the first Harry Potter book came out?”

“Don’t feel bad for me. I doubt I would have read them anyway.”

“That was just a very long time ago,” Jackson remarks.

“Ha,” the old man says. “Only a stupidly young person says things like that. It was five seconds ago.”

“It was before I was born.”

“Well, that much is true,” says the old man. “When I met your parents, they weren’t even thinking about doing the nasty yet.” He pauses. “No. They were definitely thinking about it. They just weren’t doing it yet. At least I don’t think they were. It didn’t seem like it.”

“You can’t see things about them? Only me?”

“I can see some things about them,” muses the old man. “But with you, everything is clear. With them, it’s like when you try to get Cinemax on TV. Lots of squiggly lines keeping you from seeing the good stuff.”

Jackson doesn’t understand the reference. “They were partners back then? At the FBI?”

“Yeah,” agrees the man. “And why do nice ladies like your mom always end up with assholes like your dad?” He sighs. “If I had psychic powers that were useful, I could have warned her. Mr. Handsome will be nothing but heartache.”

“They seem to … love each other,” Jackson points out. “They have a good relationship.” It feels strange defending them, these parents he does not know.

The old man rolls his eyes. “Ain’t love grand.”

“How did you know my parents? Did they investigate you? I know they investigate, like, supernatural cases.”

“They didn’t really investigate me,” the man sighed. “Like I said, I wasn’t that interesting. I helped with a murder case, told them how people died. Then I died in bed, began to putrefy, end of story. Good times.”

“Can you still see people’s deaths?” Jackson asks. “Can you see mine? How do I die?”

The old man coughs a little, politely. “When people ask you that directly, you have only a few options. Option one: tell them the truth. They either won’t believe you or it will mess them up thinking about it. No good. Option two: lie. You can either lie in a mean way, or you can lie in a nice way, depending on how you feel about the person. Option three: evade the question. It’s really the best option.”

“You’re trying to go with option three right now,” says Jackson, understanding, a reluctant sigh.

“Bingo.”

“Did my parents ask you?”

The old man shrugs.

“What did you tell them?”

“Option two with both of them,” the old man says. “Well, I didn’t really lie to your dad. I just strongly implied he died in an undignified way.” The old man smiled to himself. “He was very agitated. The man really wanted to impress your mom. I had to get my kicks somehow.”

“How do they really die?” It is fascinating to Jackson that this man could see, way back then, his parents’ ends in a time that has not yet come.

The old man folds his hands in front of him and looks at the boy, his eyes serious. “I’m not going to tell you.”

“It’s not my death.”

“It will mess with your head.”

Jackson looks at him in disbelief. “I barely know them,” he says.

“You will,” the old man says. “You will know them. And it will bother you. You gotta trust me. I am that kind of psychic now that I am dead. Very wise.”

Staring at the iced tea glass, Jackson considers the idea of having a different, closer relationship with the FBI agent parents. It is a strange but not unpleasant idea. He thinks about Agent Scully’s heartfelt speech to his dead body, her broken voice, her tears. He thinks about Harry Potter seeing his dead red-headed mother standing behind him in the Mirror of Erised.

“You can see everything about me? Even my future?”

“Mostly, I think.”

“Am I … happy, eventually?”

“Way, way too hard of a question,” the old man says. “What am I, your shrink? You seem like you will be … pretty happy? You have sex a lot. You fall in love. That seems good to me.”

The boy nods, gravely, finding this more comforting than he thinks he probably should.

“You have sex with girls and guys,” the old man adds, mystified. “Is that just a regular thing people do now, or what?”

Jackson smiles. “I guess. Some people. I think people always did, though.”

“I had sex with basically no one,” says the old man sadly.

“I’m sorry,” the boy says, and finds that he means it. He is starting to like the old guy, despite himself.

“You fall in love just like your idiot dad. All heart, no brain.” The old man sips his tea.

“Yeah,” says the boy ruefully, who has had some experience with love already, and with it being unrequited.

“And the sister,” the old man says. “That seems nice for you. You’re crazy about the sister, your whole life. She’s around after your parents are gone.”

“I don’t have a sister,” the boy says.

“Did I tell you I was psychic or what?”

Jackson has been seeing some things, lately, from his mother’s mind, that could imply his mother was having another baby. He didn’t know whether they were real, or metaphor, or references to the past, or what. But it seems impossible. Isn’t Agent Scully too old?

“All of her babies are impossible,” the old man answers his thoughts directly, shrugging.

Like many children who have not known a biological family, Jackson is somewhat taken by the idea of a sibling, a sister, who might grow up to physically resemble him and speak and think and feel like him. Would she be able to do his tricks? Would she have his same faults? Could he help her avoid his mistakes? She would grow up with the FBI agents as her parents, Jackson realizes, in the life he might have had, perhaps should have had, and that makes him sad. In some part of him that isn’t numb to this old desire already, he feels envious.

“Is she, uh, in danger?” Jackson asks suddenly. “The baby? I am not sure my parents know about ... everything.”

“She’s not if you help protect her,” the old man says.

“You’re saying I should go back to talk to them again. The FBI agents.”

“Listen, I don’t tell you to do things,” the old man says, an offended tone. “Don’t get confused. I’m not God. I am just some dead guy.”

“Do you miss being alive?” Jackson has no idea where this question comes from.

The old man considers his answer. “Not … mostly,” he says. “I miss Hydrox cookies.”

Jackson has never heard of Hydrox cookies, and imagines they must be something from 20th century pre-Jackson existence.

“You find it difficult to talk to your parents,” comments the old man.

“Yeah,” Jackson says, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s complicated. Painful.”

“Sure, it’s complicated,” the man says. “But it’s not like you’re the first kid your age who finds it hard to talk to his goddamned parents.”

“What are you saying, exactly?”

“Well,” the man gestures around him. “Not every kid has a magic dream heaven and a bunch of hocus pocus powers. Seems like you have a lot more options than the rest of us did.”

“What are you suggesting I do?” Jackson says.

“Hell if I know.”

Jackson makes an exasperated sound. “Then what good is this?”

“For someone who is so hell bent on running away on his own, you sure seem desperate for someone to tell you what to do,” the old man says.

He tilts his head to one side, looking at something past Jackson’s head. “Well. How about that.”

“What?” Jackson turns his head around, urgently. “What do you see?”

“Nothing,” the old man smiles a little. “I just thought the pattern on the back of these café chairs looked kind of funny. Like a brain.”

Jackson looks at the chair the man is staring at, but to him, it looks like an abstract pattern -- swirls of metal fused together, not especially brain-like. He turns around and fixes the man with a bemused stare.

“Well?” the old man says, sipping the iced tea. “What do you say?”

“I have an idea, maybe,” Jackson says, looking over the man’s face carefully. “But I may need you, sort of.”

"I had a feeling," shrugs the old man. "Life is just like I remember it. A pain in the ass."

“That’s been my experience as well,” sighs Jackson.

Read on AO3 | Next chapter

#x-files fanfic #the x files #fox mulder #dana scully #jackson van de kamp #clyde bruckman's final repose #todayinfic #msr #I don't know how to use tumblr #i'm trying though

23 notes · View notes

atths--twice · 3 years

Text

Finding Light in the Dark

A call sends Mulder, Scully, and Faith on a road trip back to the house in Quonochontaug. Mulder is feeling somewhat nervous, but is determined to replace the pain of the past with happiness in the present.

This story is the next in the Year of Prompts. A friend on Twitter asked for a story where Mulder visits the house in Quonochontaug with Scully and Faith. I, of course, fell in love with that idea as I simply adore writing them as a happy family. I set out to have it be a Valentine's story as the story presented itself to me. It took *just* a day longer than planned, but I hope it was worth the wait. ❤️

January 26, 2021

Mulder hung up the phone and sighed with a slight frown. Putting it down, he walked to the laundry room where he could hear Scully humming as she folded clothes.

“So, uh…” he said, standing in the doorway. She looked at him and smiled with a nod. “I just had a call from the rental agency.” She frowned at him and then nodded in understanding.

“Is everything okay?” She picked up a flat sheet, handing him an end, and together they started to fold it.

“Well, Brian from the agency said that with the virus, they aren’t getting as many people staying at the house. No one is traveling, as you know, and they’re losing money.” He took the sheet from her and finished the folding. She nodded and crossed her arms as he set the sheet in the laundry basket.

“So…”

“So, they’re considering letting it go, which means it falls on me to make a decision. If I want to find another rental company or… if I should sell the house and be done with it.” She stared at him, sighing as she nodded slowly.

“Is that what you want to do?” she asked softly and he let out a deep breath.

“I don’t know. That house… honestly I forget that it’s still there most of the time. It’s been… Jesus, twenty years.” He shook his head and sighed. “I…”

“Hon,” she said, stepping toward him and touching his arm with a smile. “I know how you feel about that house. I don’t want you to think you have to go there. We can ask the agency what would be best and not ever have to go.”

“I appreciate that, but… I think I need to go check-“

“We. We need to go. I’m not letting you go there alone.” She held his arm and stared at him with another small smile. “Would leaving tomorrow morning be soon enough?” He smiled and cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing softly across it.

“Let’s start thinking about a plan.”

________________

January 29th

He made phone calls to the rental agency, letting them know they would be coming up to check on the house and decide what they would do with it. Brian sounded relieved and said he would leave the key in the lock box, giving him the combination to open it.

A heaviness weighed upon him as they packed and readied for the trip. He tried not to let it show, but Scully‘s hand lightly grazing his back, arm, or waist let him know that she noticed. She never said anything, but her touch meant everything; his thoughts often far away.

They left the house at seven thirty, hoping Faith would sleep for most of the journey, and not become cranky sitting in her car seat for such a long period of time. Nearly seven hours was long for anyone, but especially for a two year old.

Once again, Grey was dropped off with Violet and Denis, along with the house keys so they could stop by and feed the fish while they were gone. Violet stood at the window, holding Grey and waving goodbye with her little paw, as Faith waved back and yelled goodbye.

She chatted with Bella who sat beside her, her head resting on the arm of the car seat. Faith patted her head and told Bella it was dark.

“See stars, Bell? It’s dark. See stars!” She pointed as she looked out the window, continuing to pet Bella’s head. Mulder smiled as he watched her in the rearview mirror, catching Scully’s eye as he looked back at the road. She smiled at him and he nodded as he drove down Henderson Road, heading toward the Parkway.

“Do you think we should stop at a hotel on the way? I don’t think we can just show up these days,” Scully said, reaching for her phone. “Halfway… that should put us about…” He saw she had opened her map app, looking intently at it, and he shook his head.

“We don’t need to stop. I can make it. Quonochontaug is only seven hours.”

“No. We can switch. No need for you to drive the whole way.” He nodded with a smile, knowing he would be the one driving the entire way. “I’m serious, Mulder.”

“Okay. But I’m good for now.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, Looking back at Faith, who was looking out the window, now holding her baby doll in her lap. “You okay, love?”

“Baby, mama. Baby seeping.” Mulder saw her touch the baby's eyes that opened and closed. “Shh. Baby seeping.”

“She’s sleeping? Okay then, we’ll be quiet.” She turned her head and smiled at him and he smiled back.

Within two hours, an audiobook playing quietly after Faith’s usual bedtime music, everyone in the car, save for Mulder, was sleeping deeply. He smiled as he glanced at them and then sighed as he looked back at the road. The navigation was set and the book playing, but he was no longer paying attention.

He was heading back to a house that held many memories, both good and bad, and now that they were physically on their way, he was lost in thoughts of the past; his childhood and the questions that had never been answered.

After his mother had died, he had been the one to handle her personal belongings and the selling of her house. She had left everything to him and one long weekend, he had gone up to clear it all out, readying it to be sold.

The house itself held very little personal items. Not many pictures and signs of the past. No, those were kept in the basement, almost as though they were something to hide and of which to be ashamed.

Saturday morning, after he had spent Friday going through the basement, sadness and anger causing tears at times, the doorbell had rung. Believing it to be the donation organization coming to pick up the agreed upon items, he had opened the door to find Scully.

She had smiled, a bag of donuts and two coffees in a carry out holder in her hands. He had been surprised, but opened the door to allow her to enter.

“I thought you could use some help,” she had said softly and he had nodded with a relieved sigh. She had smiled and after they had eaten, they had begun to work.

Then… he had decided it was time to deal with the house in Quonochontaug, something he had put off for years. No one had been in the house for a couple of years, him being the last one, and the reason was one he wished to forget. He had asked Scully to accompany him, no hesitation, knowing that house would be harder to face.

They had driven out together on a Thursday evening, planning to stay all weekend. It had been a long drive, spent mostly in silence. Halfway there, they had stopped to eat at a diner, the silence remaining, though her eyes had said a lot.

They arrived late, the house chilly. Looking around at the things still covered in plastic, the mess he had never completely cleared up, they had both sighed.

“It’s a lot, but…” she had said, a hand on his back as she walked further into the room. “We can be up early, get some breakfast, and then…”

“Yeah,” he had whispered.

They went to the bedrooms, Mulder insisting she take the master bedroom and he would take the smaller guest one. The rooms smelled musty, plastic covering the beds and other things.

“Uh, I don’t know about the state of the sheets. This place hasn’t been used in such a long time,” he had said, standing in the doorway and looking around the room she would be using.

“Blankets will be fine,” she had assured him and he nodded, going to the hall closet and taking out the equally musty smelling blankets, wishing he had thought to bring something better.

“I’m not sure the blankets are much better, in regards to smell anyway.”

“It’s fine, Mulder.” She had smiled and taken the blankets from him. “We’ve been in worse places than this.” He had nodded and she rubbed his arm. “Good night.”

“Good night,” he had whispered and walked to the guest room.

Dropping the blankets onto the bed, he had used the bathroom, shivering as he walked back to the bedroom. He had changed his clothes and gotten under the covers, sighing as he closed his eyes, too many thoughts in his head. Turning over, he had fallen asleep, his dreams dark and confusing.

In the morning, he had woken up early. Leaving Scully to sleep a little longer, he went to pick up the trailer he had rented and to get breakfast for both of them.

She had been awake when he returned, just coming out of the bedroom, yawning and stretching. She had smiled as she cleared the table and he set the food and coffee onto it.

After they had eaten and thrown out their trash, they looked around, deciding where to start.

“Before we do anything,” she had said and he looked at her. “I’ve been thinking. What if you didn’t sell this place?”

“I don’t want or need it,” he had answered.

“No, I know you don’t. But…” She had walked to the back door and opened it. “It’s beautiful here. The water right outside the door… it’s a perfect place to get away.”

“Scully-”

“You could rent it.” She had smiled at him and he looked around the house and back at her. “Fix it up a little for sure, but…” She had shrugged and he let out a sigh. “It’s just an idea.”

“Yeah,” he had said with a nod.

“Think about it,” she had said quietly, touching his arm.

They had worked methodically, moving from one room to the next, stopping a little after one to go out and get something to eat and stopping at the store to get something for a simple dinner.

Things that held memories, had been set to one side and then carried to the trailer. Pictures mostly, a few boxes of family items, a couple of lamps and one end table Mulder had “ruined” when he did not use a coaster for his glass of ice water.

“My mother would cluck her tongue and sigh every time she saw it. Never saying anything, but letting me know how I had messed up.”

“You’re still pretty bad about remembering,” she had teased and he chuckled softly in agreement. “How about I go make dinner and open that bottle of wine while you make a fire?” He had nodded and she went into the kitchen

He had cleaned out the fireplace, checking to make sure the flue was open, and then went to find some wood outside. It was not much, but enough for a small fire. He brought it inside, smelling garlic and onions, and his mouth watered.

As the fire began to build, she had walked into the room holding two plates of pasta tossed with garlic and parmesan cheese. She set it on the fireplace, rubbing his back as she walked back to the kitchen to get their glasses of wine. Kneeling down, she handed him his glass and set hers beside her plate.

“The fire feels nice. It’s surprisingly cold at night.”

“Not exactly a selling point for a vacation rental,” he had said, taking a sip of his wine.

“Not until you upgrade it a bit.” She had smiled at him and he nodded, but did not smile back. “You don’t want to do it?”

“I don’t want to think about it tonight.”

“Okay.”

“This is good,” he had said, taking a bite of the pasta. She smiled and ate her food as the fire crackled and warmed the room.

When their plates were empty, he had taken them into the kitchen and brought out the bottle of wine, refilling their glasses as they moved to the couch.

They had watched the fire, his head resting on the back of the couch, his fingers lightly caressing her shoulder. She looked at him and then she set her glass on the coffee table and turned to him. He had swallowed, setting his glass on the small table beside him.

She had leaned closer to him, a hand on his thigh. He cupped her cheek, her eyes closing as she sighed.

“Scully,” he had breathed. She opened her eyes and he shook his head slowly. “I…”

“Mulder,” she had whispered, moving until she was in his lap, her arms loose around his neck, fingers rubbing softly in his hair and down his neck. He held her waist, closing his eyes as her forehead rested against his, her breath smelling sweetly of wine.

“Scully… I… this-“

“I’m not asking or expecting anything from you,” she had whispered, kissing his temple as he sighed. Then his other temple, forehead, cheeks, and lips. Every kiss soft and tender.

He had kissed her back, his hands gripping her hips. Their kisses slow, their breath mingling, her tongue gently touching his, silently asking for permission.

He had pulled back, licking his lips, Breathing hard as their foreheads once more pressed together. Her fingers scratched softly at his neck as they sighed simultaneously.

“I’m sorry. I just… this house…”

“You don’t need to apologize,” she had whispered. “Not for anything.” He sighed again and she wrapped her arms around him, her face pressed into his neck. He held her tightly, his eyes closed, sighing with relief at her understanding.

She had pulled back, kissing him once more, before rising and taking their glasses into the kitchen. He sighed as he watched her go, hearing the water running as she washed the dishes. He scrubbed a hand down his face and stood to his feet.

Walking into the kitchen, he had rubbed her back and picked up a towel to dry the dishes, working together in silence. When the last plate was clean and had been put away, she bid him good night, rubbing his arm as she passed.

He had sighed as she left, walking back and sitting on the couch, staring at the slowly dying fire. As it went out, he had risen and used the bathroom before lying down in bed and staring into the darkness.

His door had opened quietly a few minutes later, the faint light from the living room lamp momentarily casting a soft flow across the bed. The door had closed and the room was once more dark.

The covers were lifted and the bed squeaked as Scully slid in beside him, snuggling close. He had let out a breath as he raised his arm and she lifted her head, lying on his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist. She brought her leg up, resting her knee against his thigh and side softly.

“Was your bed not warm enough?” he had teased quietly and she hummed.

“No, this bed is much warmer.” He had hummed out a quiet chuckle and they fell silent, their breathing the only sound in the room.

He had shifted, turning onto his side and pulling her close, their forehead’s touching as they had done on the couch.

“There are bad memories here. Broken ones. Ones I… I’m not sure are real,” he whispered and she hummed as she stroked his face, her hands warm. “But, there are also good ones. Ones of games and laughter. My mother singing. Parties and music. My father telling some story and all the men laughing. I had my first taste of hard alcohol here.”

“Really?” she had whispered with a soft laugh.

“Not on purpose,” he chuckled, hooking a leg over hers and breathing in her scent. “I had been running around and grabbed what I believed was my cup and took a big drink of what I thought was water, but what was actually vodka.

“Oh!” She had laughed, her head falling back and they looked at one another in the darkness. “What happened?”

“I was sure my throat would burn forever, my stomach on fire, and then I gagged and threw most of it up onto the grass. One of the men thumped me on the back and laughed. I was so embarrassed to throw up in front of them, but Jesus Christ, it was the only option.”

“Hmm,” she had hummed, moving closer, her lips at his throat. “How old were you?”

“Eleven, nearly twelve,” he had said, his fingers running softly up and down her back.

“Maybe that’s why you don’t like it much.”

“Hmm. Could be.” He thought back to that day, the way his head had spun as his mother led him inside, Samantha crying and holding his hand.

“So, does that go in the good memory column or the bad one?”

“I’ll consider it both.”

“Hmm.” Quiet again, she moved even closer, kissing his throat and then sighing.

“Good night,” she had whispered, and he nodded, closing his eyes and kissing the top of her head.

“Good night.”

He had slept soundly, waking up spooning her, his nose buried in her hair.

As they ate breakfast, he had looked around, thinking about the possibility of remodeling the house and renting it out as a vacation home.

“It would take a lot,” he had said out loud and she frowned at him. “If I was to remodel it. This place is good, but… what would they find once they started working on it?”

“What are you saying?”

“We… I own the land surrounding here. Would it be better to tear it down? Start over from scratch?”

“Good question for a developer.”

“Yeah.” He had smiled and she gripped his hand. “I think I’ll call some people, see what they have to say.”

“I think it’s a good idea. I like it here.” She had smiled and he nodded. “Wouldn’t mind coming back.”

“That could be arranged.” He had leaned forward and kissed her softly, holding her chin with his thumb and index finger.

“I’d like that,” she whispered, kissing him once again. “Maybe when it’s a bit warmer out.” He chuckled and nodded again.

All personal items packed inside the trailer and the rooms cleaned, they had packed up their bags, taking out the trash and setting it in the back of the trailer to drop at a nearby dumpster as they left.

They never did go out there again. Not together anyway. He had, on his own, to meet with developers who suggested ways to improve the house. Things were moved out and he saw the beginning of the remodel before he had disappeared and was gone for nearly a year.

When he had returned, he’d had more time on his hands. Only once had he seen the place completed before never coming back. Life taking over and stopping him… them from coming out there again.

He had left it in the capable hands of a rental agency, the money from it deposited into a separate checking account created by the gunmen, and transferred over to his primary account only when needed.

Scully hummed in her sleep and he blinked his eyes, shaking his head as though clearing away the past. The audiobook was chapters ahead and he made no effort to go back to what he remembered, deciding starting it over would probably be for the best.

“Oh.” She stretched and he glanced at her with a smile. “Oh… I fell asleep. I’m so sorry.” She reached over and patted his arm as she glanced back at Faith. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep… oh my god, it’s 11:30?! How long was I sleeping?”

“I really don’t know.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.” He smiled at her and she reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I’m okay. I do need to pee though and we’ll need gas soon.”

“Yeah, I need to pee too.”

A quick stop at a gas station, they took turns using the bathroom, letting Bella out to relieve herself. He got them each a coffee and restarted the audiobook as they drove away. This time they both paid attention, laughing and discussing the story quietly.

Soon, they exited the interstate and drove down the road toward the house. He felt nervous and calm simultaneously as they pulled up and parked in the driveway.

“Wow,” Scully said, staring at the house in the shine of the headlights. “It’s different. I like it. It’s not as dark.”

“Light is always better,” he agreed, turning off the car and smiling at her.

“Absolutely.”

“You stay here, I’ll go open the house and turn on the lights.”

“I could do it”.

“Nah, I got it.” He kissed her and got out, closing the door quietly. Using the flashlight on his phone, he found the lock box, punched in the code and took out the key to unlock the door.

Walking inside, he took a deep breath, happy that the house was different, the changes allowing for better memories to be created. He shivered in the chilly room, intent on turning on the heater when they were all inside. He turned on some lights and went back outside.

Nodding at Scully as he opened the back passenger door, he let Bella out, holding onto her leash as he opened the back of the car.

“I’ll set up Faith’s bed real quick and we can lay her down,” he said softly and she nodded.

“Sounds good.”

He grabbed the portable crib, and the bag with the sheets and blankets, bringing them and Bella inside. He set up the crib in the guestroom and quickly made the bed, setting Faith’s favorite stuffed animal, the grey alien with a pink belly, in the corner.

Heading back outside, he saw that Scully was taking Faith from the car seat, shushing her when she began to cry. They walked inside while he unloaded the rest of the luggage, bringing it all inside.

He put their bags in the master bedroom and went to the kitchen to unload the food they had brought for the morning. It was mostly stuff for Faith, not taking any chances of being caught out with no food. They planned to make a trip in the morning to stock up for a few days.

He could hear Faith fussing and crying as Scully sang to her, shushing her softly. Once he was done, he called out to Bella, taking her out to pee one more time, giving her a treat when they came back inside.

It was quiet and he smiled tiredly as he searched for the thermostat, setting the heater to seventy to see how that temperature felt. He heard it kick on as the toilet flushed and Scully came out to join him a moment later.

“I like the house very much. It’s the same, but with some changes. And it’s brighter and happier.”

“It is,” he agreed, looking around the white walls, the dark wood paneling gone.

Taking her hand, they walked through the house, looking at all the changes. Some even he had not seen, twenty years being a long time between visits.

The furniture was all done in soft grays and blues. The coffee and side tables were dark oak, with bookshelves that matched. Games and puzzles filled one and random books filled the other.

The kitchen cupboards were steel blue, the countertops done in white marble. Different sized bowls set upon them, one now full of bananas and apples. A white rectangular table with a bench and two chairs sat in the corner, a vase of fake flowers in the middle.

A small laundry room with a stackable washer and dryer and a counter to fold clothes, was just off the kitchen. The side door lead to the wraparound front porch, though they did not venture further than a quick glance.

The floors throughout the house were a light wood, with colorful rugs of grays and blues upon them. The room where Mulder had nearly broken beyond repair, was now a cozy sitting room. Large windows with sheer drapes faced the water which would let in beautiful sunlight in the morning. A dark wicker basket of toys sat beside a red bookcase with children’s books and pictures of the surrounding area sitting upon it.

She turned to him and smiled, which he attempted to return, but failed. She came close and hugged him, holding on tightly. He closed his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her, trying to block out memories of the past.

“It looks beautiful,” she said quietly, pulling back to look at him. “Much better than before.” He nodded and smiled slightly. Let’s go to bed. It’s late and you know our girl won’t be sleeping in.”

He nodded again and followed her to the bedroom, turning off the lights and locking the doors along the way. Bella was asleep on her bed and paid them no mind as they passed.

As he laid down, Scully’s head on his chest, he let out a deep breath. “No more,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “No more darkness.”

“No,” she whispered back. “No more.” He kissed her head and closed his eyes. “Good night, Mulder.”

“Good night, love.”

_________________________

January 31st

The fire crackled and Bella stretched, letting out a deep sigh. Mulder smiled as he watched her, the fire warm, and no doubt she was exhausted.

They had spent the majority of the day outside in the snow, the depth of it more than he could have imagined, the storm blowing in and taking them by surprise. Bella had jumped and dove into it, coming up covered in the powder, her tongue lolling out happily.

Faith had been a little more hesitant, unsure what to think of it. Bundled up in many layers to ward off the cold, she had tripped once, her hands landing in the snow. She had shook them, trying to get the snow off of her mittens, but to no avail.

Scully had laughed as she bent down beside her, helping her wipe them off. When she had looked at him, picking Faith up, her blue eyes shining with happiness, he had never felt more in love with her.

Even as he was happy to be there with them, his light in the darkness, he had been unable to completely stop thinking of the past. The house being different helped immensely, but there were still spots within it which held some pain.

One of them, the loft where he and Samantha had slept when they were younger, had been a space he specifically asked the developers to turn into something different, though he did not have an actual idea of what he wanted.

What they had done was better than he could have imagined.

A skylight had been added when they put in a new roof and the dark loft was now a cozy reading nook with natural light spilling in. A small television sat in the corner, a VCR and DVD player on the shelf of the stand it sat upon. A storage bench ran the length of the low wall, colorful pillows in blues, grays, and muted greens brightening the space further.

Toys, blankets, and movies were inside of the bench. Two light turquoise bean bag chairs sat atop a striped rug of greens, blue, and tan. The railing had been changed, and now included a thin piece of plexiglass, keeping the view clear, while creating a safe space from little arms, legs, or heads from becoming stuck.

He had brought Faith up there, playing with and reading to her. She had loved the beanbag chairs, climbing on them and then giggling as they moved with her. She had also loved looking down and waving at Scully, calling for her to look up at her. Bella whined as she watched them, wanting to join them so badly.

Sitting in the little loft, the sunlight coming in through the skylight, he had felt his sadness lifting. Faith smiling at him and her laughter helped to replace the pain of the past with the happiness in the present.

“She’s exhausted, isn’t she?” Scully said, pulling him from his thoughts. He looked up and saw her smiling at Bella. “I don’t think I have ever seen her so still.” She smiled at him and he chuckled with a nod.

“It was a busy day.”

“Yes, it was.” She turned her head and looked out the window as he did the same, smiling at the snowman family they had made, now covered in even more snow.

Three different sized snow people were wearing extra hats and scarves from each of them. Faith’s was her height and she stared at it from all sides before she hugged it, surprised by the coldness on her cheek when she did. She touched her cheek and looked at him, her brow furrowed.

“Snow is cold, my love,” he had said, bending beside her, touching his cheek to the snow person and then placing his cheek on Faith’s. She had pulled back and touched her cheek again as he laughed, kissing her cold nose.

“May I join you?” Scully asked and he looked at her, confused.

“Of course, why would you… oh.” He chuckled as she joined him in the overstuffed chair in which he was sitting, her head on his shoulder, an arm around his waist, her legs on top of his.

“So by join, you meant sit on my lap, not in the chair beside me?” he asked, his fingers in her hair.

“What would be the fun of that?” she asked, letting out a deep sigh. He chuckled again, nodding and kissing her head.

The fire popped and Bella jumped, standing and staring at it before she stretched, yawned, and laid back down. They laughed quietly, her toes pressing into the seam of his jeans along his calf.

“You okay?” she asked quietly and his fingers paused for a second before running through her hair again.

“I am,” he answered with a slight nod. She lifted her head and pulled back to look at him, her eyes searching his own. He smiled as she touched his cheek and side.

“You’re sure?”

“Mm-hmm.”

She nodded and stroked his face, her fingernails scratching gently at the beard he had been growing for a few weeks. She took a deep breath and licked her lips.

“I like your beard like this,” she whispered and he fought back a smile.

Oh, he knew.

When he had started letting it grow, no longer wanting to shave every morning, she had made comments about his scratchy beard and ducked away as he attempted to rub his cheek against her neck.

But she would always giggle as he did it. He knew she did not really hate it.

When it had grown in, he had noticed the way that she touched it often, her fingertips scratching beneath it, her eyes dilating and her breathing increasing, sex inevitably occurring wherever they were at that moment.

Yeah… he knew.

But he would play it cool.

“You do, huh?” he asked, giving her a curious look.

“Hmm. I do. I didn’t in the past-”

“That was different,” he said quietly, leaning into her hand and staring into her eyes. “I was different. That was a depressed beard. It was ugly and unkempt, no care over how I looked. This is different.”

“I know,” she whispered, her hand stroking softly. “I like it. It’s sexy.”

“Sexy?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist, locking his fingers together, and opening his legs enough to allow hers to slip in between.

“Mm-hmm. Very sexy.” She bit her bottom lip and he smiled.

“I think I may have noticed,” he admitted and she stared at him.

“I like it. Especially on my thighs.” His hands slipped as his body jerked and she grinned.

“Yeah?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“God, yes,” she breathed, her eyes closing. “It’s so stimulating, it makes me…” She shivered and he chuckled, causing her to open her eyes.

“Yeah, I noticed.” He smiled and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Always observant, you are.”

“When it comes to that, you bet I am.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, dropping her hand down to the button of his thermal shirt and fiddling with it. “How quickly can you put out the fire?”

“Which one?” he teased, unlocking his hands and placing one on her ass. She laughed and kissed him, her tongue stroking his as she shifted onto her knees, her hands on his face.

“This fire is close, but that one needs some attention. You take care of it and meet me in the bedroom.” She kissed him once more and climbed off of his lap, heading to the bedroom, lifting her sweater over her head on the way. “Hurry up or I’m starting without you.”

He jumped up and hurried to put out the fire with the ashes in the metal bucket beside the fireplace. Once he was sure it was out, he walked toward the bedroom, unbuttoning his pants and removing his layers of shirts.

She was on the bed, already naked, her knees bent. She was moaning quietly and he saw she was squeezing her breasts. His clothes dropping to the floor, he tugged at her feet, pulling her legs apart as he climbed onto the bed. He kissed his way up her legs, heading toward his goal. He rubbed his beard against her thighs, one then the other, and she arched her back, his name said breathlessly.

Closer to her center, he breathed deeply, smelling her arousal. He kissed her pubis and she whimpered, her legs tightening around him. Rubbing his chin on her inner thighs, she cried out, grabbing his head and gripping his hair.

“Mulder,” she gasped and he smiled.

“Yes?” he asked, kissing her pubis again, rubbing his face across it back-and-forth. She pulled his hair and he chuckled, raising his head to look at her.

“You’re a shit,” she said, her chest heaving.

“You said you were close and I can tell you are. Nothing wrong with showing some restraint and prolonging that pleasure.”

“Fuck that,” she said through gritted teeth, attempting to push his head where she most wanted it, but he stopped her.

Pushing up, he rubbed his face on her stomach, feeling it quiver as he kept moving up her body, kissing and rubbing his beard against your skin. He reached her breasts and ran his lips across her nipples, then his beard, her legs gripping even tighter as she whimpered.

“Jesus, Mulder. You keep that up, I’m going to come.”

“Is that a complaint?” he asked, knowing the way in which she truly wanted to get there.

“No. Not at ohhh, at all.” She moaned as he came up, nuzzling at her neck and her lips. “Kiss me.” He lifted his head and kissed her lips, her tongue running across his teeth, the kiss hot and needy.

He pulled back and resumed his nuzzling at her neck, back tracking down the path he had taken up her body. He paused at her stomach, enjoying the way it quivered under his touch.

“You’ve known all this time?” she asked quietly, her breath coming out heavy through her nose.

“Of course I have,” he responded, his tongue running from her navel to the top of her pubis. “As if I could not notice.”

He moved, opening her legs and rubbing his beard against her inner thighs once more, her fingernails scratching at his scalp. Her arousal was more evident now and he breathed in her intoxicating scent.

“Mulder, please…” she begged.

And he did, taking his time, making sure she got there.

Twice.

_____________________

The next few days, the snow sticking around, they went for long walks, Bella rolling and sliding in the snow. They went close to the water, throwing sticks in and watching them float away. There were plastic sleds in a small shed out back and they made a small hill, packing down some snow, to let Faith slide down, Mulder catching her at the bottom. Her happy laughter echoed around them, Scully smiling from the top of the little hill, as they trudged back up to do it all again.

They went into the little town, walking along the streets, looking in the windows and stopping in a few places that remained open, masks on and keeping their distance.

In one shop, Mulder found a little pop-up playhouse shaped like a toad stool. It was red with white polka dots on top and a squat round bottom with a curved door and circular windows on the sides. Deciding to keep it for a couple of days, as Valentine’s Day was approaching, though Scully stated it was a rather silly day.

“As though people need a specific day set aside to express their love,” she had said as they walked out of the store, the playhouse in a bag.

“Scully,” he had started to say and she interrupted him.

“I don’t mean that a gift or flowers isn’t nice, but couldn’t someone do that on February nineteenth just as well as the fourteenth? It will cost less on that day which means you could buy even more.” She had shrugged and he smiled, pulling her into his arms and lifting her off the ground.

“I love you,” he had whispered and she laughed.

“See? A few days early even. And that’s all I need.” She had pulled her mask down and kissed him before he set her down and they continued on their way.

The afternoon before Valentine’s Day, after discovering the box of pasta they had planned to eat for dinner that night had not made it home, Mulder had volunteered to go back to the store to get it. Scully insisted they could eat something else that night, as they had just purchased another week's worth of groceries, but he insisted more and with a kiss to her and Faith, he left.

He had an ulterior motive for going, one he did not want her to know about just yet.

While they had been out earlier, he had seen something in a florist shop he wanted to buy for her. It was simple, but it had made him smile when he saw it and he knew he needed to buy it.

Stopping quickly at the store, he bought a bag of Valentine’s chocolate kisses before he picked up the pasta. He drove to the florist shop and went inside, smiling as he saw what he had wanted was still there.

It was a wooden stand with two small glass nearly heart shaped test tube vases, hanging from a metal pronged holder. At the base of the stand was a wooden heart with the word Love written upon it. It was perfect in its simplicity, exactly the kind of gift he knew she would enjoy.

“Those are quite popular, I only have those two left.” He turned and the florist nodded her head at them. “You better grab it while you can.”

“I saw these when we walked by earlier and I had to come back when it was more covert.”

“Understood,” she laughed and pointed to the stands. He nodded and she picked one up with gloved hands and he followed her to the register.

“Do you have any violets? Just a few to set inside the vases?”

“As it happens, I cut some for a bouquet this morning, I always save the extras. Never know when they will come in handy. I’ll get them for you.” He nodded as she walked away, glancing at his watch and seeing he still had time before he began to draw suspicion.

“Here we are, I’ve tied a small bunch together and you can distribute them between the two vases when you get home.”

“Thank you.”

She wrapped the vases and the stand and placed it in a brown gift bag, tied with twine. The flowers were wrapped and he asked for a heart balloon as well- for Faith. She nodded and filled a shiny pink mylar heart with helium.

Paying for it and getting into the car, he smiled at the balloon dancing on the front seat. Such a small thing, but he knew Faith would love it. He could not wait to see her happy smile.

As he got onto the main highway, the street was packed with cars. An ambulance drove past him and he took a deep breath. Most likely an accident and traffic would be backed up for a while. He put the car in park and took out his phone, texting Scully to let her know what was happening.

Take your time. Get home safely. ❤️

He smiled at the heart and put his phone in the cup holder. Turning the heater up a bit, he then turned the volume up on the radio and leaned his head back on the headrest.

A song began to play, a soft strum of a guitar and he was immediately pulled in, as he closed his eyes.

Take it If she gives you her heart Don't you break it Let your arms be a place She feels safe in She's the best thing that you'll ever have

His eyes flew open and he sat up straight, listening intently to the next part of the song.

She always has trouble Falling asleep And she likes to cuddle While under the sheets She loves Pop songs And dancing, and bad trash TV There's still a few other things

She loves love notes and babies And likes giving gifts Has a hard time accepting A good compliment She loves her whole family And all of her friends So if you're the one she lets in

Take it If she gives you her heart Don't you break it Let your arms be a place She feels safe in She's the best thing that you'll ever have She'll love you If you love her

On days when It feels like the whole World might cave in Stand side by side And you'll make it She's the best thing that you'll ever have She'll love you If you love her like that

“Pull to the right. We will be detouring you. Pull to the right. You will be detoured.” A voice said over a speaker and Mulder jumped, looking to his right. A police suburban drove by, lights flashing but no siren.

He turned the car on, missing the rest of the song as he concentrated on following the detour. The words remained in his head however, his thoughts of Scully and how it sounded as though the song had been written especially about them.

Pulling into the driveway a few minutes later, he turned the car off and picked up his phone, searching for the song with the words he remembered hearing.

He found it on the second search, listening to its entirety before purchasing it with a smile. Moving the gifts to the back of the car to bring in later when Scully was busy with something else, he grabbed the pasta and walked inside, a plan for tomorrow beginning to formulate. ______________________

February 14th

“Oh! So pretty!” Faith exclaimed as she stood in front of the toadstool playhouse and clapped her hands happily. She ran inside and squealed when she saw the pink balloon floating inside. “Heart. Pink heart. So pretty.”

They both bent down and watched her exploring, looking out the windows and calling out hello. Mulder unrolled the door and she popped out from behind it shouting boo! and running to him. He caught her and fell back, feigning fear. She laughed and ran back to scare him again.

“I’ll go get breakfast started,” Scully said with a smile, rising from her knees beside the playhouse.

“No wait!” he called out and stood quickly to his feet. “I uh… I can do it.”

“You’re playing with Faith. I don’t want to disturb the fun.” She smiled anew and started to walk to the kitchen when he stopped her again. “What are you doing?”

“Just… I…” He sighed heavily and shook his head. “We said Valentine’s Day wasn’t important, but… I got you something and it’s set up in the kitchen.” He sighed again and she smiled slowly, licking her lips and rolling her eyes as she shook her head.

“Well then, I’m just as guilty.”

“What?”

“I said it wasn’t important, that it was just a day, but… I got you something too.”

“Whoa, I’m having a crazy feeling of deja vu,” he murmured, thinking about a Christmas morning, opening gifts together in his apartment. She laughed, which ended with a sigh, her shoulders lifting in a shrug and a shake of her head.

“Together?” he asked and she nodded, reaching for his hand.

“Together.”

He scooped up Faith, wanting her to share in the festivities and they walked into the kitchen, his eyes on Scully to see her reaction.

��Oh! Hearts!” Faith shouted and he chuckled, glancing at her before looking back at Scully.

She shook her head with a smile, letting go of his hand to look at the numerous cutout hearts hanging and spinning slowly from the ceiling, some single and some intertwined. They were all made from white notebook paper, the house not exactly full of crafting materials.

“When did you do this?” she asked and he smiled.

“Last night after you fell asleep. You are a heavy sleeper sometimes, as you know.” He set Faith in her high chair attached to the kitchen chair, buckling her in as Scully came to stand beside them.

“Mulder, this is so beautiful. And violets…” she said, touching the flowers in the vases, rubbing his back as she did. “Thank you, love.” She kissed him and he smiled as she pulled back.

“You’re welcome. Check out the counter.”

She turned around and laughed as she walked to the counter and saw the heart shape he had made from the chocolate kisses.

“You and the kisses,” she teased, and he knew she was remembering years ago when he had left the chocolate kisses in and with various people at the hospital, letting her know it had been him doing it only when she had arrived at home.

“Chocolate kisses are sweet,” he responded and she laughed softly, foregoing the candy, and coming close to kiss him again.

“Dada. Na-na, please.”

“Of course, my love. I’m so sorry.” He took a banana from the bowl and peeled it, cutting it into pieces and placing it in a bowl. He gave it to her with a small fork and kissed the top of her head. “That should buy us a few minutes.”

“Right, let me get your-”

“Did you see what was on the hearts?” he asked, stopping her from getting his gift. She looked up at the hearts and then back at him. “Oh right, they’re up quite high. Let me help you reach them.”

“You’d better watch it,” she said, reaching up, but he was ahead of her and he cut the twine with some scissors, a single heart fluttering into her hands.

“Stubborn,” she read and looked at him, with her eyebrows raised.

“Oh… whoops. That wasn’t supposed to be the first one. Let’s try this one.” He cut down another single heart and she caught it.

“Empathy. That’s much better.” She gave him a look and walked to the next single heart, waiting to catch it. He grinned as he snipped the twine and once again she caught it.

Five more hearts were released from the twine, and when she had them all, she laid them on the counter.

“Intelligence. Empathy. Compassion. Beauty. Stubborn. Understanding. Loving. Sexy.” She looked at him with a grin and he raised a fist.

“Nailed it. First time truly celebrating in a loooooong time and I hit it outta the park.” He danced around, Faith laughing as she watched him, bananas squished in her hands and on her face.

“Yes, you did good. Now it’s my turn.”

“Bring it on, honey.”

“Dada, milk please.”

“I’ll get it,” Scully said, opening the fridge quickly and taking out her cup of milk.

She handed it to Faith and kissed her head, before opening the pantry and taking out a gift wrapped in pink paper with anatomically correct red hearts. He laughed as she handed it to him and she smiled.

“Gotta have some authenticity to it,” she stated with a shrug. He nodded and carefully unwrapped the box.

Lifting the lid and then the tissue paper, he drew in a breath. Looking up at her, she smiled softly and he shook his head as he looked back at the gift she had given him.

It was a collage of pictures held within a frame, in the center of which was a drawing of a grinning heart overflowing with other smiling hearts. Underneath was written, My heart is happy.

Every picture was from their visit. A picture of the house on its own. Him and Faith in the loft reading a book. Faith mid sled, him smiling happily with his arms out wide to catch her, the house in the background. One of them all by the fire, a squishy selfie they liked to call it. Another selfie in the snow, all of them red cheeked and grinning. Down by the water, him showing Faith how to throw sticks. Bella jumping out of the snow as Faith laughed. The snow family. Him and Faith asleep on the couch, her laying on his chest.

“I wanted you to see. To see the happiness I’ve seen in you,” Scully said quietly and he nodded, looking up at her with a lump in his throat, understanding the many layers to the gift.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely. She grasped his forearm as he let out a deep breath, looking at the pictures again.

So much thought had gone into the choice of pictures, always showcasing the house and how happiness had outweighed the sadness previously held inside the walls.

“The best thing that you’ll ever have,” he whispered, shaking his head with a sigh.

“What?” Scully asked and he looked at her with a smile, setting down the frame and picking up his phone from where it was charging on the counter.

“I heard this yesterday and I…” He queued up the song and set the phone down, reaching for her hand and pushing play. “I swear it was written for us.” He watched her face as the first chords of the song began.

Take it If she gives you her heart Don't you break it Let your arms be a place She feels safe in She's the best thing that you'll ever have

He smiled and she scrunched her chin, her eyes shining. He took her other hand and pulled her close as they began to sway slowly.

She always has trouble Falling asleep And she likes to cuddle While under the sheets She loves Pop songs And dancing, and bad trash TV There's still a few other things

He felt her chuckle and he held her tighter.

She loves love notes and babies And likes giving gifts Has a hard time accepting A good compliment She loves her whole family And all of her friends So if you're the one she lets in

Take it If she gives you her heart Don't you break it Let your arms be a place She feels safe in She's the best thing that you'll ever have She'll love you If you love her

On days when It feels like the whole World might cave in Stand side by side And you'll make it She's the best thing that you'll ever have She'll love you If you love her like that

So many thoughts and moments in their lives flashed in his mind. He heard her sniffling and he knew she was thinking of them as well.

Kiss her with passion As much as you can Run your hands through her hair Whenever she's sad And when she doesn't notice How pretty she is Tell her over and over So she never forgets

Take it If she gives you her heart Don't you break it Let your arms be a place She feels safe in She's the best thing that you'll ever have She'll love you If you love her

On days when It feels like the whole World might cave in Stand side by side And you'll make it She's the best thing that you'll ever have She'll love you If you love her like that

He pulled back and stared at her, cupping her face and rubbing his thumb across her cheek, as the song continued, speaking without saying a word. She shook her head and took a deep breath, closing her eyes and laying her head on his chest as the last lines of the song began to play.

On days when It feels like the whole World might cave in Stand side by side And you'll make it She's the best thing that you'll ever have She'll love you If you love her like that

As it ended, they remained swaying in each other’s arms, his arms holding her tightly.

“Mama. Dada. More food. Na-na all gone.” They both laughed, the private bubble they had been in popped, as reality came calling.

“More food?” he asked, pulling back from Scully, rubbing her arms as he did. “Did you make banana art today, or actually eat most of it?” Faith grinned at him and he shook his head at the mess she always made.

“Time for pancakes, I think,” Scully said, taking the premade bowl of batter from the fridge.

“Faithy look! It’s pink! Pink pancakes!”

“Yay! Pink pa-cakes!”

The heart kisses were moved into a bowl, Mulder opening one and offering it to Scully, who took it with happiness shining in her eyes. He found a Valentine’s Day playlist on his music app and they sang along and danced as they worked together to make breakfast.

“You’re simply the best!” he sang into the spatula as he flipped the pink pancakes. “Better than alllllll the rest!” Scully laughed and Faith wiggled in her high chair.

Sitting down to eggs and pink heart shaped pancakes, Scully having purchased a heart cookie cutter at the store unbeknownst to him, they smiled at each other, toasting a successful Valentine’s Day.

As they ate, he glanced at the gift Scully had given him and looked around the kitchen, at the changes made for the better, and he made a decision.

“I’ll call Brian tomorrow, see if we can’t figure something out to keep this place as a rental. See if he has any suggestions for what we could do. I… I’m not quite ready to let it go just yet.” Scully smiled slowly and reached for his hand.

“I think that’s a great idea. I wouldn’t mind coming back.”

“I think that could be arranged,” he said, his words from years ago, holding more weight. A promise he intended to fulfill.

“Maybe when it’s warmer though. Perhaps when there is a little less snow.”

He laughed and nodded, imagining coming there in the summer, and the many activities they could do in the warmer weather.

“Yes, we’ll definitely have to come back when it’s warmer.”

“I’d like that,” she said and he nodded.

“Me too.”

And he meant it.

____________________________________________

The song in this story is If You Love Her by Forest Blakk. I heard it and knew I had to include it in a story somehow. It’s such an MSR song.

My friend who asked for the story makes MSR videos and asked if there was a song I would like her to use. I told her THIS song and she created an amazing video. I’ve included the link and you should all go check it out. It is simply beautiful.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEoHZiRNrGM

40 notes · View notes

baronessblixen · 4 years

Note

Some angst with fluff at the end? "Please. I don't think I can do this anymore."

So this was inspired by yesterday’s rooftop anon and @mypanicface. Thank you. It has angst, fluff and is a journey through their life together. Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober

Fictober Day 10

“Please,” Scully says, squeezing Mulder’s hand, looking at him with unshed tears in her eyes. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” And Mulder can’t let go. He can’t let go of The X-Files or the search for his sister, the truth. Most of all, and it hits him violently in the gut, making him dizzy, he can’t let go of Scully. One year ago, she strolled into his basement office with a soft smile and no idea what she’d gotten herself into. Now, his little spy has become his greatest confidant. The thought of losing her is unfathomable.

“I have an idea,” he says, entwining their fingers, and bringing her to the place that up until to now, has been his and his only.

“I didn’t even know your building had a rooftop.”

“Most people don’t.” He grins at her. “I have a key.”

There’s not much space but it’s always just been him, so it was enough. He motions for Scully to sit down on the beat-up chair he found in a corner the first time he’s come up here. She sits with a thankful smile and he crouches next to her, his knees uncomfortable on the cold, hard concrete.

“The sun is setting,” Scully says, her voice as soft as the colors stretching over the sky above them.

“I know,” he replies, watching her instead. “I come here sometimes to think. To watch the sunset and remind myself that the world isn’t all bad. I thought maybe I could… get a second chair, a second set of keys.”

Scully turns to him. There are still tears in her eyes, but the ashen look of desperation in her face has vanished. The last rays of sunshine tangle in her hair and caress her cheeks.

“I would like that, Mulder.”

There are two chairs now and only one of them here to use them. He stares at the empty, silent seat beside him. Up above him, the sky is grey, as listless as he is. The sunset is hidden behind dark, angry clouds. Hope is dwindling with every passing day. The hope that they’ll find Scully. That they’ll find her alive.

A sliver of blue finds its way through the layers of bitter clouds, cracks it open just one bit. He clings to that small promise, to the possibility of faith.

Where are you Scully? he thinks, holding her cross between his fingers, trying to find the strength to go on.

“Hey,” he says, drawing his chair close to hers.

“I didn’t know where to go,” she says as a way of apology.

He shakes his head. “I told you this place is as much yours as mine.” Her knuckles are white from gripping the armrest. He touches the hand right next to him and she startles.

“I’m just so angry, Mulder. And my mother she… I couldn’t stand the look on her face anymore.” She lifts her head to the clouds. “I can’t believe I’ll never talk to Melissa ever again.”

“I’m sorry, Scully. For your loss, for… everything.”

Their fingers intertwine on their own account. The sun sets right before their eyes, a last hurrah for the day. Tomorrow, they will do this all over again. Just a respite before another fight, before another injustice. Before another loss. Neither of them lets go of the other, not for the longest time, not until they’re engulfed into complete darkness, the night’s cold nipping at them and reminding them that they, against all odds, are still alive.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Scully says, standing next to him, and even though he’s not looking at her, he knows she’s frowning. She’s bundled up in a thick coat, needing the warmth, needing to hide her diminishing body away. No amount of layers can cover up the truth they both know.

She’s dying.

Mulder looks straight ahead at where the sun bleeds red into the sky. What does it matter to her? Why does she care what happens to him once she’s gone? His thoughts buzz in his head, like a swarm of angry bees. He wants to throw the chair away, to hide the keys. How can he ever return here once she’s buried in the cold earth?

“Mulder, I mean it. What you did… why did you do it? Why did you let someone drill a hole into your head?” Her voice rises with every word she says. He doesn’t have answers for her. He can’s save her and so he doesn’t deserve to be saved. Definitely not by her.

“I can’t- Mulder, please look at me.” He can’t deny her when she’s pleading with him. How can he deny her anything now when she’s dying? With force, he turns his head towards her. “I can’t bear the thought that you hurt yourself. You need to start taking better care of yourself.”

His nod is an empty promise, but she sits next to him anyway. He holds her tiny, cold hand in his and squeezes it tightly before he interlaces their fingers. Maybe some of his warmth, some of his life, can seep into her. She needs it more than he does.

“You said you wanted to talk to me?” Mulder is hesitant in sitting down. There’s a gentle breeze in the air, a hint of summer palpable in the rich bouquet of new beginnings.

“Hmm.” There’s a soft, albeit shy smile on her face that disarms his heart. He sits down, glances briefly at the early sunset, not yet in full procession, coloring them in golden hues.

“I must admit I was a bit, um, worried when I got your message because-“

“I want a baby, Mulder.” The smile is still there, now mixed with determination. She wants this. She really wants this. He swallows hard, his mind rushing through all the implications. Scully wants a child.

“That’s um…”

“I got a second opinion for the ova you’ve stored. There’s a good chance that IVF will work for me.”

“That’s incredible, Scully.”

She nods, watching him. “There’s just one problem. It’s not a problem, just- I need…, you know…”

“A father,” he supplies.

“So to speak. I don’t want you to answer right away, Mulder, because I know this is a big decision and one that neither of us should make lightly. I’ve spent all week thinking about it. You were my first thought when Dr. Parenti said there was a chance. During the week, I realized that… I don’t want you to feel pressured or like this is something that you have to do. I want you to think about it, okay?”

“You want me to be the…” now he can’t say it. Father. Scully wants him to be the father of her child.

“Please think about it. I’m going to leave you alone now.” She squeezes his shoulder and he sits there, frozen and shell-shocked. His eyes are trained on the sky where soft, pale blue and pink stripes frolic together. There’s no decision to be made. His heart pounds in his chest.

They’re going to try and make a baby.

She doesn’t say a word as she hands him a key. The key to the rooftop. He stares back at her, dumbfounded.

“I thought maybe you’d like it back.” Her voice is clipped, as neatly coiffed as her hair.

“Why?”

“I figured you’d like to share it with someone else.”

“Scully, no.” But she’s already leaving. He catches her right when her hand lands on the doorknob. “This is our place,” he says. “Diana doesn’t even know it exists. Neither would I want her to. Please stay? Look at that sunset.”

She doesn’t. She’s staring at her own hand, wrapped around the knob, still ready to leave. He couldn’t blame her if she did.

“Hey?” He touches her chin, making it impossible for her not to look at him. There’s a glimmer of anger in her eyes. These days, no matter what he does, he’s only making things worse. “Just one sunset. It promises to be pretty tonight.”

Wordlessly, she lets go, trots over to her chair, and sits down. She moves it away from his own, widening the distance. As soon as they’ve both settled, as soon as he dares, he reaches out to take her hand. She lets him hold it and he knows they will be okay again, in the end.

“We should have done it like this from the start,” Mulder says grinning up at Scully. She’s perched on his lap, her arms around his neck, and her head leaning against his. It won’t take long tonight, the sun in a hurry to set in the frosty autumn air.

“We weren’t ready then.” Scully’s giggle disappears into his neck where she nuzzles him with the tip of her freezing nose. He can’t wait to get back inside, to warm her up. Who needs sleeping bags when you have a warm bed and the hottest woman on earth?

“You’re not even looking at the sunset, Scully.”

“I’ve seen it before,” she says with a yawn.

“Are you tired? It’s only afternoon.”

“Well, we were busy last night.” Another giggle and a kiss against his jaw. He loves this Scully, the playful one. Sure, he loves every Scully he’s ever encountered; from the bossy badass to the one who needs help reaching the cupboards in his apartment.

“I plan on being busy again tonight,” he says into her hair.

“Can we skip the sunset tonight, Mulder? Maybe we can even see it from your bedroom.”

“You’re right. We should definitely check that theory.”

There are no certainties, only a sea full of possibilities, but Mulder knows this is the last time he’ll be sitting here, watching the sunset from the rooftop of his building. His bags are packed; everything he needs ready to start a new life somewhere else. Where that will be, he doesn’t yet know.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Scully says softly, cradling her heavy stomach. He can’t help but smile when he sees her, overcome with love for her and their baby. If only there wasn’t the nagging feeling of fear, too. What if they can’t keep their child safe? What if?

“I thought I’d say goodbye.”

“You don’t know that, Mulder.” She takes her hand in his, their fingers automatically entwining.

“Hmm,” he replies. He does know. This chapter is over. “We’ve had some good moments up here, didn’t we?”

“We did.”

“Sad ones, too.”

“No more sad ones,” she says, putting their entwined hands on her stomach.

If only life were that easier. But as he looks at the sky, the same sky it’s always been, the familiar colors that still find ways to surprise him now and then, he knows that they will be fine. No matter where he is, where she is, the sun will set every day, sleep, and rise again. There’s always going to be hope.

#fictober2020 #early post today!#i like this one #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic #Anonymous

95 notes · View notes

frogsmulder · 3 years

Text

Maybe There’s Hope: chpt 4 Home is What I’ll be Dreaming of

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?

6k words; rated e; tagging @today-in-fic; read on ao3

"Mom?"

"Dana?"

The image of opening the door to her daughter's frightened face flashed before her eyes as she put the key into the lock of Dana's apartment.

"I'm sorry, mom, I don't have much time... but I'm leaving."

"Leaving where? Dana, you're not making any sense."

Margaret Scully stepped into her daughter's world still smelling fresh like the owner had popped out to work that morning. She half expected Dana to appear around the corner at any moment.

"I can't say. I don't even know myself. The trial– it's–"

"Fox. I understand."

Running her finger along the top of a cabinet, she rubbed the particles into the pad of her digit– the dust had barely started settling on the surface. She remembered embracing her daughter, Dana clutching back like it would be the last time she would get to. Maggie liked to believe she had more faith than to believe that.

"Mom, there's something I need you to do for me because I won't be there and I don't know if I'll be back."

She picked up the envelope on the side; held it firmly in her hands as she took a long look at the room; all the idiosyncrasies scattered about, neatly organized on bookshelves and the mantelpiece in the way that was so Dana. Sitting down on the couch, she sized up the task at hand: pack a life into boxes, for everything must go. She opened the envelope– the lease on the apartment ended next month.

She started in the bedroom, where all of Fox's possessions hadn't been unpacked yet. They were stuffed into the bottom of the closet, hidden away like bad memories. Maggie knew what it was like with her husband away at sea, not knowing when– if he'd be back. But she'd had her children, her friends, her church group, her faith. She may have felt lonely at times, but she was never alone. She knew her daughter; knew her tendency to shut people out when she needed them most; her need to prove her strength. She worried for Dana.

Pulling the first box out, she lifted the lid and looked inside. Scraps of newspaper clippings littered the bottom, disguising a picture frame and what she suspected was a case file.

"Oh, Fox," she sighed, returning the lid and his privacy. She was transported back to her own doorstep again, hugging Dana before she left. "You promise me one thing: you look after him."

In another box were all of his university books, editions of the Lone Gunmen magazine; another family heirlooms like silverware sets, photographs, inscribed books, a velvet box, a pocket watch. Maggie sat down on her daughter's unmade bed: the only sign that Dana had left in a hurry. The pillow askew revealed a knot of cloth, the top of William's baby hat. "Oh, Dana." She whispered like when she had hugged her tighter on the doorstep. "And you let him look after you."

Maggie shook her head. She wouldn't do it. All of their things, they were not things to be thrown out. She took the hat and carefully folded it, putting it away in a box, saving the good memories, saving all of them.

----------

"Mom?"

"Dana?"

Dana stood dumbfounded on her mother's step, pinching herself with excitement, relief, and nervousness. She rushed into her mother's waiting arms, finally coming home after what had been an eternity. "Oh my God, mom, I've missed you so much!"

The thud of crashing into the embrace jolted Scully, opening her eyes to the bright Mexican sun beating down through the windscreen of the car. Gasping, she bolted upright, clutching her hands by her thighs, before she bolted out of the door. Stood in the bright sunlight, she caught and held her breath. In. Hold. Out. It wasn't the first dream like it she'd had, but she was shocked every time by how real they felt and how tangible her mother seemed. Calmer now, she looked at Mulder in the passenger seat, drifting roughly in and out of sleep. His eyes opened groggily as he slowly stirred, stretched, and groaned. He offered her a warm smile that melted some of the ache in her chest and watered a different, better kind into bloom. When he stumbled out of the car and over the dusty ground to join her, Scully turned away, looking out across the open land. He slipped his hands around her waist from behind, stooping to rest his chin upon her shoulder.

"You had a bad dream again," he mumbled into her shoulder.

Scully leaned her head defeatedly against his. She turned in his arms and buried her face into his t-shirt, breathing in his warm, sleepy scent and sighing. Rubbing her hands up and down his sides, she huffed and pushed herself from the wrap of his arms. "I thought I was home again," she said simply, looking up at him.

"Yeah, me too," he hummed. "Well, actually, we were in the office and you were throwing paperwork at me, telling me you would chew my ass before Skinner could even get to me if it wasn't done on time."

She might have chuckled but Mulder doubted that she would share her dream so freely, despite his effort to tease it out of her. He understood her need for privacy but he wished at times she would be a little less unforgiving, building her walls twice as quickly as he could chisel them away. Resolutely, he stood up straighter, holding out his hand out in invitation. She queried him with her eyebrows, so he flexed it imploringly. "Take a walk with me."

"Where?" she laughed.

"Anywhere, everywhere." He chipped away at her guard with a smile. "This fine foreign land has many fruits to offer."

"Okay–" she took his hand cautiously– "but not too far."

They ambled awhile aimlessly with no destination in mind. Taking each step at a time, it was pleasant living in the moment with no expectations. The liberation of no judgement from the open expanse drew them closer together. Between them, they spoke in silences, admiring the craggy landscape decorated with scraggy bushes. As Scully walked along, her thoughts drifted like the thin, wispy clouds on the breeze, back to her mother and the home she no longer had. She hadn't told Mulder yet, not because she couldn't bring herself to tell him, but because with all that had happened, it had slipped her mind. Everything she had now was all ahead of her and everyone to the side of her, holding her hand and swinging it gently like a pendulum. Life seemed simple when reduced to its basic measures: food, water, shelter, Mulder. She wondered how long she could live on that.

Mulder's voice broke through the cloud of her thoughts like a siren returning her to the moment. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Scully looked at him, surprised that he could see into her mind so easily.

"You may keep things closer to yourself these days, but I know your thinking face when I see it." He said it kindly but the honesty of his words punched a hole through her gut. She tried to tell him these things but she also had to figure them out for herself first. She only regretted that she'd ever hurt him in any way being caught in the brunt of her storm.

"It's been a month." The words surprised her as they tumbled out without her knowing.

He cocked his head. "What has?"

"Us..." she breathed. Scully made a point of looking him in the eye, even if it stole the breath from her lungs to see him focused on her so intensely. "... living like this."

His thumb shakily stroked the back of her hand. "You're counting?"

"I find it hard not to."

Mulder nodded.

She sighed. "I– I couldn't tell you what day it is, but I... I don't know– have the need to keep a tally; a record of some kind." It was like her body clock was scratching tally marks on the walls of her mind. Like she was a prisoner in her own skull. "I do it to keep me sane but does it make me mad?"

"Sometimes the only sane response to an insane world is insanity," he answered.

"That's not helping."

"Sorry." He paused in thought, taking a breath whilst trudging onwards. "I know what you mean... When Samantha first went missing and I was waiting for her to come through the bedroom door, I used to count the nights she didn't."

Curiosity claiming the better of her she asked, "When did you stop?"

"If I'm honest, I don't think I have. I just lost count somewhere along the way; found other days to count. Like when I was in hiding–" He took her other hand and pulled them to a stop, standing in front of her and looking into her blue eyes flickering with worry. Mulder could tell she would take what he was about to say the wrong way, so he tried to assure her with a squeeze of his hands and a loving look. "Every night I would cross off another day until I could see you and Will again... Sometimes that was the only thing that kept me going."

He felt her tense in his hands anyway, saw her eyes mist up as the walls grew thicker, yet she refused to let the tears spill. He steadied her at the shoulders, rubbing tender circles gently through the cloth of her t-shirt. Bending lower, he brushed his lips softly over hers, pulling her from the pain she harboured. Yet Scully remained frozen, unresponsive to the warm life of his lips, the hole in her gut tearing a little more. Pulling away to see her stone-faced, he whispered, "Scully, please don't do this to me. You have nothing to be sorry for."

She licked her lips and swallowed, allowing herself to sink to the bottom and the troubled waters calm over the top. Moving out of his grasp, she continued on their wander as if she could physically leave the memories behind.

Mulder's hand loosened on her shoulder, trailing down her arm as she walked away. A sharp tug drew him from the well of despair. As their hands met, she held on tightly coaxing him to follow, which he did so gratefully. She stopped them after a few paces, placing a hand upon his chest. On tiptoes, she raised herself to meet his lips, returning his kiss with mellow grace, not breaking until she had to breathe.

"Scull–" he questioned but was cut off by the press of her lips back against his, delicately answering him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled against his mouth.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he repeated in a whisper. His hand rested at the small of her back, guiding her as he turned back the way they had come. "Come on, let's get some breakfast."

----------

Along the back roads of Mexico, they traveled for some time before they came across a small town. The one street through it was lined with sand-coloured buildings that glinted in the sunlight, some rising tall, others spread wide. All of them looked welcoming and homely and Scully, gazing out of her window, wondered what it would be like to live in one of them. As they drove past, she wondered about the lives of the people who did live in them. Did they argue about who took the trash out? Did the children constantly ask what was for dinner? Did they gather around a television in the evening with their families? It was a life that for the longest time she had dreamed of and at one point had mourned the loss of. Now, she was indifferent to the idea of getting out of the car, hardened by years of abnormalcy, or so she told herself. Home was just a dream; the car was all she had for a life. Yet still a small part of her dared to dream; dared to envy the people in this town of their families and their homely comforts. And at the same time, she feared that normalcy wouldn't be enough for her.

Mulder pulled up outside a storefront, eyeing the swathes of people moving in every direction. Despite its size, the town was full of bustling people going about their daily lives.

"How good's your Spanish, Scully?"

She gave him a withering look. "You know I took German in college."

"Mhmm, and I did French in high school. Where's Monica when you need her?"

Scully followed his line of gaze to the crowds of people. "Mulder, I don't think we should go in together."

"What?" He whipped his head around to look at her. "Scully, we're fine. Nobody knows us out here."

"I still think we'd be better off if only one of us went in."

"But what if one of us needs help?" he questioned quietly, scared by her sudden urge to be alone.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," she smiled, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Anyway, you need to drive the getaway car."

Scully left him in the car to his own thoughts spiraling with concern.

It was eerily quiet inside the store. The jingle of the bell above the door and the radio playing quietly in the background only heightened the silence within. Scully perused the shelves, picking up odd pieces like cereal bars, bottles of water, and a packet of sunflower seeds. By the counter, there was a rack of postcards, mostly just pictures of the map of Mexico or the flag with writing she didn't understand. She picked one up and thought of her mother who had no idea where she was or how she was. It would be too complicated to send without revealing their location, she knew that, but maybe when she got home she could give it to her mother like documentation of where they had been.

Scully had always wondered what it would be like to go traveling– her father's worldly trips had partly inspired her and she had been raised with what he called the Scully Adventurer's Spirit. Charlie had started his world trip in Mexico, although his journey had been an entirely legal affair. He hadn't crossed into new territory miles away from border control. Scully turned the postcard over in her hands, reminding herself how far from home she was. Yet strangest of all, she didn't feel like she was.

"Do I know you?"

The voice made Scully jump and instinctively she held the postcard behind her back.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, trying to keep her tone as calm as possible whilst blood pulsed in her ears.

A man, who looked to be in his late forties, had appeared behind the counter with his brow furrowed in concentration and his sight set on her. He rubbed his chin contemplatively. "I know you. You are American, no?"

Scully stuttered, unsure of how to answer. "No, I– I don't–"

"Yes!" he interrupted her. His smile grew with his enthusiasm, unnerving Scully more by the second. "I see you before somewhere, on the television perhaps?"

"I'm sorry, I have to go."

Scully left some money on the counter and swiftly weaved back through the aisles. At a brief glance, she plucked a random box of hair dye from a shelf, self-conscious of her entire appearance. If she had to, she would scrub down her skin until she looked like someone else, but first, she had to get out.

The man behind the counter clicked his fingers in recognition. «¡Ah! ¡Cops! ¡Y el hombre lobo con el FBI!» he laughed and shook his head.

Mulder saw Scully burst out of the shop, arms laden with groceries and an expression he couldn't fathom. She crumpled into the passenger seat, quickly stuffing the things into the footwell. "You'd be no good in a robbery," she quipped.

"Scully, what's wrong?" he immediately asked.

She gave him her usual answer, passing him a cereal bar and his seeds. "I'm fine. Let's just get out of here."

Mulder took the food and started the engine, driving away despite the uncomfortable feeling that told him she was hiding something. He didn't want to press her further though, so he bit his tongue and focused on the road.

After a couple of minutes, Scully turned to him, worrying her lip between her teeth. She relented, speaking softly. "There was someone in there, Mulder, he recognised me."

Mulder let go of a breath that he didn't know he was holding, relieved that she had finally said something. "Are you sure? I mean they couldn't have been mistaking you for someone else?"

She shook her head, doubting herself already. "I don't know, he said he'd seen me on TV. Mulder, what if they have our pictures out on the news?"

"I don't think they'd do that. They don't want to draw unnecessary attention to themselves," he reasoned.

"But they could dress it up as something else. Get the unsuspecting populous to do their dirty work without telling them who or why. Mulder, seriously, how haven't we been caught yet?"

"Don't know, but I'm not going to question it either."

"But don't you think it's strange that if they really wanted to find us they could have easily done so already?" She looked at his profile, judging the minute movements of his jaw muscles, saw them flex unconsciously as they did whenever he was forced to admit a hard truth.

"Perhaps we're not as important as they would have us believe," he tried, glancing at her for reassurance. "Maybe they're busy developing a vaccine or ordering their super soldiers into neat, indestructible lines. Everyone's got bigger aliens to fry." He chuckled perfunctorily.

"Mulder, they were determined enough to kill you that they rigged your trial," Scully turned to gaze at the roadside zipping past and said quieter, "I think there's something bigger at play here."

Mulder properly laughed and she stared at him with a frown stitched upon her brow.

"You're doing a very good impression of me, Scully," he chortled.

She smiled despite herself, trying to hide it in a dip of her head. She hummed, having to agree. Maybe she was being paranoid, maybe she should be. The little Mulder voice played in her head, It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you. Shifting in her seat, Scully scuffed her feet on the box of hair dye in the footwell. She was reminded of the haunting feeling of being reeled into the snare, the need to change shape and escape. I see you before on the television.

"Could we find a motel tonight?" she asked warily, cognizant of the contradiction to her previous argument.

"Yeah, sure." He reached out for her hand, lacing her fingers with his. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes," she smiled. "I'm fine."

----------

Scully stood behind Mulder at the front desk, listening vaguely to him trying to communicate to the owner of the motel. She stared out of the window at the fading light, smiling as she clutched their only bag of belongings. Resting her cheek to Mulder's shoulder, she heard the muffled sound of his broken Spanish.

«Uno habitación. Uno err noche,» he stuttered earnestly.

She chuckled, remembering of all the times they had booked two rooms just to keep up appearances and Human Resources of their backs. It wasn't that both rooms never got used, more the connecting door left open was an invitation too tempting to resist taking. Mostly, she relished the frequent nights he had slipped into her bed under the cover of darkness and fallen asleep curled around her.

«¿Te gustaría una o dos camas?» The man nodded towards Scully and she smiled politely.

«¿Excusa?»

«¿Una cama o dos?» the man repeated.

«Una cama por favor, señor,» Scully answered.

Mulder muttered, "Feel free to save me from looking like an ass any time."

"I was enjoying listening to you butcher a beautiful language," she teased.

As soon as Mulder was through the door, he flopped onto the bed and sighed contentedly. "One day, Scully, we'll have a place of our own and I will never sleep on a couch again."

She eyed him suspiciously as she rummaged through their bag. Was this where he thought this was going? The end goal a house out in the country with a little wooden porch and surrounded by fields to play baseball in? She tried to imagine it, sitting on the porch, drinking ice tea on a sunny day, a good book and Mulder for company. A cozy log fire crackling in the stone fireplace on long winter evenings. She sometimes thought about the fairy-tale ending but she couldn't imagine herself in that story. Somehow, Scully was always on the outside looking in.

Clutching the box of hair dye behind her back, she stood purposefully. "I'm going to use the bathroom."

Mulder followed her with his head until the door clicked shut behind her. Hearing the water run in the en-suite, he turned over on his side. The creaking of the pipes was oddly comforting and he closed his eyes to it. The mechanical lullaby was, however, annoying enough to keep him from drifting off even though it was the first time he'd laid his head down on a pillow in a month.

A month– Scully was counting. Every day he had woken up next to her and gazed into her clear, blue eyes, she had been counting. He now understood half of what had been wearing her thin, forcing her to guard herself as he'd forged ahead to try and break through. Maybe now was not the best time to pick at her walls. Instead, he promised to find a small window and let in some light. He lay flat on his back, exhausted, and rubbed his hands down his face. Maybe he shouldn't find a window. What if he did find one and somehow manage to block the light out against his own intentions? Perhaps all she needed was space and time to heal. Time away from him and pain he brought with his existence. It was so hard to know what to do when she didn't speak to him. Not about the important things; the things that truly mattered. Not that either of them had been very good at it in the past. It had only ever been drips of conversation at a time, providing a Petri dish for overthinking and false assumptions and doubt. Things that built up like a damn over time until the structure burst and it all came flooding out at once. He didn't want to lose Scully and he didn't want her to get lost.

Restless, he turned onto his other side.

Emily's little face peered up at him from over the side of the bed.

"Jeez, Em," Mulder laughed nervously. "You scared me."

Her young face, too innocent still to be morose, hung dejectedly before him. Her eyes were wide, almost tearful, trying to tell him something he wished he could understand.

"Emily, what is it?"

She simply padded over to the bathroom door and pointed.

"Dana," he breathed, rushing onto his feet and knocking on the door. "Scully? You okay in there?" he called urgently.

"It's open," she replied and he noticed how she avoided his question. Turning the handily delicately, as if he was intruding, Mulder opened the door ajar and peered inside.

"Scully?"

Her t-shirt was crumpled on the floor with a towel next to the bathtub. She had her head hung over the ledge, damp tresses of hair dangling before her face. Various bottles from a box were scattered around in an unorganised mess that was so unlike her.

"If you need to use the toilet, just be quick," she said.

He cleared a path and kneeled down beside her. "Scully, what are you doing?"

Scully turned her head to look at him, dragging her tongue across her top lip in a condescending manner. "Mulder, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"Is this why you wanted to stay in a motel tonight?"

"Does it matter?"

He carefully reached for her hands, untangling them from the ribbons of her once red hair. "Of course it matters. Why didn't you tell me?"

She looked down at their hands. "Am I obligated to tell you everything, Mulder?" she quizzed, returning her gaze to him as she uttered his name.

"No," he searched her eyes for some meaning, but it was hidden away in some depth he couldn't swim to. "But you hardly tell me anything anymore. I think I see a glimmer of what you keep locked away in your heart, but I don't know if it's just a smokescreen, Scully, I can't tell."

She pulled her hands away, combing her fingers through her hair again. "I would never lie to you, Mulder," she said candidly.

"That's not what I said."

Huffing, she stopped, resting her arms over the rim of the bath and giving him her full attention. "Then what are you saying?"

He didn't know. He'd lost sight of his thoughts when he'd seen her troubled; only ever her in mind. He paused, taking a breath. "Why do you need to change yourself?" he uttered softly.

"I'm not changing myself, I'm just dying my hair. It's nothing new or special."

"Why now? Why so suddenly?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "I told you: someone recognised me. I can't just shrug that off like it didn't happen because it did. This is our reality, Mulder, we can't wander through it blindly an– and just hope we'll make it out alive!"

She caught her breath, taken off guard by her own sudden outburst. Licking her lip, she composed herself, affecting an even tone. "I'm not shutting you out, Mulder, if you'd just listen..."

He watched her silently, absorbing her words. Eventually, he nodded timidly. "Let me help then," he whispered.

"No, I'm fine," she brushed him off.

But he refused to lose her. "Scully, let me help."

She sighed, giving in. Snapping of the rubber gloves, she handed him the pair: they had been too large for her hands anyway. "I've died my hair before, but this is bleach, and all the instructions are in Spanish," she admitted.

"I think you're doing fine, Scully," he smiled, rubbing the mixture from the tips all the way to the roots of her hair. Once he'd checked everywhere was covered, he sat with her, waiting patiently by her side until it needed to be washed out. Grabbing the showerhead, he made sure that the water temperature wasn't too hot and massaged her scalp. Scully hummed in appreciation as the warm water cascaded over her head and his fingers worked their magic.

"Do you think I should bleach my hair too?" he asked, partly to make her laugh and partly because he knew that she was right: this was their reality. And she did laugh: the shaking of her shoulders accompanied by a small chuckle made him sigh in relief.

"What's so funny?" he teased. "Would I not look cool with bleach blond hair? I could take up surfing."

Laughing again, Scully elbowed him playfully, making the shower spray everywhere. Her giggle was a welcome sound for sore ears, breathing life back into the empty silence that had followed the burst of the damn.

He turned off the water and handed her the towel. She sat on the ledge of the tub, patting carefully at her now blonde hair, eyeing the alien colour curiously. Mulder grabbed another towel and started on her other side, drying her hair with just as much care. He seriously thought about how he should change his appearance, although he didn't want to. He didn't want to look in the mirror and see someone else's reflection staring back, his own image lost and forgotten. Seeing Scully now, she didn't look like the same person he had known for nine years. The blonde brought out the ice in her blue eyes; her stares once hot like fire now cold and hard. He knew it was just a costume to wear; an act to play, but he feared it becoming a warped version of reality. He should find his own costume to don too; if not becoming the obnoxious surfer-dude type, then what other outfit should he assume? Mulder doubted novelty glasses with the big nose and moustache would cut it, not least because he already wore reading glasses and his nose– well...

Absentmindedly, he asked, "What if I grow a beard?"

Scully turned suddenly serious. Her icy, blue eyes, still fiery, melted his heart.

"Don't," she said definitively and pulled him into a searing kiss. Her fingers curled through the hair at the nape of his neck, dropping the towel and bringing him closer. She felt a well of hunger for him build in her like she'd been starved of his touch.

His hands traveled from her sides, down around the shape of her thighs, lifting her from her perch on the bathtub. He pulled her body into his, pressing them together, all the while she stole his lips with fever. With his hands under her ass and her legs wrapped around his waist, Mulder maneuvered them towards the bedroom.

"No. Here," she breathed.

"Dana–"

She rested her forehead again at his. "Please."

Mulder turned around and placed Scully on the corner of the sink unit. Grinding softly into her, he traced a hand up to cup her jaw, locking lips reverently. She tightened her grip, pulling him closer at the hips and binding her ankles behind his legs. She sucked his full bottom lip, ripe and refreshing like a plump summer fruit, biting it and soothing it with a swipe of her tongue. He hissed when she continued down his neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses and lovebites until she reached the neckline of his t-shirt. Impatiently, she tugged at it and set him free, dropping it by his feet.

Her hands wandered his torso. It was softer than before, leaner and less muscular. There was still tension in his muscles, a defined shape to them, but she could feel the difference. She reached the waist of his jeans, slipping her hands down further, but Mulder grabbed her wrists, making her look up at him. When Scully saw into his eyes, she understood that he wanted to slow down, but there was a fire unfurling through her, setting her body alight and cultivating an insatiable thirst. The last time they had taken things slow, she'd had too much time to think, and she didn't want to think: just feel.

The moment passed between them, eyes locked onto one another, their telepathy flying with the sparks.

Mulder tenderly let go of her wrists and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb across the rose flush that tinted it. Scully sighed, leaning into his hand and placing her own on top. He bent down to capture a kiss, his lips soft yet firm with resolution. She responded in kind, opening up to the taste of his tongue, of desperation, of hope, of the sunflower seeds he cracked between his teeth all day. Her fingers wound around his hand, bringing it from her cheek to her hip. She slipped down off the cabinet and he unbuttoned her pants. They fell to the floor with a rumpling sound that seemed to echo off of the tiled walls. She stepped out of them, climbing on top of the unit, tugging him between her legs. A second rumpling of jeans and he was buried inside of her, clutching her closely.

He began to move leisurely, kissing her with indulgence. But his body was strung like an archer's bow, taut with resistance, holding something back. Scully moved against him insistently, one hand scratching at his shoulder, the other twined through his hair. She kissed him like a diver plunging into deep waters; the taste of exploration too sweet not to bite.

"Faster," she pleaded in his ear.

Mulder complied, giving in, releasing built-up tension with the snap of his hips forward. In quick and jarring thrusts he drove into her until it was too much and she came with a gasp, collapsing into his chest. Time seemed to slow. The pulsation of where they were joined throbbed up through him to his ears and pounded through his chest. He heard every lungful of air he took; every small, panting breath Scully puffed. Every plunge pushed him further until he too, gasping for air, broke the surface, floating euphorically on the waves of the ocean.

An indeterminate amount of time later, when it was moving at roughly the normal speed again, Mulder lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling with his arm outstretched and Scully's head resting on it. She was drawing aimless patterns around the scar tissue of where she had shot him. Moby had been rescued from their bag of belongings and the white whale was snuggled in the space between them. Everything should have felt easy.

"Scully..."

"Yes?"

"I– I..." He thought of Emily's face staring up at him. He wanted– needed to tell her about the hallucinations that haunted him but he didn't know if he could place that kind of burden on her. He shuffled onto his side and watched her watch him back. He was about to open his mouth when he saw Emily sat on the bed behind Scully, frantically shaking her head. He itched to make Scully turn over and see for herself the impossible. But there was something in that little girl's eyes, so like her mother's, that made him think of Scully first: how angry she would be if he said he could see her; how broken she would be if she saw her for herself.

"Why did you get those sunflower seeds?" he eventually fabricated to fill the silence, bottling his ghosts up and burying them for another time.

"What?" she asked, understandably bewildered.

Ignoring the nagging feeling that he was walking down the wrong path, aware it was still early enough to go back, Mulder sighed and continued, "You didn't have to get them, so I just wondered why you did."

"Because you like them and I saw them." She leaned away from him, questioning him and trying to gauge what was running through his mind. "Did you not want them?"

"No, it's not that. I wasn't expecting it– I didn't ask you to get them..." he continued to ramble.

She silenced him with a kiss, smiling. "You didn't have to."

When Scully pulled away from him, Emily had disappeared and he wondered why at all he was taking advice from his own deluded mind. Mulder looked up at the ceiling again. There were things he needed to get off of his chest, but Emily was right, even if she was only an apparition or a figment: he couldn't tell Scully, not at the moment. Maybe sometime in the future when the moment was right. Yet the longer he left it, the harder it would be to explain what was happening– to explain why it had taken so long to confide in her. The longer he left it, the harder it pressed against his chest; another weight to carry around. The harder it pressed, the more it weighed on his mind; another thought to worry about. The more he thought about it, the harder it pressed against his chest. It was like something inside him wanted to scream when he reflected upon it. So, he didn't. Instead, he pulled Scully closer and lost himself curled around her. Her warm skin against his own grounded him; her scent wrapped itself around him and tied him down. He focused on her breathing, matching his own to the same pattern until he was made up of a tiny piece of Scully that kept him sane and whole.

"Mulder," she mumbled. "Are you okay?"

"Shh, it's nothing," he whispered. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. "Try and get some sleep."

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

19 notes · View notes

gillians-leoni · 4 years

Text

Comfort and Warmth

Mulder finds comfort in Scully’s breasts.

Based off of this tweet

Thank you SO much to @msrafterdark for letting me use this wonderful photo for this fic! Her art is amazing and you should check it out!

Meg's Tumblrs: msrafterdark, megdoesart, msr polaroid project

Meg's AO3

Meg's twitter

Thank you so much to @gaycrouton for being able to beta on such short notice! You are amazing!!!

AO3 link

tagging @today-in-fic

There were many things for which Fox Mulder had given up hope. Ever since Samantha was taken, his world became hard and cold. The unconditional love he’d heard all parents were supposed to possess had morphed into resentment within his own, and so he hopped on a plane to England and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in psychology. If he was being honest with himself, he chose the field because of his want… no, need for the truth.

He was able to use his degree and become a highly sought after profiler for the FBI. However, what he really wanted was answers. Who took Sam? And why? Who would do these things? Were there more? What was their motivation? When he stumbled across the X-Files, it felt like Christmas day and winning the lottery combined. Finally, finally, he could start his search.

What he didn’t expect was to fall in love with the very agent who barely two years after his official beginning of searching for the truth was sent to be a spy, an enemy (or so he thought). To his surprise, she never looked down on his theories, even if she thought he was losing his marbles. Of course, they had misunderstandings, but they treated each other with respect and professionalism. Unfortunately for her, what started as just an assignment to debunk his work turned personal, and she would have just as much at stake as he did. Her pent-up frustrations with all that had been done to her by government men soon manifested until she couldn’t take it anymore. Her tryst with Jerse left Mulder with a sense of jealousy, but also a sense of bewilderment. He couldn’t believe it. Not only was he falling in love with her, she chose not to take her anger out on him when she had every right to. While he wished she hadn’t used sex as her outlet, he couldn’t blame her. After everything, she never did anything to lessen her devotion to their work.

Dana Katherine Scully stole his heart, but she never once stole his trust.

“Mulder?”

His thoughts were interrupted by movement and he felt Scully’s silky smooth hair under his chin.

“Hey, Scully.”

“I can feel you thinking.” Nothing ever got past her.

“Nothing… everything,” he answered.

“Hmm, I think you need to go to sleep,” she said as she moved her head to kiss just under his bottom lip.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Well, we already tried one option,” he stated with a grin.

She gently swatted at his chest and giggled.

They had been taking turns spending the night at the other’s apartment, and most nights at his place turned into passionate nights of lovemaking. Mulder very rarely received visitors, and the chance for interruption was slim to none. While she had argued the same, he had brought up the one and only time her mother had entered her apartment unannounced and walked into her bedroom right as Scully tilted her head back in ecstasy, using her hands to balance herself as she orgasmed with Mulder right on her heel.

Maggie Scully never entered without knocking again.

“I don’t think I have it in me for another round,” she stated. “Although, I do have another idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, lately, I noticed your admiration of my breasts,” she paused and smiled, “and how you like to hold them.”

“Oh, um,” he scratched his head self-consciously.

“Hey,” she ran a hand through his hair, “don’t be ashamed. I get it,” she chuckled.

“It’s just…they feel comforting?” Real smooth, Mulder.

“I know,” Scully chuckled. “I don’t mind.”

“Really?”

“Mm hmm.” To prove her point, she shifted and rested her back against Mulder’s chest. She took his hand and brought it under her pajama shirt to cup her breast.

Mulder sighed and rested his cheek against Scully's, letting the movement of her breathing, the beating of her heart, and the comfort of her body lull him to sleep.

What started as a one-time thing became his only way to sleep peacefully. Sometimes it was over clothing, sometimes he got to hold the soft, creamy skin directly. Either way, he was grateful. Scully was an angel, always letting him hold her in whatever way he pleased, which was usually like that first night, holding her breasts from behind. When Mulder went missing, she mentioned how different it felt without the feeling of his large hands comforting her as she held their baby, whispering sweet nothings about their daddy. Their first night together after he came back from the dead, he cradled their child inside her with one hand and held a breast with the other - the two most important people in the world resting in his embrace. While he went away for their safety, his nights were fitful, longing for her touch and she his. When they were reunited and on the run, he cried with her when he felt the release of her milk through her nursing bra, her having adopted out their son less than a week before. She had told him it may take several days until she dried up and so until then, he held them to relieve some of the pressure. Apologies were made as well as love, Mulder telling her over and over how strong she was and her doubting every word.

At the Unremarkable House, the had settled into a sense of normalcy as she was able to let go of her fugitive status and become a doctor for children. As always, he held her breasts as they slept, sometimes with her hands atop his. When the FBI asked for his help, he was eager to jump back in and help, but soon they drifted. He still held her.

While they were apart, his nights were very much like the first time, although this time was his fault. Scully had mentioned how he had started to hold her rougher than she liked, and while he tried, he couldn’t help but feel angry over the events of the year the world was supposed to end. She, rightfully so, couldn’t take anymore, and she packed her bags two years later with a promise of her love for him.

Their first intimate night together after four years apart was a new awakening. Mulder realized how much of his life was wasted without her and never wanted to give it up again. However, he wanted to respect her boundaries, so he didn’t hold her breasts in comfort like he had done so many times before, and consequently couldn’t sleep.

When Scully announced her geriatric pregnancy after thinking William was gone, there were feelings of confusion, elatement, love, and sorrow. That night was spent at the Unremarkable House and while Mulder held her, she had a vision. William was alive. They professed their love for each other and their children. During her pregnancy with their second miracle child, Scully had moved back into their home. One night while she couldn’t sleep, she moved his hands on her breast, telling him it was okay. They were okay.

After Lily was born, Mulder expressed mild annoyance at not being able to be comforted by her breasts like he was recently reaccustomed to due to the fact Lily was breastfeeding. Scully smiled and said, “just a little while longer.”

After Scully nursed their child for the last time, they cried like they did almost everything: together. For the life they could’ve had, the life they did have, and the hope that one day their beloved son would feel safe enough to find them and meet his sister, able to feel the comfort and warmth of his biological parents who still loved him and never forgot about him.

He placed a hand on her left breast, feeling the dum dum, dum dum of her heartbeat. Physical, ever-present proof of her love for him and that she was alive. She was alive and they were together. For good this time.

Mulder held her breasts and she welcomed it, never wanting him to let go.

#the x files #xf fanfic #my fic #fox mulder #dana scully #msr fanfic #msr #x files fanfic #the x files fanfic

74 notes · View notes

scullydubois · 3 years

Text

Only the Light: Ch. 10

Missy accompanies Scully to a doctor's appointment. Afterward, Missy confronts Scully about her feelings for Mulder, and Scully slips-up on the phone.

-----------------------------

She digs through her suitcase, searching for the business card she tucked in the pocket with her underwear. A sharp edge penetrates her skin, stings immediately. Her fingers close around the paper card and pull it out. A thin red cut traces the length of her middle finger, blood begging to seep out. She ignores it and grabs the phone off her nightstand, plugging in the number for the Aubrey Motel.

As she’s dialing, she realizes that it’s already past lunchtime in DC, and even though Missouri is an hour behind, there’s no way Mulder is in his room. She lets it ring anyway, then asks the man who answers for room 12. He patches her through, and sure enough, the line rings until it gives up.

Impressed by her own newfound patience, Scully hangs up and dials Mulder’s cell instead. She’s not exactly sure why she didn’t just do this in the first place; maybe she likes the idea of Mulder being stationary without her, stuck in his room like a lost little boy with no one to guide him. Her heart sinks when she thinks about Mulder gallivanting around Aubrey, solving the case like there’s nothing to it, like he could have been doing it by himself all this time. She wants him to need her. Naturally, she is ashamed of this desire.

She hits the call button and waits while an invisible force shoots across states and connects her to her partner. She does not have to wait long; he answers after the first ring.

“Hello?” He sounds the same as always. Simultaneously there and drifting, one body split between two minds.

“Mulder, it’s me.”

“Hey Scully.” There is a lightness in his voice now, like a balloon cut free of its tether. He is smiling, she thinks...She hopes.

“I just wanted to let you know I made it home safely…” She trails off, not wanting to stop talking to him, but finding herself with nothing else to say.

“I’m glad, Scully.” He always addresses her by name more when they are apart. This is a comfort to both of them. “How’s Melissa?”

Scully looks through the doorway, confirming that her sister is nowhere near to cause any antics. “She’s alright.” She deals in half-truths. “We’re going to the doctor later to get an x-ray, but I think it’s just a sprain.”

“Well, keep me updated. I found a lead on the case--Harry Cokely, the suspect of one of the 1945 murders. I’m on my way to see him. He’s been out of jail since ‘93.”

Scully gulps. “Are you alone?”

“Uh-huh.” He senses her tension through the line. “But I’ll be fine, Scully, he’s an old geezer now. What kind of agent am I if I can’t defend myself against an eighty year old?”

“You could have taken BJ with you.”

“And put a pregnant woman in the line of fire? I’ll be fine, Scully. They wouldn’t have let him out if he were still a danger.”

“Okay, Mulder.” This is not what she means, but it has already been a long day, and there is too much left of it to get into an argument with him.

“I might be able to come back tomorrow,” she blurts out, as if saying it will make it more true. “...I’d like to come back tomorrow.”

“Take all the time you need, Scully. I’ve got this.”

She knows he is trying to be accommodating-- though he so rarely is--but his casual manner confirms her worst fears about her own superfluity. “I want to work, Mulder, you know that.”

“I’m not gonna stop you.” Then, his voice uneven, suspecting but not willing to confront--”Just take care of Melissa--and yourself--okay?”

She nods into the phone. “I will.” She is staring at the barrel of Mulder’s metaphorical gun, knowing he won’t shoot, almost wishing he would. Bleeding out feels like the simple solution. “Bye, Mulder.”

She is leaving so soon, he thinks, grateful to have had her voice accompanying him on the trip. “Bye, Scully. Call the motel tonight, will you?”

“Alright.” She kills the line, each extra second another thorn in her side, a lie allowed to linger. Sin multiplying.

She stands there, clasping the phone in her hand and feeling like a stranger to herself. Her sister thought she should tell him before she flew a thousand miles and let an hour fall between them, and she disobeyed. What Melissa didn’t understand was that vulnerability is not a word in her and Mulder’s shared language. There’s no way to spell out the situation, even if she had wanted to. And she didn’t want to at the time. Or rather, she had wanted to so badly that it was dangerous, that she knew she risked more pain by telling than by withholding. She would have had to invent new words in their language, expand its bounds, and who knows what would come next. Give someone the language to express their feelings, and they will say them. And what then?

She is scared of her own feelings--and his too--because she knows that admitting means losing, somewhere down the road, and she doesn’t ever want to be without him. If she had never met him, she would never have to live without him. This is the gun that is always pressed to her head. She and Mulder are both holding the trigger.

She doesn’t know if he has such a gun against his temple, thinks that maybe he doesn’t, hopes so at least. There have been others for him, she knows this. Phoebe and...well, Phoebe’s the only one she’s met, and she wasn’t that impressive. But he’s a good-looking guy, and a good guy at that, and the whispers of a dark-haired woman who broke his heart float up and down the hallways of the Hoover building. He doesn’t tell, and Scully won’t ask because she worries that the mystery woman is the gun he holds against his own head.

She sets the phone back in its receiver, tired of thinking about guns and triggers and brains blown out. For now, she is in one piece--she’s pretty sure--and she would like to stay that way for as long as her soul will let her.

Her sister calls from down the hallway. “Dana, are you ready?”

Scully managed to book a last-minute appointment with her OB-GYN, thanks to Missy’s insistence that it was an emergency. Personally, she wouldn’t use such a strong word--I mean, it’s not like she’s hemorrhaging or anything. It’s the absence of blood that’s the problem. But there are tests, scans, and probing of the like that can be done, and once Scully admitted this her sister would not drop the issue. Off to every woman’s favorite place they go.

--------

The waiting room is a stepping stone, a purgatory, a beginning and an ending rolled into one. She has been here before, many times. In the past, it felt like an inconvenience, not a threat.

She makes an appointment every year, does everything exactly as she is supposed to do in between, and still she is here and scared. She is careful as careful comes, as prepared as one petite woman alone in the world can be. She can dislocate a jaw, strike a man’s legs out from under him, break a nose. And yet, and yet, and yet...Who first uttered “fairness,” thought it existed on this Earth?

Even so, the consolation of knowing lingers in the distance. Like the minutes between calling 911 and the ambulance arriving. Help is on the way. The nightmare will end, or it will settle in. Lucky or unlucky. Win or lose.

Scully is not sure what she wants to hear. Three tests is quite definitive; pregnancy is unlikely. And what else is there? That her cycle has been thrown off by stress, that it’ll come back on its own time, don’t worry about it? That’s no comfort. She doesn’t want something to be wrong with her, but she knows something’s not right, and what’s worse than knowing that you don’t know? She and Mulder have lived in that hell for years. She can handle mysteries of the outside world, but what a cruel trick for her own body to blockade her.

Missy nudges her from the adjacent vinyl seat, elbow meeting bicep. “What are you thinking about?”

“How my mind doesn’t know what’s going on with my own body,” Scully replies dryly. “I mean, I know I have a tendency to close myself off, but I’ve cloistered myself so much I no longer know what I am.”

Melissa frowns. “Don’t you mean who? Who you are?”

“No.” Scully shakes her head, looks at her lap. In her darkest thoughts and most blistering nightmares, she is not human anymore. They desecrate her, ravage her body, and leave a memento in her skin, a touch of them. It’s so vivid it might be a memory. Mulder wants an alien; he may have one. That would be ironic, huh?

Can you learn to believe in yourself when you become something you never thought existed?

Can you still believe in God?

Every job she has dreamed of doing involves solving. Knowing enough to know what you don’t know, then figuring that out. Taking the pencil lines, shading them in. Seeking and finding and never wondering why. She cannot keep this up. There has got to be a meaning.

It is not enough, anymore, to simply wonder for the sake of wondering. To cast light over the darkness because you are tired of the darkness. Why? Is she doing it for Mulder, for the traumatized twelve-year boy locked inside him? Is she doing it for herself, fending off the fallibility, reconciling her belief with proof so that she can get off her own back? Or is she doing it because she was told to, because she is still the daddy’s girl who wants to please?

Twenty-nine years, and she is still coming to terms with herself. We are all our own x-file. We are all taking ourselves apart and piecing ourselves back together and looking for meaning and losing our minds.

Missy reaches over the wooden arm of the seat and pats Scully’s hand. Scully is reminded that she hasn’t yet ruled out the possibility that her sister is a mind-reader.

“Dana?” a nurse calls. Her first name feels so secondary that Scully feels certain they’re calling someone else.

“Right here!” Missy responds, getting up and pulling her sister along with her. Scully tugs her sister’s sleeve like a child might, wonders if Missy has ever considered motherhood.

Once in the corridor, they separate. The nurse takes Scully to get her vitals checked, while Melissa seeks out waiting room D, where the nurse’s flat voice--already tired from hours on the job--told her to wait.

It is not long before her sister joins her there.

“How was it?” Missy asks before Dana even manages to sit down.

Scully shrugs. She turns her left hand to show the pink bandaid on her index finger. “My iron levels are above average.”

“That’s not serious, right?”

“No, it’s usually a good thing.”

They sit quietly, listening to the staticky alt rock song coming through the speakers. They are alone in this particular area, but nurses and doctors bustle just around the corner from them.

Scully regards her sister with a latent curiosity. “Have you ever thought about having children?”

Missy turns to her, laughs. “What?”

Scully is somewhat perturbed by her sister’s nonchalant reaction. “Do you want to be a mother?” she reiterates. “It’s not something we’ve talked about since we were kids, so I was wondering.”

“If my life unfolds that way, then surely I think I’d enjoy it. But I’m not prioritizing it.”

“Ahh.” Her sister has always had a particular reverence for destiny.

“And besides,” Missy continues, “it could be hard, you know, with Trinity and all.”

It takes Scully a moment to realize what she means. “Oh.” That’s something she’s never had to worry about herself. She runs her finger along the grooves of her bandaid, feels her heart clench up for her sister. “There’s always adoption.”

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s a long, drawn-out process from what I’ve heard.”

“Mmm.” Scully nods, wondering how two women could have two such conflicting problems.

Before she can voice the irony of this, another nurse pops out from around the corner, peers at a clipboard. “Dana Scully?” Her voice is bright and chipper.

“That’s me,” Scully says, raising a hand to show the bandaid, her battle scar.

“I’ll show you to your room.”

Missy pats Dana’s shoulder as she stands up. “I’ll stay here. Come get me if you need me.”

“Okay,” Scully breathes, grateful to be given her space yet to know support is right around the corner.

----------------

For someone that went to medical school--and enjoyed it, for that matter--Scully always feels much too out of place in a gynecology office. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. In textbook diagrams, in wall art, in her own flesh. Yet the 3D model of the reproductive system, the color-coded illustration of the uterus, and the various pamphlets on everything from STDs to birth control to what to expect postnatal smother her, serving as a fresh reminder that Catholicism’s tendency to repress haunts her still. She’s more bothered by her involuntary discomfort than what she sees.

Dr. Zapolsky enters, easing some of Scully’s nerves immediately. Tall and dark-skinned, she has been practicing medicine for 20 years, and Scully has been seeing her since she moved to Washington. She can be intimidating if you don’t know her, but she’s honest and extremely competent, two things Scully requires of her doctors. And herself.

“Hello, Dana.” Scully sits up straighter as the woman’s voice hits her eardrums. She’s admired Dr. Zapolsky for years, seeing her as an exemplary figure, someone that might have been a mentor to her had she put her medical degree to work. “What can I do for you today?”

There are few things Scully hates as much as being the patient. If she’s the patient, that means she has failed at being her own doctor. That means she didn’t know--and worse--didn’t think she could figure it out on her own.

She wrings her hands. “My cycle is over a week late, which is very concerning considering that it’s always been timely. I’ve been having migraines and nausea and nightmares, and I just know something is wrong.”

Dr. Zapolsky drops Scully’s file on the counter. “Well, the pregnancy portion of your urine test came back negative.”

“I took three drugstore pregnancy tests too, and they were all negative. That’s why I’m here.”

“Have you had any notable lifestyle changes over the past few months?” Dr. Zapolsky asks. “Anything out of the ordinary? Stress is a major contributor to fluctuations in the menstrual cycle, as I’m sure you know.”

Scully nods, gathers herself. Dr. Zapolsky is oblivious to the rabbithole she has just fallen into. “I was, um, abducted, about eight weeks ago, and I have no memory of it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Dana.” Dr. Zapolsky wheels her stool beside the medical chair. “We have a bit of catching up to do.”

“Yes,” Scully looks at her feet. They dangle a few inches above the tile like a child’s. Nothing new. She glances back at her doctor. “There isn’t much to say. I don’t know anything about what happened.”

“Well, tell me what you do know.” Then, seeing the apprehension on Scully’s face--”I’m not trying to play therapist, I just want to understand.”

Scully blinks slowly to keep from crying. It goes like this, it always does: she can manage the trauma until she has to say it out loud. This is a story no one wants to be in, but everyone wants to hear.

“I was taken by a man involved in a case that I worked on. Well, that my partner worked on, actually. I got involved--and long and complicated story short--the man broke into my apartment, bound my wrists and ankles, and stuffed me in his trunk. That’s the part I do remember. After the trunk, it’s all a blur really.”

The doctor furrows her brow. “How were you found?”

“I wasn’t found, I was returned. To the hospital. None of the staff had any idea how I got there, and I was bathed and cleaned by my abductors so no trace evidence was collected.”

“So no rape kit was done, then?”

Scully shakes her head.

The doctor uncrosses her legs, recrosses them with the opposite leg on top. “How long were you missing?”

“About a month...My mother bought me a gravestone, she didn’t think I would be found.” This is a detail she has never spoken out loud. Saying it feels like letting air out of an over-inflated balloon.

“I’m so sorry, Dana.” Dr. Zapolsky lifts a hand, then puts it back in her lap. “May I hug you?” Scully nods and lets herself be embraced, though she does not feel it necessary. “That sounds like a horrific ordeal.”

Scully shrugs as best she can with Dr. Zapolsky’s arms wrapped around her. “It comes with the job.” Always modest about her suffering, she is.

Dr. Zapolsky speaks into Scully’s ear. “No, I don’t think it does.”

The doctor lets go. Scully doesn’t say anything. She curls the fingers of her left hand around her right wrist and squeezes hard enough to be certain that it’ll leave a mark.

Dr. Zapolsky slides her stool back over to the counter, flips through Scully’s file.

“I’d say the best course of action is to start with a blood test. I’ll check a few hormone levels---follicle-stimulating, anti-mullerian, luteinizing. That’ll give some insight into your pituitary gland function and your egg reserve.”

Scully nods along. Those hormones are complicated names she barely remembers, but she trusts it’s the right course of action.

“With that, we can determine whether this is a symptom of a larger problem, or if it’s simply a result of the stress you’ve been under. It should only take a couple days to get the results back.”

Scully nods, bites her lip. More waiting.

“Have you been seeing a therapist by any chance?” Dr. Zapolsky asks.

Scully shakes her head. Dr. Zapolsky should know her better than that.

“Well, I highly recommend it even to those who have not gone through any trauma. And for a survivor, it can truly be life-changing.”

A survivor. What is she, a war hero? That word is fitting for her father, who lived on the sea and sought eternal rest there. Not her.

“Thank you, but I’m okay.” Scully cannot meet her doctor’s glance.

“If you need any referrals, I can give you some names.” Dr. Zapolsky is just trying to help, Scully knows this, but this is not the help she came here for.

“The FBI has an on-site psychologist,” she says to close the subject.

“Oh, what a wonderful resource.”

“Most definitely.” Scully smiles weakly and ducks her head, ready to get out of here.

-------

There are many things she is afraid of, but physical pain is not one of them. The unknown, slow but certain death--these are the things that spook Dana Scully. When you’ve spent years being told that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, you are prepared to suffer for honor.

This is simply the prick of a needle, a relinquishing. Doctors used to prescribe it as the cure for any ailment, believing it to vanquish toxins from the body. Med school would have been a lot simpler if that were true.

She watches the blood flow out of her veins and into the vial. Some people can’t look; she can’t look away. Missy is seated in the chair next to her, chin resting in her palm after her offer to hold Scully’s hand was rejected. She traces the path of her sister’s blue eyes as they slide from her arm to the vial in the nurse’s hand. Dana has never been afraid to look--that’s the problem.

In an instant, it is done. The nurse smooths a bandage over Scully’s skin, tells her they will call with the results in a few days. And then it is two sisters, going, going, gone.

----------

They have a pleasant ride home, a soft and sisterly evening in. The prospect of Dana going back to Aubrey in the morning never even comes up, much to Melissa’s relief. Perhaps the illusion of normalcy her sister pedals in her head has finally given way to their unreal reality. They don’t waste a moment on the uncertainty circling them, instead curling up on the couch with popcorn and gummy bears for another Golden Girls marathon.

“Which one do you think Mulder is?” Missy asks during a slow moment in the episode.

“Huh?” Scully laughs. “Which Golden Girl, you mean?”

“Uh-huh.” Missy pops a red gummy in her mouth. “Or is he too interesting to be pinned down?” she teases, mimicking the swoony non-answer he gave about Scully some weeks ago.

“I don’t know honestly,” she says, pushing a blanket out of her lap. “I’m not sure that I know him well enough to decide.”

“You’re kidding.” Missy glares at her. Clearly her sister has not dropped the illusion after all.

“No, I’m not,” Scully intones, getting up to refill the gummy bear bowl. “And that reminds me, he wanted me to call.” She glances at the clock. It’s half past 8 there, so surely Mulder is back in his motel room.

Missy isn’t letting her off the hook that easily. She follows her sister into the kitchen. “Dana, I guarantee that you know him better than anyone else in the world. If they conducted a test on every single living human being’s knowledge of Fox Mulder, you would get the highest score.”

“Knowledge isn’t the same as understanding,” Scully murmurs, dumping the remaining gummy bears into the bowl.

“I’ll give you that, but you know what? You do understand him, you’re just too afraid to confront it.”

Scully wants to recoil, but freezes in place instead. It’s just as dramatic but gives less away. After a breath, she crumples the plastic bag into a ball and dunks it swiftly into the wastebasket.

She speaks rigidly, each word cutting through the air. “If I understood him, there would be no fear.”

Missy feels this in her chest--the aching, the truth in her sister’s voice. Dana is as close to crying as she ever gets. Missy strides over, clasps her sister’s hands in hers. “You don’t have to be scared.” She pulls her little sister in, squeezes her heart to Dana’s own. “He loves you. And I’m not talking about in a romantic way--I don’t know, maybe--but just in general. He loves you, and he would never hurt you.”

Scully’s eyes are glassy with tears now, but Melissa cannot see this in the midst of their hug. “Haven’t you ever been hurt by someone who loves you?” She says into Missy’s ear. “We never mean it, but it happens. It happens all the time.”

“And then you apologize, and you go on. Being hurt once doesn’t mean being hurt forever.”

“It can.” Scully pulls away, wipes her cheeks before her sister can overanalyze.

“It won’t, not with Mulder. I know enough about him to know that.” She brushes her sister’s hair out of her face. “If anyone was going to cut off the relationship, it would be you.”

“Wha--” Scully gives up the protest. She is partial to burning bridges that are prone to collapse, a last-ditch attempt at dignity. Yet Mulder doesn’t strike her as a bridge that would burn even if she set it aflame. Maybe that’s worse though, it prolongs the struggle.

“Hurting him would be worse than getting hurt,” Scully mutters.

“Loving him would be better than not loving him,” Melissa responds.

“The correct phrasing of that argument is ‘loving him would be better than being loved,’ if you wanted to copy my logic.” Scully gets curt and analytical when she’s annoyed.

“Hmm, well, consider that too.”

Their eyes meet and Scully can tell that neither one of them is going to win. “I’ve got to call him before it gets too late.” They both know who he is. She turns on her heels and heads for her room.

--------

He didn’t pick up the first time she called, which scared her more than she’s willing to admit. She sat cross-legged on her bed until the phone rang again about twenty minutes later, until she heard his voice on the other line.

“Hey Scully, sorry, I was out wrapping up the case.”

“Wrapping up?” She doesn’t even bother to say hello. “It’s over?”

“Open and shut...or, err, something like that.”

“What happened?” Her voice strains for no reason. She clears her throat.

“I’ll catch you up some other time,” he says breezily. “How’s Melissa doing?”

For a moment, Scully forgets her lie and tries to figure out why he’s asking about her sister and not her. Then--”Oh! She’s okay, yeah, it was a sprain like we suspected. Nothing broken on the x-ray. She can just about walk normally now, I think she’ll be off crutches by tomorrow.” Embellish, embellish, embellish. Missy had taught her to lie in the 6th grade, and she finally had some use for that knowledge.

“That’s great! I’m flying back tomorrow morning, I can be at the office by 10 if you wanna meet me there.”

“Will you tell me about the case? And BJ? How is she?”

“I’ll...I’ll tell you that tomorrow, Scully.” There’s a bit of gravel in his voice, which Scully has noticed comes out when he’s tired or holding back.

“Fine. Should I assume that by 10, you mean 10:30?”

“Well, you know how the line at the Dulles Chick-fil-A gets,” he wisecracks.

Something goes wrong between her brain and her tongue as she goes to wrap up the conversation. “Alright, 10:30. Love you, bye.”

Mulder makes a noise like a stifled laugh or a cough that couldn’t be held in. “What was that, Scully?”

Her face is flushed, and she’s thankful he can’t see it. “Sorry, I’ve been talking to Missy on the phone a lot lately. Habit.” The voice flowing out of her sounds calm and collected, like that was just an honest mistake. In a way it was...a much too honest one that has made her anything but calm.

“Oh, is that who you say that to?” he teases.

She laughs. Surely he couldn’t think there’s anyone else, could he?

“Just Missy, and maybe my mom.” She says it like a promise. He hears it like a prayer. Unusual, for both of them.

“Bye, Mulder,” she says, ushering any sentimentality away.

“Bye, Scully. Hate you. Oh, sorry--that’s what I say to my dad on the phone.”

Scully giggles into the phone. She’s still giggling as she sets the phone back on the hook.

Even after the call flat-lines, Mulder holds the phone against his ear like it’s a seashell echoing Scully’s giggle back to him.

#thank u thank u thank u for reading #and your comments in the tags #i LOVE reading those #pls keep it up <3 #only the light fic #the x-files #the x-files fanfic #txf #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #missy & scully fic #mine

48 notes · View notes

aloysiavirgata · 4 years

Text

The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Title: The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG (language)

Timeline: Season 1

Summary: Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor.

Author’s Notes: Mulder reads Cicero and finds the method of loci tool useful in honing an eidetic memory. Also, the timeline of this show is absurd. Per canon, the Pilot is in March of 1992. But here it’s March of 1993 because...I just can’t, honestly. Thank you to @perplexistan for reminding me that I wrote this in 2013, and talking me through the timeline.

*** It's been a long December and there's reason to believe Maybe this year will be better than the last I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself To hold on to these moments as they pass - Counting Crows *** It’s gritty outside, gritty and gray with a rime of salt on everything. There are pockets of rotten snow for him to kick, slushy and satisfying against his heavy shoes. He pulls his coat tighter, feeling like a hard-boiled detective in a pulp paperback, thinking this would be a good time for a cigarette if he still smoked. His divorce papers were filed this time last year, just like his parents’ had been a couple decades back. The ink had scarcely been dry on the marriage certificate when they realized they didn’t know each other and changed their minds. It was the same time Diana left him and his - their - files for whatever the fuck had summoned her across the sea. Paperwork, as ever in his life, was all that remained of these experiences. If this were really a detective story, he thinks, stepping over a soggy Washington Post, a tall cool blonde would have walked in through the frozen mist and into his arms. Someone lithe, with red lipstick and half-lidded violet eyes. She would look like Veronica Lake and speak in a low, compelling voice, urging him to do brave and outlandish things to thwart the Nazis. He’d wear a fedora, buy a mink stole for the blonde. They’d drink martinis and make love in dark hotels smelling of leather and intrigue. But he’s not living in a dime-store novel, he’s living in Alexandria on Christmas Eve 1993 (“The New Age of Angels,” claimed Time magazine, somewhat cryptically) and is eager to turn the last page in his calendar. Mulder knows it’s symbolic only, that his Eurocentrism is showing, but he still watches the ball drop on TV. Last year he’d kissed a woman in a bar and gone home with her too, but doesn’t think he’d remember her face if he saw it. He hasn’t got the energy to entice a stranger this year, and Scully’s hardly his type. He shouldn’t be sleeping with coworkers anyway, it’s never worth the trouble and the FBI is full of people who are paid to do nothing but sniff out secrets. Besides, he is now 32 years old which is really about time to start getting your shit together even if your baby sister was abducted by aliens at Thanksgiving. Mulder generally holds the holidays in low regard. He pauses to watch a small flock of cats at an upended trash can, feasting upon pungent things like battlefield ravens. One of the cats glances at him sidelong, narrowing round yellow eyes as though Mulder has designs on the gray thing it’s gnawing at. He holds his hands up to show the cats he wishes them no harm, keeps walking. Scully had offered to drive him home but he thanked her and caught the blue line, the clank and rattle of the train making him feel like some variety of normal businessman. Maybe people thought he was a banker or a Congressional staffer, going home to a twinkling Douglas fir and a mantle hung with stockings. Nine months and a broken condom can, in many circumstances, result in a whole new person. But it’s been nine months with Scully and she’s still her own woman, though Christ knows Mulder’s tried to remake her in his own image. She’s trudged alongside him through graveyards, military bases, bad diners, and one memorable night in Pennsylvania where she had captured a frantic bat in the hotel lobby. (“Do you want to wait for it to take human form before I release it?” she’d asked drily.) Through all of it she remained disbelieving and supercilious, leaving him vexed. She’d chirped “Merry Christmas, Mulder” at him, assuming that he celebrated Christmas and was capable of merriment. He was afraid Scully’d bring in a little Charlie Brown tree for the office, ornaments smooth and shining as her earnest face. She is skeptical in all the wrong ways and probably has the Michael Bolton Christmas album on her stereo at this very moment. She probably has eggnog in the fridge and will drink it without rum. She probably likes fruitcake and ham with pineapple rings on it. Mulder, going home to the shadows of his apartment where he might listen to Pink Floyd and nurse his resentment with three fingers of whiskey, feels justified in his scorn. A couple loaded with gifts pushes past him and he nearly loses his balance on a patch of black ice, clutches at a lamp post. He gazes up at the endless sky as snow begins to fall again. (Scully’s probably delighted by the prospect of a white Christmas, probably whistling a few bars of the song as she puts on a green sweater.) But he’s being unfair, isn’t he? For all her tattling back to the higher ups, she’s never tried to present herself as an angel. Her primary fault is in not being Diana, not being a tall dark moon goddess. Being pretty rather than beautiful, being frank rather than alluring. He��s seen her smoking a couple of times, discovered that she says “Jesus!” a lot so that she doesn’t say “fuck” or “shit.” This amuses him; he thought the blasphemy would be worse. He knows Scully watches what she eats but turns to carbohydrates and wine in times of stress. He found out she was sleeping with that asshole Jack Willis, which really threw him for a loop because Scully has a schoolteacherish quality that led him to presume premarital abstinence. He thinks of her in that first motel room, her smooth back beneath his hands, her panic turning on some masculine caveman switch. It’s been a long year, perhaps she could be his type after all despite her sensible underwear. She’s attractive enough if you like that sort of Hibernian look. He can tell she’s a bit awed by him and he could manipulate that to his advantage. Mulder walks the last slushy block thinking impious thoughts about Catholic school uniforms and playing doctor. The honeycomb tile of his building is muddied, layered with fragments of leaves and footprints. A radio blares something about Barbra Streisand doing her first live concert in twenty years. Mulder shakes his head and imagines his mother on the Vineyard, frothing with excitement. “Merry Christmas Agent Mulder,” says Leo, the maintenance guy. Leo’s got some kind of intellectual disability that Mulder hasn’t bothered to diagnose, but he’s always quick to replace a kicked-in lock or a shot-out window, and Mulder therefore regards him as a master craftsman. He gives Leo money every year at Christmas. At present he’s attacking the hallway sludge with an ancient mop. “Merry Christmas, Leo.” He gets his mail, sorting through it as he ambles to the elevator. Bill; bill; Playboy; Christmas cards from his doctor, dentist, and insurance agent; coupons; a thick manila envelope from the divorce attorney. Mulder rolls it all into a bundle and shoves it under his arm. He’s fumbling with his keys when the elevator deposits him on the fourth floor. There are wreaths on most of the doors in his building, a handful of mezuzas. Number 42, as usual, conforms to no given standard. He stops when he sees Scully leaning against his door. “Um,” he says. “Hey.” She waves her fingertips, looking uncomfortable. She’s holding a cardboard FedEx envelope. “I forgot to give you this before you left.” “Okay,” he says, uncertain about the idea of Scully on his turf. “Hang on a sec.” He makes sure the packet from the lawyer is hidden, though she’s probably heard the whole story. He knows what the talk is. They all act like he’s John fucking Douglas, like he can guess what number they’re thinking of based on how they part their hair. He’s a sideshow act, the guy who can think like John Roche and Monty Props. A freak. Scully turns to slouch against the wall while he jiggles the latest lock open, wishing there were a convenient place to stash a can of WD-40. “So, uh, come on in, I guess.” She turns, walks under his arm as he hold the door open, and stands in the entryway. The door clicks shut behind him, a final sound. Mulder puts his mail on the kitchen counter, tossing his coat over it. “You want anything to drink?” he calls to her, unsure if he can make good on the offer. What the hell does Scully drink? Tea? Zima? He’s got a few beers in the fridge, his wife’s wine is long finished. “No, I’m good.” Her coat’s draped over her arm when he comes back out, and he hangs it up for her. He notices that she’s wearing jeans with a navy cable-knit sweater, no tartan in sight. Her boots are dark and practical. Mulder shrugs off his jacket, loosens his tie out of its regulation noose. “Here, sit down. There’s, uh, the couch is right over there.” His couch is the atramentous green of algae, appearing black in the close room. “So what’s up?” She holds out the folder to him. “I realized I had this when I got home and since it’s a three day weekend, I wanted to make sure you had it. I thought it might be important.” Scully sits down close to the edge of the couch, much of her weight on her knees. She presses her hands together between them after Mulder takes the envelope, bouncing a little bit. He looks at the return address and groans. Arlinsky, that idiot from the Smithsonian. Mulder’s got enough credibility issues without this nutcase on his tail. He tosses the envelope on his cluttered desk for later perusal. Scully, as the messenger, looks apologetic. “Bad news?” He sits next to her, why not? “Nah, just…you know. The usual.” “Ah.” He watches her do a quick scan of his apartment. He has nothing to be ashamed of, she can look around. Mulder removes his tie completely now, untucks his shirt and leans into the corner of his couch. “So I’m surprised you’re here, Scully. I got the impression Christmas was a…thing. For your family.” He waves his hand vaguely, as though families are something he read about in a Margaret Mead article but never fully understood. Something closes in Scully’s face, which intrigues him. Discomfort usually comes with a good story, but he’ll tease it out of her later. She scratches her elbow, stalling. “I’m going to go by my parents’ house tomorrow.” “Not tonight? No big Scully celebration with stockings hung by the fire and cookies for Santa?” He has picked these ideas up from Oxford and Christmas music. Santa would probably prefer a cold longneck and some nachos. “My sister’s coming in tomorrow, she’s staying with my parents so they’re getting everything ready tonight. My younger brother and his family too, they’re getting in late.” Scully looks faintly guilty for this wealth of relatives. Which one of them are you avoiding, Dana? “Fun,” he says in a tone that he hopes is not sarcastic. Scully shrugs, picks at the cuff of her sweater. “Yeah, it’ll be good. I’ll get to see my niece and nephew. What about you? What are you doing?” “Oh, just…you know. Laying low.” He’s meeting up with the Gunmen for Chinese food and bootleg video games from some Japanese guy they know, but he’s not ready to tell Scully about them. In part because she might want to meet them and would end up charging Frohike with a sex crime. “Sounds good,” she says in a non-judgmental tone. “I could use some down time myself.” “Job wearing on you?” Going to wimp out and request a transfer? She puffs a breath of air out, pushes the tip of her tongue to her top lip. “No. Well, I mean, it’s hard. We travel so much, I didn’t do that before and it’s taking some adjustment.” Mulder drapes an arm over the back of the couch, wishing he could take his pants off and order a pizza. But he wants to know more about what drives her; Diana left him wary of unknown quantities, and this is his first opportunity to peer into Scully’s head. “Yeah, I guess they mostly shipped the cadavers to you before, huh? When you were doing doctor things?” He sees a slight narrowing of her eyes at this, the implication that she’s not a doctor now. The fact that she took it as an insult means it’s a vulnerability. “Mostly.” He decides to push it, being as he has home field advantage. “How come you decided to stop practicing medicine?” Scully sits up straight, her palms on the tops of her thighs. “I didn’t realize I had.” Prickly. “Oh, sorry, no offense. I just….you left your residency to join the FBI, right?” Faker, he knows her career trajectory down to the day. “My work as a Special Agent has always revolved around my background in forensic pathology. I just felt…called to the FBI as the place to best put those skills to use.” Called, religious imagery. Interesting. Her reply had a rehearsed sound, it’s something she’s repeated numerous times. Who gives her grief about being an FBI agent? A younger brother wouldn’t, would probably look up to that. Mom or Dad, most likely, though it could be one of the older siblings. He’d put his money on Dad or big brother based on the cold formality of her words. Both men are in the military, she’d speak to that. And big brother wasn’t mentioned as being in town, so Dad it is. He throws her a bone for revealing so much. “I’ve heard nothing but commendations.” “Thanks.” The appreciation seems genuine. “So what about you, Mulder? Why….this?” Scully holds her arms out like an orchestra conductor. The gesture encompasses his desk, the groaning bookshelves and fading newspaper clippings. Area 51, Reticulans, ectoplasm, and jackalopes. “Study hard what interests you the most in the most undisciplined, irreverent and original manner possible,” he quotes. “Feynman.” Scully knows her physicists. “It’s the perfect con, really. I figured out a way to get the federal government to pay for my hobbies.” He hopes that will satisfy her, but knows better. “Why is it your hobby?” Ah, Scully. You little investigator, you. “I’m a lousy knitter.” She smiles. “Because of your sister?” He steeples his fingertips, taps them against his chin. It’s tempting to blow her off, but he considers the implications of her presence. There was no reason to bring that letter by; she could have called and he could have told her to round-file it. She’s trying to build something between them, she’s looking past his annoyance with her assignment and he’s not going to slap her hand away on Christmas Eve. “Hold that thought,” he says. Mulder goes to the kitchen for the beers and the churchkey magnet stuck to the freezer. He checks for food, but a cursory examination reveals that Scully is going to have to make do with some brews. She’s peering into the fish tank when he returns, scrutinizing the inhabitants. “I think one of your mollies is pregnant,” she says. “That spotted one.” “Yeah, they’re prolific little cannibals. Here, Scully. Have a drink.” He holds the bottle out to her when she turns, watches her hesitate for an instant before accepting. “Thanks,” she says. “Though I probably shouldn’t.” She pops the lid off when he’s done with the opener. Takes a long drink. “So,” he says, returning to his seat on the couch. “Why do I spend my time looking for ET and yetis, right?” Scully rolls the bottle between her palms. “It’s hard for me to understand why someone with your abilities chooses to use those gifts this way.” Once she rides out this dogleg, Mulder thinks, she’ll go far in the Bureau with her careful diplomacy. “When my sister was…taken, it was the first time that none of the authority figures in my life had an answer. Not my parents, my teachers, the police…no one could tell me what had happened. Years went by and there was still no solution. People stopped thinking about it, you know? They just acted like she was gone and that’s all there was to it.” “But not you.” Her voice is gentle. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that this was a question with an answer, even if no one wanted to delve deeper into what that answer was. I became, well, obsessed with the idea that there were all of these mysteries out there with answers that people were uncomfortable finding. So when I found the X-Files…” He glances sidelong at his partner, her nutmeg freckles and her cinnamon hair. “Isn’t that what you were doing already, though? Solving impossible cases?” He shrugs. “They weren’t impossible. They followed a pattern if you knew what to look for. But what I do now, no one wants the answer, Scully. That’s the real challenge.” “You caught Monty Props. Props, Jesus, that case is legendary! I want to understand, I do. I see what you’re saying about the challenge, it does make a kind of sense. But when I think about the people you stopped…” She shakes her head. She doesn’t get it. But she’s trying instead of dismissing him. That’s something. “That’s just it. Your reaction, it’s…look. Serial killers, they’re sexy. The public loves them. Everyone wants to be Bill Patterson or, or… Jack Crawford, right? People still read about Jack the Ripper, they practically turn these psychopaths into folk heroes. There will never be a shortage of people wanting to do what I did.” Half the beer is gone in his next swallow. Scully looks thoughtful, her thumbnail at the damp corner of the label on her bottle. “So this is like, what? Like a martyr thing? If you walk away from the limelight for this then it makes up for never knowing what happened to your sister?” She turns her head to give him a level gaze, her eyes so blue and clear they seem artificial at times. He’s been called worse than a martyr, but somehow it stings. “Martyr? That’s condescending.” “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. I just, I guess it’s hard for me to understand what you hope to gain. What all this means to you in the end.” Mulder’s had enough of her analysis. “I’m not like you, I don’t crave approval.” It’s her turn to look stung. “I didn’t mean to pry.” He sighs. “Your questions aren’t unfair. It’s been a hard year.” “I heard.” There’s sympathy in her tone and he tries not to resent it. “Listen, Scully, I know you didn’t ask for this assignment and you’re doing your best with a bad hand. It’s just hard to share a career I’m passionate about with someone who pretty clearly thinks it’s a waste of time.” Scully sets her beer on the coffee table, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands cupped around her chin. Mulder props his feet up next to her bottle, patient in the silence. There are deep shadows in the room, illuminated by the ambient streetlight through the curtains, the cool blue aquarium lamp. Puddles of light leak from the kitchen, but they barely stain the rug. Scully looks like a Hitchcock girl, white and pure, untouched by the surrounding gloom. She reminds him of Ingrid Bergman or Greta Garbo, her good bones and heavy-lidded eyes. “You know,” Scully says, muffled, “Pathology’s hardly the hottest specialty in med school. It’s not really seen as a place to make a career.” “The malpractice can’t be bad though, right?” She rolls her eyes. “You spend years of your life learning to care for the living and use it to examine the dead. People have…opinions about that.” This had not occurred to him, and he says as much. Scully sits up and settles back into the couch. “And to then take that to the FBI, well…” Full circle to the truth. “Lots of grief for that?” She shrugs. “From some more than others. My dad, he – look, Mulder. I’m not saying we’re in the same place or have the same ideas or that we’re both noble misunderstood renegades. I am not trying to oversimplify anything. I’m just telling you that I know what it’s like to care deeply about something that other people don’t necessarily understand.” She looks defensive after this, takes a fierce swig of her beer. Mulder eyes her up with a new appreciation. “I guess I just figured all doctors sit on pedestals.” “If so, some of the pedestals are much higher than others. I know you don’t like me, Mulder. Or at least you don’t like our partnership. We may never be friends, I realize that. But it’s been three quarters of a year, you have to let your guard down if we’re going to work together. I want what you want, answers to these questions.” He smiles at her. A real smile, and thinks that it’s been a long time since he’s done it. “But you still think I’m spooky.” Scully smiles back. “Absolutely. And I still don’t believe in aliens. Or yetis. Or missing time or vampires or Nessie. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe there are answers.” He scratches his chin, five o’clock shadow rough on his fingertips. Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor. “I did say I wanted a challenge.” “You did at that.” She returns her bottle to the table, then turns to face him. The aquarium provides a ghostly backlight, her hair gleaming like rubbed copper. He holds this image of Scully in his mind until it is indelible, then tucks it away to remember her by. The Rhetorica ad Herennium advises sensory encoding to aid in recall, and so he places her in the sunlit portrait gallery of his memory palace. Scully stands, crosses the room to take her coat from the rack. “I’m sorry the letter wasn’t good news.” Mulder gets up to join her. “It’s okay.” He squints when she opens the door, the hallway so bright it hurts his eyes. “Thanks for bringing it by.” “Okay, well, I’ll see you on Monday, I guess.” She seems hesitant to go. She probably feels sorry for him. “Thanks for the drink. And the company.” “Go,” he says. “You don’t want coal in your stocking for oversleeping tomorrow.” She laughs a little, then takes his hands in her small white ones. She gives them a squeeze. “This is going to be okay, Mulder.” He thinks she might be right, squeezes back. She lets go of him, walks out and turns right. He locks up behind her, her perfume still lingering on his side of the door. Diana’s not coming home. It’s time that he moved on.

#my fic #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #season 1 #new years eve

98 notes · View notes

myownsuperintendent · 4 years

Text

Fic: “Through the Years”

Scully, Mulder, Emily, and William experience life as a family through the years. Family fluff. I moved Baby #3 up five-ish years to make it less ridiculous. Rated T for mild sexual content. Also here at Ao3.

.....

They come up the stairs to her apartment, Scully carrying the bags. “This is it,” she says. “This is…this’ll be home.” Emily doesn’t say anything; she’s been quiet since they got on the plane this morning. Scully tried talking to her, pointing to the clouds and the tiny houses below, telling her about the fun things they’d do once they got to Washington. Eventually she let her sleep. She knows this won’t be perfect, not all at once. But she can’t help it: she has so much hope.

“Do you want to go in?” she asks. “See your room?” Emily nods, after a moment, and Scully unlocks the door and goes in.

Emily’s room should be ready, even though Scully’s been staying out in California with her. They ordered furniture from a catalogue—she let Emily pick out her new bed and sheets—and they packed up the things from Emily’s old room and had them shipped. She wanted it to be here for Emily when they arrived. Mulder’s been a help to her with all of it; he came over to her place to supervise the delivery. “Everything accounted for,” he told her over the phone yesterday. “I didn’t even injure myself setting up the bed.”

She laughed. “Thank you,” she said. “Really, thank you so much for…for everything you’ve done.” She hasn’t said anything to him, but she is worried that this will change things between them; she knows she won’t be able to travel as much, for one thing, and so the way they work will have to be different. She worried he might resent that, but so far there aren’t any signs of it; he seems as excited about the new direction her life is taking as she does.

“It’s nothing, Scully,” he said. “Any way I can help. Let me know.”

“Thank you,” she repeated, softly, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

And when she opens the door to what used to be a spare room, a place for her to store extra books, it’s Emily’s bedroom: everything they picked out is there. The new sheets are on the new bed, Emily’s picture books and stuffed animals are on the shelves, and there’s a night light on the wall. “Here we are, sweetie,” she says. “What do you think?”

Emily goes over to the bed. “What’s that?” she asks.

Scully looks; there’s a teddy bear sitting in the center of the bed, along with a little book. A card is propped against the bear. “Looks like it might be a present for you,” she says. “Should we read the card?” Emily nods, and Scully opens it. “Dear Emily,” she reads. “I hope you like your new room. Since I missed your birthday and Christmas this year, I wanted to give you some belated presents. Maybe I’ll see you soon. Mulder.”

Emily’s already holding the bear. “What’s belated?”

“It means late,” Scully explains. “Since it’s after your birthday and Christmas.” He didn’t have to get Emily presents at all, of course. He didn’t have to, but he did.

“Can we read the book?” Emily asks.

“Sure we can,” Scully says. She takes a seat on the bed, and Emily leans against her; she’s shy sometimes, but she seems to like this kind of proximity when Scully is reading to her. They do that a lot, because sometimes it’s the simplest way for them to be together: one that doesn’t bring up any troubles or uncertainties. The book Mulder gave Emily is called The Little Fur Family, and it has a fuzzy cover, which Emily touches gently while Scully reads.

When the book is finished, Scully shows Emily the rest of the apartment; Emily follows her, still not saying much. She carries the bear under her arm. “His name is Buttons,” she says, while they’re eating supper (Scully really needs to get groceries, after a month and a half spent in California, but luckily she found a box of macaroni and cheese in the cabinet).

“That’s a good name,” Scully says. “Would you like to call Mulder after we eat? I want to tell him we’re back, and you could tell him that you named Buttons.”

“Okay,” Emily says.

Mulder answers quickly when she calls. “Hey, Scully,” he says. “You home?”

“We’re home,” she confirms, looking down at Emily, who is sitting next to her on the couch. “Thank you for setting up the room. It looks wonderful.”

“Really, it was no trouble,” he says. “Glad to do it. Did Emily see her presents?”

“She did,” Scully says. “She has something she wants to say to you.” She hands Emily the phone.

“Hi,” Emily says, her voice coming out whispery. “Thank you…The bear’s name is Buttons.” She seems to have run out to things to say now; she looks up at Scully questioningly, and Scully takes back the phone.

“She really likes them,” she says. “Thank you so much, Mulder. You really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he says. “She deserves them.”

Scully smiles. “Well, thank you. I want to…I think we’ll take the next couple of days to settle in, the two of us. But after that…we’ll see you soon?”

“Of course,” he says, and she’s happy, when she hangs up the phone.

Emily wants to read The Little Fur Family again before bed, and Scully reads it to her before tucking her in, pulling the new comforter gently up under her chin. “Sleep well,” she says. “You remember where my room is?” Emily nods, sleepily. “Well, I’ll be right in there if you need me. I’ll leave the door open.” Emily nods again. “Good night, Emily. I love you.” She hugs her daughter tightly. She still can’t believe it all.

“Good night, Dana,” Emily says, in her soft voice, and Scully kisses her cheek and turns out the light.

It takes her a while to settle down—aside from the events of the day, her body’s still on California time—but she’s asleep herself when she hears Emily’s voice, suddenly. She sits up, trying not to panic, and turns on the light next to her bed; Emily’s standing next to it, crying. “Dana,” she says, “I had a bad dream.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Scully says, jumping out of bed, stooping down next to Emily, putting her arms around her. “It’s all right now. I’m right here. I’m right here.”

“My mommy…” Emily sobs, in the most heartbreaking voice Scully has ever heard.

“I know, sweetheart,” she says. “I know it makes you sad.”

She walks Emily back to bed, tucking her in again, drying her tears and stroking her hair. “I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep again,” she says. “How does that sound?”

“Okay,” Emily says, still with a choke in her voice.

“I’m right here,” she says again. “And I love you so much.”

She lies down next to Emily, although there isn’t much space on the little bed. She strokes her hair back and forth, humming a lullaby off-key. She isn’t sure when Emily falls asleep. At some point she falls asleep too.

.....

Scully’s mom called to say that she’ll be late—there’s a lot of traffic—so the three of them are waiting in the living room now. Emily’s huddled into a corner of the couch. “Where are you going?” she asks, not for the first time this afternoon.

“To dinner, sweetie,” Scully says. “But you’ll have lots of fun with Grandma. And we’ll be back later.” Mulder nods.

“Why can’t I come?” Emily asks.

Scully isn’t sure what to tell her. She kissed Mulder for the first time a month and a half ago—on this very couch, while Emily was sleeping down the hall, after the three of them had spent the day together—and since then the two of them have been, well, dating she guesses is the word for it, although it feels a little simplistic considering the history of their relationship. So far it’s going well. More than well. But she hasn’t wanted to tell Emily yet, just in case. She knows it’s not a good idea to introduce things like this into kids’ lives too quickly. And that’s even in cases where those children haven’t already gone through a lot of upheaval.

So she just says, “Mulder and I are going to spend a little time just the two of us. Because we’re friends and—”

“Mulder’s my friend too,” Emily says. “Aren’t you?” she adds, quickly, glancing up at him.

“Of course I am, Em,” he says. “What I think your mom is saying—”

“Why don’t you stay here anymore, then?” Emily asks. “Why don’t we all play together? We used to, and now…now we don’t!” And she bursts into tears then, her face pressed against the cushion. “Why doesn’t Mulder stay?” she asks again, sobbing.

Scully scoops her up, feeling horrible. Emily has a point: it used to always be the three of them, whenever Mulder came over, and now it isn’t, not always. She’d thought they were still spending plenty of time together aside from their dates, but apparently it isn’t enough for Emily. She’d thought she was protecting Emily from change; instead, she’s just made it worse.

“Oh, Emily,” she says. “I’m so sorry. Don’t cry, sweetie.”

“We didn’t mean to make you sad, Em,” Mulder adds, hovering over them, looking as upset as she feels.

“Why…do you…eat dinner…without…me?” Emily asks, in between sobs.

Scully makes a snap parenting the decision, the kind she’s had to make a lot of since last year and doesn’t feel used to yet. But she’s hoping the truth will be less painful for Emily. “Emily, Mulder and I…we’ve been going on dates. Do you know what that means?”

“No,” Emily says.

Scully tries to think of an explanation that will be within Emily’s frame of reference. She’s seen a number of Disney movies, which have probably been her biggest exposure to romance, but they tend to go for the love at first sight angle. But she can’t think of anything better, not quickly enough, anyway, with Emily still crying in her lap. “You know in Beauty and the Beast,” she says, “when they eat breakfast together and they play in the snow? And then they dance?” From the way Mulder is looking at her, she guesses she sounds insane.

But Emily latches on to the explanation. “Oh,” she says. “So it’s like falling in love?”

“Well…” Scully begins. She hasn’t used that word yet, with Mulder. She’s thought about it, but she hasn’t said it out loud.

Emily hasn’t stopped talking, though. She turns to Mulder now. “Do you love Mommy?”

Scully’s breath catches. But before she can say anything, tell Emily that she shouldn’t ask that, Mulder speaks. “I do.”

“Oh. That’s good,” Emily says, although Scully’s only dimly aware of it. “But why does that mean we can’t have dinner together?” She wipes her eyes.

“We…we can,” Scully manages. “We just…we didn’t tell you everything before, because we thought it would be a surprise for you.”

Emily looks at her, her head tipped to one size. “No,” she says, finally. “Not a surprise.” Scully is beginning to get a little annoyed with this kind of reaction. Her mom (“Well, it’s about time, dear”) was one thing, and Skinner’s knowing look when he bumped into them holding hands last weekend was another. But to have her four-year-old daughter tell her that it’s not a surprise…At least Emily looks happier now, though, and Scully gives her a hug.

“How about we stay home tonight, after all?” she says. “And when Grandma gets here, we can all have dinner together.” She gives Mulder a half-apologetic look, but he doesn’t seem upset at all. And looking at him makes her think of what he just said. He loves me, she thinks. She has to tell him; she can’t let him think it’s all on one side. But there’s Emily sitting right in between them.

She gets her chance soon enough, though. Her mom arrives, and Emily wants to show her the drawings she did in preschool that day, and Mulder offers to help Scully make dinner. He follows her into the kitchen, standing close to her as she takes vegetables out of the refrigerator and pasta out of the cabinet. “I didn’t plan to tell you like that,” he says. His voice is soft, almost self-conscious.

She turns and smiles at him. “I’m not complaining. Maybe Emily knows how to run this thing better than we do.” She steps up, takes his hand. “I love you too,” she says, the words coming out in a breath.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah,” she says. “Really.” His smile makes her feel warm. And she stretches up and kisses him, fairly chastely since her mom and Emily are right there, but hoping he’ll get the intention behind it. From the way he holds her, his arms tightly around her waist, she thinks he does.

Emily comes running into the kitchen then. “What are we having?” she asks.

“Spaghetti and vegetables,” Scully tells her.

“You want to help me and your mom?” Mulder asks. He hoists her up into the air, and she shrieks with joy. Scully knows how she feels.

.....

Mulder hears the door creak open, and Emily bounds in, landing on the foot of the bed. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Emily,” Scully says. “Remember that talk we had? About knocking?” They’re both fully clothed, because they know she’ll forget, but they’re hoping the message will sink in one of these days.

“Sorry,” Emily says. “I did remember. But I was just excited for today.”

“So’re we,” Mulder says. He ruffles her hair as she slides up to lie between them.

“What time are we going?” she asks.

“Our appointment’s at eleven,” Scully says. “So we have three hours.”

“That’s so long,” Emily says, pouting. “Three whole hours?”

“It’ll go faster than you think,” Mulder says, even though he secretly agrees. “Should we get up and have breakfast?”

Making breakfast distracts Emily a little, although he can tell that she’s still excited; she bounces up and down and pours extra maple syrup onto the pancakes. Scully catches his eye and smiles, and he smiles back at her. Emily’s right. It’s a momentous day.

They’re out of the house at last, in the car, driving to the courthouse. They’ve all dressed nicely; he’s wearing a suit, and Emily is wearing the blue dress they got her for the wedding. She’s still smiling, although Mulder’s a little nervous, and he thinks Scully is too. He doesn’t know why they should be—they were told that this second hearing was largely a formality—but maybe because it means so much. They each take one of Emily’s hands as they walk into the courthouse, and she looks up at them. Her face is serious now; maybe she’s caught the mood.

But everything goes as it should, as they’ve been told it would. They leave the courthouse with a copy of the adoption certificate: his name is on it, listed as Emily’s father. She’s already been calling him her dad since he and Scully got married, but it means something that now it’s official. They all feel it. He stoops to hug Emily before they get back in the car, kissing the top of her head.

They go out for lunch afterwards, and they get ice cream too; that’s part of his job as Emily’s dad, he thinks, buying her ice cream. She sits by his side in the restaurant booth, scraping the bowl with her spoon, and leans against his shoulder.

When the waitress brings the check, he says to her, “Would you mind taking a picture of the three of us?”

“Sure,” she says. “Not at all.”

They hang it on the refrigerator, the picture of him and Scully and Emily, all sitting together, all smiling. A family in print.

.....

William’s the most incredible thing Mulder’s ever seen—and he’s seen a lot of incredible things. He’s been alive for twelve hours now, and the novelty hasn’t worn off one bit in that time. He can’t take his eyes off his son, a tiny bundle in Scully’s arms.

“Hi there,” Scully says to William, who’s staring up at them both. His eyes are blue. “Do you know that we love you more than anything? Because we really, really do.”

“Your mom’s right,” Mulder says. William yawns, and he marvels. “He just…he’s amazing, Scully.”

“Isn’t he?” She looks exhausted and overjoyed.

Maggie stayed with Emily overnight, but they should be on their way to the hospital now. Mulder wonders how Emily’s going to take to her brother. A part of him can’t imagine anyone not adoring William, but he knows that Emily’s been anxious about not being the only child anymore. Especially during the last few months of Scully’s pregnancy, she clung to the two of them, wanting seemingly constant attention. “Will you love me as much as the baby?” she asked, only a few days ago, and even though they told her that of course they would, trying to reassure her with hugs and soothing words, she still looked unsure.

There’s a tap at the door to the hospital room. “May we come in?” Maggie’s voice.

“Yes, come on in!” Scully calls.

The door opens, revealing Maggie and Emily, who’s clinging tightly to a bunch of flowers. “Mommy! Daddy!” she says. “I missed you.”

“We missed you too, sweetie,” Scully says. Mulder takes William, and she holds out her arms. “Come here so I can give you a hug.”

“Gently,” Mulder adds, as Emily runs towards her mother. She stops for a minute and then slows her steps, giving Scully a careful hug.

“We brought you flowers,” she says, as if just remembering; the bouquet is a little crushed now from the hug, but Scully takes it anyway, smiling.

“They’re so beautiful,” she says. “Did you pick them out with Grandma?” Emily nods, and Scully kisses her cheek. “Well, thank you both so much.”

Emily’s looking up at William. “Is that him?” she asks.

“Yes,” Scully says. “That’s your brother. Do you know what his name is?”

“William,” Emily says. “Grandma told me. After she talked to Daddy on the phone.”

“That’s right,” Scully says. “Do you want to say hello to him?”

“Okay,” Emily says. They all crowd around; Mulder moves, carefully, to sit on the bed next to Scully and Emily, and Maggie comes by too, wanting to get a look at her grandson.

“This is William,” he says, softly. “William, this is your grandmother. And this is your big sister, Emily.”

“Oh, he’s so sweet!” Maggie exclaims. “Look at that face! I think he looks like you, Dana.”

“I think so too,” Mulder says.

Emily is staring. “He’s so little,” she says finally, in a soft, awed voice. “I didn’t know he’d be so little.”

“Well, he’s brand new,” Scully says. “Not even a whole day old. Do you want to say hi to him?”

“Hi,” Emily says. Her voice is still soft, almost a whisper and very, very gentle. “Hi, baby William. I’m Emily. You’re so, so little.” She looks up at them. “His hands are so little.”

“They are,” Mulder says. “If you touch his hand with your finger, he’ll grab it.”

Emily looks astonished. “Will he, really?”

“Try and see,” Mulder says.

Emily places her index finger gently against William’s hand, and his own fingers curl around it, gripping tightly. “Wow,” she says. “Wow.”

“Would you like to try holding him for a little bit?” Scully asks.

“Oh,” Emily says, “oh, could I?” There’s longing in her voice.

“Why don’t you sit in the chair,” Mulder says, “and I’ll bring him over to you?” Emily nods quickly, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed, and Mulder hands her William, carefully, supporting her arms with his own at first. “You have to keep one hand under his head,” he tells her. “Like this, see?” Emily nods seriously, mimicking what he’s doing. Even when he takes his arms away, he hovers near the chair. Emily’s right: William is so little, and so precious.

“I’m your big sister,” Emily is saying to William. “Your big sister. And I’m going to take care of you. Because you’re so little.”

So far, so good, Mulder thinks. She doesn’t seem like she’s upset about William being here. He looks at Scully, who’s watching Emily hold her brother with an incredible smile on her face. He bends over to kiss her cheek.

They go home from the hospital the next afternoon. They settle William into his crib, and then Mulder helps Scully get settled too, putting her things away for her, arranging her pillows until he’s sure that she’s comfortable. “Mulder,” she says. “You don’t have to do all of this.”

“You just had a baby, Scully,” he points out. “Two days ago, in fact. You know, I couldn’t do what you did.”

“Yeah,” Scully says, grinning. “I don’t think that’s physically possible.”

“You know what I mean,” he says. “You’re incredible. A force of nature. And you deserve to rest now. While William’s sleeping. You will rest, won’t you?”

“Yes,” she says. “I’ll rest. Since William’s sleeping, and all.” He can tell she’s tired from her voice, from the way she settles back on the bed. He leaves her to sleep then, thinking he’ll look in on William. He wants to make sure everything’s okay with him.

As he heads toward the nursery, he can hear Emily’s voice. Hoping she’s not waking William up, he opens the door carefully. William’s awake, but he’s not crying or fussing, just staring at his sister. She has her face pressed up against the bars of the crib, and she’s reading aloud. Mulder can see the book in her hands. The Little Fur Family.

“Em?” he says. “What are you doing, sweetie?”

She turns to look at him. “I’m just reading to him. To keep him company. He likes the book.”

Mulder smiles at her. “Can I sit with the two of you?”

“Yes,” Emily says, and Mulder takes a seat in the rocking chair, his eyes on his children. Emily finishes the book, closing the covers carefully. “I can read you another book later,” she says to William. “I have a lot of good ones.” He blinks at her, and she turns to Mulder. “Daddy?”

“Yes, Emily?”

“I really love him,” she says. “I think I’m going to love him forever.”

“Me too,” Mulder says. He stoops down and hugs her. “And I’m going to love you forever too.”

They sit quietly in the nursery, the three of them, until Scully comes in to join them. She feeds William, then, while Mulder gets dinner together for the rest of them. He’s tired too—he can feel it, somewhere in the back of his mind—but right now he doesn’t care.

.....

It’s one of those days when William just keeps fussing and fussing. Emily usually likes to play with him, but not right now, not when he just cries whatever she does. Mommy says that he might be getting new teeth; she’s trying to get him to stop crying by giving him things to chew on. But Emily’s tired of it, right now, so she goes to see if she can find Daddy.

She finds him sitting on the back steps, looking out at the yard. She sits down next to him. “Hi,” she says.

“Hi, Em,” he says. He doesn’t look at her when he says it, so she tries to figure out what he is looking at. The flowers, she thinks.

“Are those the ones you planted?” she asks. “For…for Samantha?” She isn’t sure if she should say Aunt Samantha, because Samantha was Daddy’s sister and that would make her Emily’s aunt, if she were here, but Emily never met her. She died a long time ago, she knows. That’s why Daddy planted the flowers when they moved into the house, earlier this year, and Mommy helped. They planted them at the house, because Samantha was dead but Daddy didn’t have a cemetary to visit for her, like you do with most dead people. Emily couldn’t see them then—they were just seeds—but now she can; they’re bright yellow ones.

Daddy nods. “Yes.”

“They’re pretty,” she says. “Do they make you sad, though? To look at?” His face looks a little sad.

“The flowers? They don’t make me sad, exactly,” Daddy says. “They just make me think about Samantha. And that makes me sad, sometimes. Because I miss her.”

Emily nods. “I’m still sad when I think about my other mommy and daddy, sometimes,” she says. “Even though that was a long time ago too.”

Daddy puts an arm around her. “I think we all feel sad,” he says, “when we think about people we miss.”

“Was it a really long time ago?” Emily asks. “When she died, I mean.” She thinks it must be, because she’s seen a picture of Daddy with Samantha, and he was only a kid in it. An older kid, but still.

“Yes, a long time ago,” Daddy says.

“How old were you?” Emily asks.

“Well, I was twelve the last time I saw her,” Daddy says. “And she was eight then.”

Eight’s not a lot bigger than Emily. She doesn’t really like to think about it. “Did you play together?” she asks. “Like me and William?”

“We did,” Daddy says. “Sometimes we’d play outside, on nice days like this. That’s why I decided to come out to look at the flowers. Just to remember her. Just to think.”

Sometimes people like you to be quiet when they think, Emily knows. “Do you want me to go back inside?” she asks. “So you can think?”

He smiles at her. “No, that’s okay, Em. You’re not keeping me from thinking.”

They sit and look at the flowers together then. “I think they’re really pretty,” Emily says. “I bet she would like them so much.” Daddy doesn’t say anything. “Would we all play together?” she asks. “If she were here?”

He smiles at her, but his eyes look sad. “I bet we would,” he says, and he hugs her tight.

She hugs him back. “It’s okay to be sad,” she says, because Mommy and Daddy tell her that sometimes.

“Yeah, Em,” he says. “You’re right.”

They sit there for a while longer, and when they go back inside she gives William a hug too. Because he is her brother, even if he fusses a lot.

.....

It's been a busy several weeks. They’ve both been swamped at work, and then the kids have been passing a series of bugs back and forth between them. Scully knows it’s entirely out of their control, but after the third week of sniffling and coughing she wondered if they were doing something like licking the walls in the school bathrooms. Childhood illnesses are something she’s equipped to deal with, and she’s very grateful that her children are facing nothing worse, but that doesn’t make it any more fun.

She’s barely had any time to spend with Mulder, either, outside of the daily round. They’ve been tag teaming work and childcare and housework (the latter pretty minimal at this point), but something’s had to give, and unfortunately that something’s proved to be them as a couple. They’re too exhaused, most nights, to do anything more than smile at each other over the dinner table and then fall asleep as soon as their heads touch the pillow. She remembers days in the office, in the car together, in motel rooms, when she was sure she was going to die if she didn’t get to touch him. Now she’s got the chance, and she doesn’t have the energy to take advantage of it.

She tucks in Emily one night; she thinks Emily’s getting over whatever she has, although she doesn’t want to count on anything by now. “Are you feeling any better, sweetie?” she asks.

“I think so,” Emily says. She still sounds congested, but not as much as she did yesterday.

“Well, I’m sure sleep will help you,” Scully says. “Good night, Emily.”

“Good night, Mom,” Emily says. Scully turns out the light and leaves the room.

Mulder’s sitting on their bed, working on something on his computer. “Hey,” he says, when she comes in. “Just trying to get this lesson plan done. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says. She opens her drawer to look for pajamas. “I’m behind on that too.” She sighs.

Mulder looks up. “You doing okay?” he asks. “I mean, I guess none of us are doing great right now, but under the circumstances?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she says. She flops down next to him, just for a minute, and promises herself she won’t fall asleep in her clothes. At least tomorrow’s Saturday, thank goodness. “I just hate feeling like I’m dropping the ball.”

“You’re not dropping the ball,” Mulder says. “Life happens to everyone.”

She knows he means it. She knows she should accept the comfort. She thinks it’s probably easier to extend yourself that kind of grace when you’re not trying to be a woman in a workplace that’s still dominated by men. When your male students don’t talk to you with condescenscion. When you’re not being told what you have to do to be a good agent and what you have to do to be a good mother and finding impossible gaps in between them. She knows if she told Mulder this he would listen. But she doesn’t feel like it.

“I guess,” she says.

“Also,” he says, “I know we haven’t had much time to think about it, but do you have any ideas about what you want to do next Sunday?”

Sleep for fifteen hours, she thinks. “Is something going on next Sunday?”

“Yeah,” he says, “our anniversary.”

Shit, she’s an idiot. Add good wife to the list of impossible roles she’s trying to play right now. “I lost track of the dates. Sorry.”

“Hey,” he says. “It’s okay.” He kisses her cheek.

“It’s not okay,” she says. “I just…I wish we had more time for us.”

“We’ll get through this,” he says. “The kids are getting over their…whatever it is they have this time. And then we’ll catch up on work and…we’ll get through this.”

She knows he’s right, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. “I’ll think about next Sunday,” she says. “Try to come up with something.”

“Surprise me,” he says. “You’re good at that.”

“You’re good at it too,” she says. He’s never stopped surprising her, in all these years together. That’s one thing she can be glad about.

They don’t talk about it more right then, because they’re still exhausted. He finishes up the lesson plan, and she puts on her pajamas, and they both fall into bed.

Scully does try to think about their anniversary though, in between all the other things that make up her day. What she’d really like would be just for the two of them to have some time alone together, some time to relax and enjoy each other—that seems special enough right now. Maybe she can enlist her mom, she thinks, get her to take Emily and William for the day. She calls her, in between classes, and her mom says she’s happy to do it, that she’d expected to be asked, even. So that’s one part of the problem solved. Now she just has to figure out what to do with the rest of the time, if she should plan something or just let it unroll spontaneously. She doesn’t want to half-ass things, but then sometimes the spontaneous days, with the two of them, are the best ones.

She doesn’t have that much time to dwell on it over the course of the week, though. Emily and William are both healthy again, back in school, but that means extra time to devote to catching up on the work she let slide when they were sick. In her spare time, she wonders if Mulder is planning anything. It would be nice to let someone else do the work for once. Still, she wants him to know how much she appreciates him too.

And before she knows it, it’s Saturday night, and she still hasn’t come up with much of anything. At least she has the babysitting locked down. “My mom’s going to watch Emily and William tomorrow,” she tells Mulder. “So we can have some time alone.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mulder says, and, in response to her inquiring look, he adds, “I called to ask her, and she said you’d already arranged it.”

“Oh,” she says. “Great minds think alike, I guess.”

“Absolutely,” Mulder says. “Do you have a surprise planned for tomorrow, Scully?”

“Sure,” she says. She doesn’t add that if there’s a surprise, it will be a surprise to her, too. He smiles at her. She’s afraid he’s planned something elaborate, something to which anything she can plan in the next few hours won’t possibly measure up.

When he’s gone downstairs to look for a book, she digs through her underwear drawer—maybe there’s something she can wear in there, something special that he hasn’t seen in a while. They don’t often have time to make an occasion out of sex these days; of course, it’s still enjoyable when it’s not an occasion, but since it’s their anniversary, well, she wants it to be at least a little special. A lot of what she finds is depressingly practical, but near the bottom there’s a black set…She’s not even sure when she got it. But it’s pretty. Lace trim, red ribbons at the hips and the cleavage. She picks it up, looks at it. She likes what she sees. She wants Mulder to like her in it, but she thinks it might make her feel good too.

She stuffs it back into the drawer when she hears Mulder coming down the hall, but she’s smiling now. At least she has something planned. Even if it’s not elaborate, it’s special.

Her mom picks the kids up late in the morning, and then it’s just the two of them.

The energy feels different, as soon as the door closes. A day for her and Mulder, with no responsibilities. She feels like a kid playing hooky. She feels delicious. She feels like she wants Mulder to find out what she’s wearing under her t-shirt and jeans.

She thinks he feels the same, from the way he’s looking at her, and that’s before he presses her back against the wall and kisses her. She kisses him back, abandoning herself to it. Today she wants to be exhausted again, but only in the best way.

“So I have to admit,” Mulder says, drawing back from the kiss, “that I didn’t come up with much of a surprise for today. Because I just wanted to spend time with you.”

“I want that too,” she says. “Mine’s only a little surprise. But I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure,” he says. “Right now, I want to take you upstairs and make love to you. How does that sound?”

“I like what you’ve got in mind,” she says.

“And we can do that until we get tired of it,” he says, “or until our limbs don’t work any more. Whichever comes first.”

“I don’t think,” she says, “that I’m going to get tired of it.”

He half-carries her up the stairs.

This is what she needed, Scully thinks, as they kiss and kiss and kiss. As they pull at each other’s clothes; she tugs his shirt off and runs her hands down his chest, and he grabs her shirt too, pulling it over her head. And then he stops and looks.

“Scully,” he says. Just that word, just her name, but that and his look are enough. Even before he says, “God, you’re so beautiful.” And he says that again, when he has her jeans off and he’s looking at her. And “You’re so fucking sexy.”

They make love until she feels boneless, utterly sated, more content than she’s been in weeks, and so full of love for him. Then they drag themselves down to the kitchen, where they make a meal out of various leftovers. It’s not exactly a fancy anniversary dinner, but Scully can’t think of anything she’d rather do than be here with him. From the way he’s smiling at her, she can tell that he feels the same.

“So I did get you a little something,” he says, when they’ve finished eating. He opens the freezer, takes it out, and presents it to her. Rocky road ice cream, the good brand, the kind she doesn’t keep in the house because she knows one of two things will happen: the kids will eat it before she gets a chance to, or she’ll have to scarf it down to keep that from happening. But the kind she likes the best.

“Thank you,” she says. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says. “And hey…I wanted you to know that I’m proud of you. You do an amazing job with everything, even in crazy weeks like this one.” He smiles at her. “You deserve to feel good about that.”

She didn’t tell him how she was feeling in so many words, but he knew. She doesn’t answer him in so many words either, but she kisses him long and slow.

She eats the ice cream right out of the carton; she offers Mulder some, out of obligation, but he doesn’t take any, except for a little that he licks off her lips. “What time is your mom bringing the kids back?” he asks.

She looks at the clock. “Around seven, I think. She said she’d give them supper. We still have a few hours. Back to bed?”

“You read my mind,” he says.

They make love again, and then they doze next to each other, which is almost as pleasurable, in its own way. She’s so happy they had this day for just them. But she’s truly happy, too, when the doorbell rings and they go down to hug their children hello.

.....

Emily’s really good at baseball. She plays with high schoolers, a lot of the time, even though she’s only in middle school, and she’s the shortest one and the only girl, mostly. She’s William’s favorite baseball player. He likes some other ones too, but Emily’s special because she’s his sister and he actually knows her. The other baseball players he likes he only gets to see from far away.

He also gets to play with her. Even though she’s so good, she’ll always play catch with him. She can throw the ball really fast, he’s seen her, but when they play together she throws it slowly so he can catch it. She helps him practice hitting too, and she’ll run around and catch the balls he hits, even though a lot of them don’t go where he means them to go, and sometimes she has to run a really long way.

“It’s okay,” she’ll tell him. “That’s why you practice. I had to practice a lot, to get to where I am.” Sometimes when Emily says things like that, their dad says that she’s twelve going on twenty-five. William’s not sure what that means, but he thinks it’s a good thing, because he always smiles when he says it.

William wishes he could be as good as Emily, even though she tells him she wasn’t that good when she was six. Everybody in their family likes baseball. They all like to watch it, but William’s the only one who can’t really play it. When Emily practices with just their mom and dad, they can go fast, but when he plays with them, they have to go slow. Emily’s a lot older than him, and mostly he likes that because she can teach him things and stick up for him and they don’t really fight a lot. But sometimes he wishes he could be bigger, so that he could be good at things like she is.

They’re playing catch together in the yard one day when their dad comes outside too. “How’s it going?” he asks them.

“Good, Dad,” Emily says. “I’m trying to show William how to throw the ball overhand. Want to show Dad, William?”

So he tries, but the ball doesn’t go where he wants it to go. It almost goes into Emily’s face, but she ducks. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s hard.”

“That’s okay, Will,” Emily says. “You just have to keep trying.”

“You’ll get it soon, buddy,” their dad says. But William doesn’t know if he will or not. He knows Emily says she had to practice a lot to be good, but he doesn’t remember her ever not being good.

“I guess,” he says softly. They play for a little longer, and then Emily says that she has homework to do, and she goes inside. William sits down on the steps.

His dad sits down next to him. “Everything okay, Will?” he asks.

“I wish I could be good at baseball,” William says. “Everyone else is.”

“You’re still learning,” his dad says. “What matters is that you have fun with it. Do you have fun playing?”

William thinks about it. Sometimes he does, but sometimes he doesn’t, because it’s hard. “I guess I do,” he says. “Usually.”

His dad looks at him for a minute, and then he squeezes his shoulders. “You don’t have to play if it’s not fun,” he says. “You can take a break.” But that just makes William feel worse, like his dad doesn’t think he should keep playing. Because maybe he’ll never be good like Emily. He just shrugs then, and he stays sitting there while his dad goes inside. He bounces the ball up and down, and then it rolls away.

He's watching it when his mom comes outside. “Hey, Will,” she says. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” William says.

“Your dad told me you were feeling a little sad,” she says. “About baseball.” She sits down on the step behind him, and he leans against her legs.

“Emily is so good at it,” he says. “And you and dad are good too. But I’m not.”

She smoothes his hair. “It’s hard sometimes, when you’re younger,” she says. “I remember when I was your age. I wanted to be able to do everything Bill and Missy could do.” That’s her older brother and sister, William knows—Uncle Bill in California, who they sometimes see at Christmas and Thanksgiving, and Aunt Melissa, who died before William was born. “You know how we moved around a lot, right?” William nods. “Missy was so good at making new friends, wherever we went. I wanted to be able to do that too.”

“So what did you do?” William asks.

“Well, I sulked some of the time,” his mom says, and she laughs. “And then I tried to copy whatever she did, but that didn’t work so well either. And finally…I tried doing things I was interested in and finding people who liked to do them too.”

“And that worked?” William asks.

“It did,” his mom says. “Much better than trying to be exactly like Missy.”

William can tell she’s trying to tell him something. “I don’t want to be exactly like Emily,” he says. “It’s just that she’s really good, and I think…I think that’s nice.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” his mom says. “It’s good to have things you want to do, Will. But you shouldn’t get down on yourself if they don’t happen exactly like you expect them to.” She kisses the top of his head. “And there can be different ways of playing baseball. Just like there can be different ways of making friends.”

William doesn’t understand that. There’s a way you’re supposed to play baseball; it’s in the rules. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Well, think about it,” she says. “First of all, you can play lots of different positions, right?”

“Right,” William says.

“So you might be better at one than at another,” his mom says. “And then there are different reasons you can like to play. Like Emily likes to play with her team. And I just like to play with you and Emily and your dad, so I can spend time with all of you.”

That makes sense, William guesses. “Are you saying I should just play at home?” he asks. “Instead of on a team?”

“Not exactly,” his mom says. “If you want to be on a team, I think you should keep practicing for that. And I’d be happy to help you. But if you’d rather just play with us, that’s okay too. It doesn’t mean you can’t be good at baseball. Or that you can’t love it.” He looks up at her; she’s smiling. “One of the reasons I love baseball is because your dad showed me how to play it. And that’s a really good memory for me. It might not be the reason anyone else loves baseball, but that’s mine. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

William thinks about it. He thinks about going to a baseball game for the first time, with his mom and dad and Emily, and eating lots of popcorn, and all of them wearing matching baseball caps, and cheering so loud. He thinks about Emily playing catch with him, every day sometimes, in the summer. “Yeah,” he says. “I understand.” And he hugs his mom. She hugs him back.

.....

The first time Scully went away for a conference, after they had the kids, she called at least twice each day to check in, to tell them she missed them. (Mulder would make fun at her, if he hadn’t done exactly the same thing.) Now, when Emily’s sixteen and Will’s ten, she’s a little bit more calm about it all. She’s away until Saturday; today’s Thursday, and she told them she’d call this evening, and Mulder doesn’t expect to be hearing from her ahead of schedule.

When he gets home from work, he decides to ask the kids if they have any ideas about what they want for dinner. “Pizza,” Will says. He’s doing his homework at the kitchen table.

That sounds pretty appealing. “Good idea,” Mulder says. “Do you know where Emily is? I’ll check with her too.”

“She went up to her room, I think,” Will says, and, as Mulder turns to go, he adds, “She was mad about something.”

“Mad about something?” Mulder asks. “What do you mean?”

Will shrugs. “I don’t know. I asked her what was up and she told me to leave her alone. And I didn’t even do anything.” He looks faintly injured.

“It’s probably not anything you did,” Mulder says. “Thanks for letting me know, though. I’ll check on her.”

He heads upstairs to Emily’s room. The door is pulled closed, and he knocks. “Emily? It’s me. Can I come in?”

“Okay,” she says, and he opens the door. When he sees her face, he can tell that Will was at least partially right: she’s definitely upset about something. He doesn’t think she’s mad, though. She looks more sad.

“Are you okay, Em?” he asks her. She shrugs. “Is something bothering you?” She nods, after a minute. “Want to talk about it?” She’s getting older, and he might not be able to help solve her problems as easily as he once did, but he’ll always try.

“I don’t know,” Emily says. “I’d kind of…I’d rather talk to Mom about it. It’s that kind of thing.”

He’s not one hundred percent sure what that means. “Okay,” he says. “You can talk to her when she calls tonight. Are you all right physically, though?”

“Oh, yeah,” Emily says. “It’s not about menstruation, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He has to smile when she puts it like that, because it was one of the things he was thinking, and because she sounds so much like Scully. “Good to know,” he says. “Well, then…”

“It’s about a boy,” she blurts out, as he’s hovering between staying and going.

“Ah,” he says. He hopes the boy in question hasn’t broken her heart. It seems so early in life for that to be happening, although a part of him knows that he thinks that because she’s his daughter and he wants to keep her safe and happy.

“Well, sort of,” she says. She doesn’t say anything more, but the way she looks at him makes him think that she wants to talk now, not wait until the evening. Scully’s not here, though, so maybe he’ll have to do.

“You sure you don’t want to talk to me?” he asks. “I know some things about boys. As they were when I was one, anyway. Maybe they’ve changed since then.”

Emily almost smiles at that. “I don’t think people really change in how they act,” she says. “Okay, well, it’s…there’s this boy at school. And we’re in a lot of classes together. And we talk sometimes. And…I kind of like him.” The words are soft, like an admission, and Mulder nods, trying to look as understanding as he can. “So we have the spring dance coming up next month, and I thought I would ask him if he wanted to go together. I mean, why not, right?”

“Good for you, Em,” Mulder says. She’s braver in some things, at sixteen, than he’s ever been.

“So I asked him today,” Emily says, “and he said no.”

“Just like that?” Mulder asks. “Just ‘no’? What’s the matter with this guy?”

“It wasn’t just no,” Emily says. “He was nice about it. He just said he was sorry, but he didn’t feel like that about me. I’m not mad at him or anything.”

“I get why you’re upset, though,” Mulder says. “Still, you should be proud of yourself for asking him. That kind of thing’ll stand you in good—”

“That’s not exactly what I’m upset about,” Emily says. “I mean, I am disappointed. I’m just…I was talking to one of my friends after and I started wondering about why. She was saying…well, that maybe it was because of what I’m like in class.”

“What you’re like in class?” Mulder asks.

“Yeah,” Emily says. “Because I always answer a lot of questions. And I talk a lot, when we have discussions. And she said it’s not that boys don’t like it when girls are smart. But they don’t like it when the girls are smarter than them. And that’s just…I mean, I’m not going to stop talking in class. That would be an idiotic thing to do. But I just wonder if that means I won’t ever get a boyfriend.” She’s biting her lip now. She looks young, and confused, and sad.

So maybe Emily’s not mad, but Mulder is. “What kind of friend is this?” he asks. “To tell you something like that.”

Emily shrugs. “She’s not my best friend or anything. But she didn’t say it to be mean. She was being honest.”

“Well, maybe she thinks she was,” Mulder says. “But Em, that’s not something you should be worried about at all. You will meet plenty of people who will love how smart you are. Guys included.”

“How do you know?” Emily asks.

“You’d say your mom was pretty smart, wouldn’t you?” he asks, and Emily nods. “And that’s one of the reasons I fell in love with her. One of many reasons,” he adds. “And if you love someone who’s smart, like that, you can have much better conversations, and…I don’t know why anyone wouldn’t want to be with someone smart.”

“Yeah, but you guys are older,” Emily says.

“That’s true,” Mulder concedes. “And I will admit that a lot of people in high school don’t really know what they want or where they’re going. But some do. I know you’re one of them.”

“Sometimes, I guess,” she says.

“Sure,” Mulder says. “It’s not always simple. But you were brave enough to ask that guy. And you know you’re not going to stop talking in class, no matter what anyone says. Those things are important, Emily.” She’s watching him, listening. “I bet you’ll meet other people who know those things too. And if you don’t…you won’t be in high school forever, either. There’s a lot more out there.”

“Thank God,” she says, and he chuckles. She smiles too.

“Your mom and I are really proud of the person you are,” he tells her. “And you should be too. Don’t waste your time with anyone who acts like that’s not good enough. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says, and she hugs him spontaneously, which she doesn’t do as often as she used to. “Thanks, Dad.”

“What I’m here for,” he says. “Will and I were thinking about getting pizza for tonight. How does that sound to you?”

“Good,” Emily says. “Can we get extra cheese?”

“Absolutely,” he says. “And you can talk to your mom by yourself tonight, if you want to. Will and I will go, after we’re done saying hi.”

“Thanks,” Emily says, and then, after a minute, “I already feel a lot better, though.”

“I’m glad,” he says.

.....

Emily and Will have been sitting in the diner all morning, and even though it’s not crowded or anything, the waiter has been giving them looks. They’ve tried to keep ordering, but there’s a limit to how much you can eat (at least Emily thinks so—she’s not sure about Will, but she feels like it would be irresponsible to let him have a third plate of bacon). And she’s already too amped up for another cup of coffee.

“How much longer do you think it’s going to be?” Will asks.

“I don’t know,” Emily says. “These things take a while.”

He’s quiet, fiddling with his utensils. “I hope Mom’s okay.”

“Mom will be fine,” Emily says quickly. “She said everything looked really good at her last appointment, remember? She wouldn’t lie to us. And she’s got good doctors. And she’s got Dad.”

“Yeah,” Will says. “But still…it’s hard, right? They say it’s hard and it hurts and…” He looks worried.

“I know,” Emily says. “I’m sure she’s…it’s not like a fun day or anything. But she’s done it before, right? With you.” Not with Emily, herself; she knows the whole story now, and sometimes she’s mad about it, but it’s never made a real difference in how she feels about her relationship with her mom, with her dad, with Will, with this baby who’s coming into the world today. “And she was ready to do it again, so that must mean something.”

“I guess,” Will says. “Do you remember it? When I was born.”

“I wasn’t there,” Emily says. “I was at home with Grandma. I don’t think I was worried about Mom or anything. Too young, probably. I was just worried that Mom and Dad were going to love you better than me.”

“They do,” Will says, and she makes a face at him.

“But I came to see you all the next day,” she says, “and I liked you a lot better than I thought I would. And Mom was fine. And she’ll be fine today, too.”

Will nods. “Can we get pancakes?” he asks, after a minute.

She doesn’t feel like arguing with him right now, and besides, pancakes sound good. “Sure.”

“Aren’t we supposed to smoke cigars?” he asks, when they’re eating. “While we’re waiting for the baby. Don’t people smoke cigars?”

“Well, we shouldn’t smoke cigars at all, because it’s disgusting,” Emily says, “but I think that’s for after the baby anyway. And it’s for the dad. He’s supposed to give cigars to people, or something.” She laughs. “I can’t really picture Dad doing that.”

“Nah,” Will says. He pours a lot of maple syrup onto his pancakes. She does the same.

It’s mid-afternoon and she’s lost track of how many meals they’ve had when her phone rings. She sees it’s their dad and grabs it. “Hi! Is the baby here?”

“She’s here,” their dad confirms, and she knows he’s smiling, even though she can’t see it. “She and your mom are doing great.”

“Who does she look like?” Emily asks.

“She’s got your mom’s eyes,” he says. “But brown hair. You can decide for yourself what you think.”

“So we can come over?” Emily says.

“Yeah,” he says. “We can’t wait to see you both.”

“We can’t wait either,” Emily says, and they say goodbye.

She fills Will in while she’s paying for a truly outrageous amount of food, and then they walk over towards the hospital. There’s a florists’s on the way, and they stop there; Will says they should get blue flowers, because their mom likes blue, so that’s what they do.

They make their way in by the visitors’ entrance. Their dad texted her the room number, with directions, and they find it pretty quickly. Will’s carrying the flowers now, so Emily taps at the door. “Come in,” she hears her mom’s voice say, and they do.

It was strange, finding out she was getting a little sister now, when they’d only be in the house together for ten months or so before Emily went off to college. She was excited about it, but sometimes she wondered if she’d be able to be close to the baby the way she was close to Will.

But when her mom says, “Here she is,” and they go over to look at the baby, she decides that was silly. It might not be exactly the same, but she knows she loves her little sister. She knows she’s excited to have her in her life.

“Hi there,” she says. “Hi, sweetie.” She touches one of the baby’s hands.

“Wow,” Will says. “She’s so little.”

Their dad laughs. “That’s what Emily said when she first saw you,” he says.

“Mm-hmm,” their mom says. “Doesn’t seem that long ago, does it?”

“Are you okay, Mom?” Will asks.

She smiles at him. “I’m great, sweetheart. Thank you for asking.” She touches the baby’s head, and she looks so happy.

“Did you figure out the name?” Will asks. They’ve been going back and forth about different ideas.

“Yes,” their mom says. “Susanna.”

“Hi, Susanna,” Will says. Susanna yawns. They stand together and watch her.

#my fic #the x files #msr #family fic #fluff

67 notes · View notes