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television-overload · 28 days

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neither snow nor rain

(a short little X-Files fanfic)

Almost posted a headcanon that came to me this morning, then realized it worked better as a fic. So here it is:

Read on AO3

"What's this?"

"What?" Georgie asks, looking up at her friend.

"In the mail, check it out."

Quinn tosses a stack of glossy paper through the air, nearly knocking the gadget she's building off her worktable. It lands in a heap on top of her carefully organized wiring, and she shoots him an unappreciative look, to which he responds with a shrug.

"I thought that was out of publication," he says, nodding at the item he had so carelessly thrown.

She furrows her brows, adjusting her glasses before lifting it for examination.

As she scans over the words, her eyes widen, and she looks back at Quinn, now understanding his surprise at finding this in their mailbox.

"It's been years!" she says, flipping open the front cover of the magazine eagerly. It looks a little different, but the title on the front is unmistakable.

Quinn circles the table to look at it over her shoulder, obviously intrigued that this defunct publication had resurfaced out of nowhere.

"Wait," he says, reaching over her shoulder to turn back to the front cover. "That's different, right?"

His finger points to the title, and she squints at it, trying to picture the old magazines they'd stopped receiving about four or five years ago.

He's right to be suspicious. They don't give out their mailing address to just anybody, but this magazine had been pivotal in shaping their view of the world.

In fact, it was sort of how they met and became friends, probably more than a decade ago, at this point. It's not like it was a popular publication, like Time or People or National Geographic. When you see someone out and about with the same fringe interests as you, you can't help but gravitate toward them.

"The Lone Gunman," she reads aloud. "Wait, yeah, I think you're right. Wasn't it the Lone Gunmen?"

He nods.

"I wonder what happened. Maybe They got to them."

Georgie rolls her eyes. "Or they could have just parted ways. It has been almost five years, you know. Not everything has to be so dramatic."

"The editors of a conspiracy magazine?" he says, a disbelieving look in his eye.

"You never know," Georgie says. She'd always been the more rational one between the two of them. But, he has a point.

She opens to the front page again, and notes a number of differences between this and the old design from the late 90s.

The table of contents is there, just like it had always been. But instead of having a number of contributors listed (aliases, of course), each article appears to have been written by the same author.

F. M. Luder.

Well, hey, that's a name they recognize.

So, this is legit, after all.

The page is pretty sparse, other than that, but her eyes are drawn to a note at the bottom of the page, small and unassuming.

For the Gunmen. Miss you, guys.

Signed, your friend

"Man," Quinn says, letting out a breath. "See? What did I tell you?"

She's still not sure she's completely convinced, but she nods anyway, leafing through the remaining pages of the magazine.

"I wonder if I could send in that article I've been writing on the military use of extraterrestrial technology," Georgie says thoughtfully. "You think they still have that P.O. box for submissions?"

"Can't hurt to try," he shrugs.

She smiles, enjoying the feel of the freshly printed magazine in her hands.

"Now I just need to think of a good pen-name."

-.-.-

The house is still sparse, all scratched wood floors and peeling wallpaper behind its creaky doors. But it's beginning to feel like home, he thinks. Stacks of magazines line the walls where furniture should probably be, but they'll get around to that eventually.

For now, he's just enjoying not having to pack up and move every few days while constantly looking over his shoulder.

There's a small desk and a computer in the study, but that's about it. It's enough to keep him occupied while Scully is away. The place feels too empty when she's gone, but he knows it's a good thing. She needs to be around people, and now with her new job at the hospital, they've got a reliable source of income to work with, too.

His work is... more of a hobby, but he thinks it could bring in a little extra cash if people even bother with magazines anymore. A lot has changed since he was last an active member of civilization, so he really doesn't know.

The sound of gravel crunching on the driveway breaks the heavy silence that he's grown used to, and he decides to call it a day. The front room seems to light up with warm sunlight when she walks in, balancing a bag of groceries on her hip and a stack of papers in her hand. Her juggling act makes it difficult to pull the keys out of the front door lock, but she manages.

"Hi, Mulder," she says cheerily. She flicks on a lamp as she passes, and he watches her with the characteristic look of awe on his face that he always has when he's around her.

"I missed you," he says truthfully, entering her space to grab the groceries from her. He presses a kiss to her lips while he's at it, never one to pass up the opportunity.

Her free hand lands on his chest, its weight a familiar comfort to him, but he can feel the prickly edges of whatever else she's carrying against his stomach.

"What'cha got there?" he asks, glancing down at the papers. Envelopes, he realizes.

A playful smirk tugs at her lips, and she pulls away from him. Brandishing the envelopes in front of him like an offering, she watches intently for his reaction.

"It seems you have fan mail, Mr. Luder," she says, pride beaming from her face despite the raised eyebrow she levels on him.

His eyes widen, and he looks down again in surprise at the substantial stack of letters she carries.

"Really?" he asks, his voice cracking a little against his wishes.

She nods, and he thinks he detects a hint of tears gathering in her eyes, too.

"I stopped by the old P.O. box on my way home," she says. "I had a hunch."

"You?" he says teasingly, unable to restrain himself.

"I only opened one, but it seems your readers are thrilled to have you back, and they send their best wishes."

He chokes back an unexpected knot of emotion and feels a breathy laugh escape him.

"I can't believe it," he says, overwhelmed by the response to his attempt to keep his friends' memory alive.

She must find his disbelief amusing, because he recognizes her smile as one he's seen more times than he can count. "You're surprised?" she asks.

"Well... yeah." To put it mildly.

Scully shakes her head and sets her bag down on the threadbare couch, and he follows.

"I've read your case reports, Mulder. I think—and Skinner would probably agree with me here—you've found your calling."

He stands in stunned silence, for the first time in a while feeling that spark of passion reignite in his chest.

"Now if only we could get them to send me money," he jokes.

Scully tilts her head, flipping through the stack of letters to find the one she'd opened.

"They have," she says casually, as she withdraws a hundred dollar bill with all the air of a magician performing a trick.

His eyes widen comically again.

"You think there's more?" he asks, grabbing a few envelopes from her hands.

"Some of these are pretty thick, Mulder," she says, a knowing glint in her eye.

The tension in his shoulders evaporates, and he tosses the letters aside to pull her into his embrace. Any worry that he'd have nothing to do, no way to contribute to this life that he's all but trapped her in, goes away in an instant. Relief overtakes him, and Scully holds him tight around the middle, smiling proudly over his shoulder.

"They'd be so happy that you're continuing their work," she says, her voice unable to muster anything more than a whisper.

Words fail him, so he presses a kiss to her forehead instead, his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

"I hope so," he says, glancing heavanward as if he might see the three of them flying around like little cherubs on his water-stained ceiling.

"I hope so."

-.-.-

Mr. Luder,

I'm terribly sorry for your loss. My friend and I are longtime subscribers of The Lone Gunmen, and we feared the worst when they stopped publishing years ago.

Receiving the copy you sent in the mail was a wonderful surprise. I'm sure we will be writing again soon to pick your brain on some of the details in your articles (is there really confirmation of a flukeworm-human hybrid in New Jersey?).

I didn't see a form to renew our subscription, but if you include it in your next edition (I do hope you'll continue!), we will happily send along payment with it, as securely as possible.

I hope this letter reaches you. Thank you for carrying on with this important work. We (your subscribers) truly appreciate it!

Sincerely,

Queen George (and Sir Quincy)

(P.S. I've attached a draft of an article I've been working on. You're welcome to include it in a future publication, if it meets your standards of approval. I'd happily welcome feedback, as well! If I recall, you're the expert on this particular subject.)

-.-.-

Tag list ♡: @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @slippinmickeys @teenie-xf @whovianderson

#txf #x files #msr #the lone gunmen #tlg #msr fanfic #xf fanfic #pre-iwtb #post series #the unremarkable house #no sorry this is not the msr adoption fic... YET #this was going to be a simple headcanon post but it turned into a fic #classic #my fanfiction

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