#why do I love my mulder dark and suffering? I just love seeing this side of his profiling gift

[cristinaricci]

THE X-FILES | Grotesque (3.14)

Yeah, Patterson had this thing about wanting to track a killer, to know an artist, you have to look at his art. It really meant, if you want to catch a monster, you have to become one yourself.

#txf #the x files #txfedit #xfilesedit #dailytxf #xfilesnet #tvedit #scifigifs #scifiedit #fox mulder #dana scully #grotesque #txf grotesque #txfs3 #gifs*mine #in my grotesque era #why do I love my mulder dark and suffering? I just love seeing this side of his profiling gift #the dark cinematography works so good in this episode too...I won't take any complaints #a top 10 episodes for me

[debbierhea]

she blames herself

chapter 1 of 2  / wc: 1343 / msr, angst, s10, post-home again

summary: She did not deserve to lose her mother tonight. She didn’t deserve to lose her father or her sister or her children or her dog either. But here she is, a mother without a child and a daughter without a mother, lightly trembling against the headboard of the bed they once shared.

this is the first fic i ever wrote! it got deleted along with my original blog a few years back, so i thought i’d repost for that sweet, sweet validation. this is not a wip. chapter 2 will be posted tomorrow. check out my fic tag if you’d like! xx

She jerks herself from a fitful sleep back into a muddled consciousness. She’s on her back, muscles tensed, jaw clenched. Her hands are balled so tightly into fists that her nails have left deep groves in her palms. She slowly unfurls her cramped fingers to run her hand through disheveled, crimson curls but stops as she brushes the dampness of tears covering her cheeks. Her breathing is labored and she finds it increasingly difficult to allow breath into her lungs. Sitting up, leaning herself roughly against the oak headboard, Scully wraps her arms around herself tightly, anticipating the sobs that will soon be wracking her small frame.

There’s a rustling of sheets beside her and soon she can make out his eyes in the dim moonlight. She can see concern warping his features, making him resemble the young man who stood guard at her hospital bed all those years ago. Scully avoids looking directly at him, knows that seeing the combination of worry and love in his eyes will break her, and she can’t let herself crumble. Not tonight.

“Scully,” he whispers, but she turns her face away. “Scully, please…” He’s pleading with her now. He desperately wants to take away her pain. She did not deserve to lose her mother tonight. She didn’t deserve to lose her father or her sister or her children or her dog either. But here she is, a mother without a child and a daughter without a mother, lightly trembling against the headboard of the bed they once shared. All she has left are two estranged brothers and one estranged friend/partner/lover. He knows he is the root of all of her suffering, but he can’t seem to leave her alone.

The tears are coming faster now, like a river coursing down her fine cheekbones, illuminated in the beams of pale light that slip through the curtains. Her body begins to shake, and she tries to suppress the sobs bubbling up in her throat. Mulder desperately wants to reach out, touch her, wrap her fragile body in his arms and tell her it will all be okay. He uses every last ounce of willpower he has to resist, not wanting to cross the invisible line that was drawn between them when she left over a year ago. He pulls himself up and leans back against the headboard with her, making sure to give her the space she needs to feel in control.

Scully doesn’t speak for a long while; the only sound in the room is her feeble sobs and the sound of the clock, ticking off each passing second.

“She hated me.”

Mulder almost jumps at the rawness of Scully’s voice as she breaks the silence. “What are you talking about?” He asks gently.

“Mom. She–she–,” another round of sobs cuts off her sentence. Her arms are still wrapped firmly around herself, desperately trying to keep the pieces of her from falling apart.

“Scully,” he sighs, “you know that’s not true.”

She drops her head and pulls up her knees so her chin is resting against her chest. Scully’s eyes close and a single tear drips off the end of her nose as she whispers, “You hate me too.”

Mulder jerks his head to look at her. She’s trembling, eyes clamped shut. How could she possibly think that? He wonders. Looking at her, though, he knows she believes what she said is true.

“Scully,” Mulder begins, but she curtly cuts him off.

“Don’t,” she says. There’s a sharp edge to her voice that gnaws at him. He so badly wishes to wipe the tears away that stain her face. He knows he shouldn’t, but he thinks she’s beautiful when she cries.

“Dana.” She startles at the use of her first name and turns her head to meet his eyes before she knows what she’s doing. For the first time since they left the lake where they spread Maggie’s ashes, Scully is actually looking at him and he can see how truly close she is to shattering.

“I could never hate you.” Scully looks as though she will protest this. “Never,” Mulder firmly states.

Scully tears her eyes from Mulder’s and squeezes them shut as new tears threaten to fall. Her hand reaches blindly for Mulder’s in the dark and he meets her halfway, intertwining their fingers. He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb, and, as the minutes pass, the lines of tears criss-crossing her cheeks dry.

Mulder hears her begin to softly sniffle, trying to hide her need for a tissue. He gently squeezes her hand before releasing it, throwing the covers off and rising from the bed. Slipping into the bathroom, he grabs a box of kleenex from the back of the toilet. As he advances towards the bed he can see panic in her bloodshot eyes. She thought it was his turn to leave, that despite what he had just said, perhaps he truly does hate her. Hates her for giving up their son, hates her for leaving. He feels a large lump rise up in his throat.

Hearing him approach, Scully turns towards his side of the bed and as soon as he is settled, she begins inching her way towards his warm body. Mulder immediately opens his arms and allows her to lay her head against his chest. Tissues forgotten, he begins rubbing soothing circles on her back, knowing that she will speak again when she’s ready.

It seems as though hours have passed and Mulder is drifting between wakefulness and sleep when he feels Scully’s soft voice vibrate against his rib cage, “I was a coward, Mulder. And I’m sorry.”

He knows what she means. He knows that she blames herself for giving up their son, for not having the courage to stand by him, to protect him. She blames herself because Mulder isn’t able to know his son. She blames herself because he never got to hear his first word, teach him how to swing a baseball bat, or even see him smile. He knows that she blames herself for everything that went wrong. He also knows that she feels guilty for the precious little time she did get to spend with their son while he was off searching for the truth. His heart aches for Scully, this strong, beautiful woman who was forced to make an impossible decision. Who he forced to make an impossible decision.

“Scully, listen to me. You made the right decision.”

“Mulder…” He can feel her lip quivering against his chest. “I… I threw him away like… like he was garba–”

“No!” And it comes out more aggressively than he intended. The outburst causes her to start folding in on herself again, pulling away from him. He tightens his grip around her waist. “You didn’t. You didn’t treat him like garbage; you protected him, Scully.” Mulder pauses, swallowing hard. “You saved our son.”

He wants to shake her until she believes his words. He wants to kiss her until her guilt is gone. He was to love her until she is whole again.

She shakes her head “no”, rubbing her cheek against his worn cotton shirt. He looks down at her mussed hair and flushed cheeks and can’t stop himself from leaning down and placing a gentle kiss at her hairline. At this, she tenses and then immediately relaxes her body against his. Mulder resumes tracing soothing circles on her back and she sighs.

Mulder realizes that he has allowed her to carry this heavy burden alone. He hadn’t wanted to deal with the emotions and hurt that surround the loss of their son. That’s why she blames herself so completely; that’s why she thinks he hates her. But that stops now, he thinks. This weight will always follow them, a cross they will carry for the rest of their lives. But now they will shoulder it together.

“I love you, Scully.”

Her right hand moves from its resting place on his chest, searching for his left. She intertwines their fingers and squeezes.

#tried editing this but i can't because it is bad but i don't have anything new to post b/c hashtag writer's block so #read this piece i wrote in like. 2016 fjdkslfj god #anyway....... #x files fanfic #xf fanfic #x files fanfiction #msr #mulder x scully #x files #todayinfic #msrlibraryboost #my fic

[atths--twice]

The Eighth Month 5f/6

Chapter Six 

Questions and Answers 

I’m just gonna let the picture speak for itself. ; )

“There is one more thing,” Mulder said into her hair as he held her. He pulled back and looked at her, holding her face in his hands.

“You have to close your eyes,” he said with a smile.

“Mulder,” she said, a suspicious look on her face as she let go of him.

“Come on, Scully. Humor me,” he said crossing his arms.

She looked at him, narrowing her eyes, then she closed them, her eyebrows raised. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, her back to the door. She laughed, but kept her eyes closed. She could hear him moving around and her curiosity began rising.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

She opened her eyes and Mulder was kneeling on one knee with a jewelry box in his hands. With a greater ability than she thought she could handle at that stage in her pregnancy, she fell to her knees in front of him.

“Mulder,” she said breathlessly, her heart racing. “What are you doing?”

“Scully,” he said, lightly grasping her hands, setting the box down, his other knee dropping to the floor. “I know I’ve asked you this question before..”

“Four times,” she responded quietly, her mind finding every one of them, like files stored away in a drawer.

The first time, after they lay hot and sweaty in a motel room awash in the afterglow, running for their lives. The second time as they were stuck in traffic coming back from dinner at her mother’s house. The third time sitting on the porch one evening, her with a glass of wine and him with a beer. The fourth time, New Year’s Eve, the two of them on the couch.

Every time she had said no. Sometimes laughingly when the mood had felt light and he had seemed half serious. Sometimes with a long speech as to why she felt it was unnecessary for them to need a piece of paper to state who they were to each other. How marriage was an antiquated practice and she was happy with what they had.

The only time she had come close to saying yes, was on New Year’s Eve. She had been sitting with him, homemade popcorn and the dark chocolate fudge her mother had sent back with them after Christmas dinner on the coffee table, remembering a New Year’s Eve long ago. The first time he had kissed her and the butterflies she had felt. The way he had smiled at her and how she felt happier in that single moment, than any other she could remember.

She had leaned her head on his shoulder and grasped his hand. A minute left and she had thought of how this could possibly be their last year. If the world was going to end, by his side was the only place she wanted to be. He squeezed her hand as the seconds counted down.

As the ball hit, he had leaned in and kissed her, the same soft kiss from years ago, and the same smile as he had pulled back. It was like he could read her mind at times. She had held his face as she kissed him back, deeper and with more intent. She had slid in his lap and began to slip her hands under his shirt.

“Marry me, Scully.” He had said, stilling her hands. 

She looked at him, his eyes serious and full of so much love. She could hear the music on the television and could not think of a better moment to say yes, to agree to be with him forever in every way possible. She had stared at him, felt the answer climbing up her throat, the word “yes” preparing to tumble out, but it got stuck along the way. Jammed up by a force she did not understand.

He had sighed, his disappointment showing, but then he had given her a small smile. He had held her face and kissed her, softly and so sweetly.

“One day, Scully,” he had whispered, resting his forehead to hers. “One day, I will figure out how to get you to say yes. One day, I will find the key that will open that lock.”

That was the last time he had asked her. The next year they did not celebrate New Year’s Eve. The predetermined date that had been set, had come and gone, and nothing happened. Mulder did not understand why and he began to fall down the darkest hole he had ever been in before. She could no longer reach him, the distance was too great.

Seven years. It had been seven years since they were in a place where he would have thought to even ask her again. What a waste of such precious time. She felt her heart growing heavy as her eyes filled with tears and he gently wiped them from her eyes. He held her face in his hands, looking at her with the eyes she loved and could read so well. She saw such love and tenderness reflected in them, she wanted to weep.

He pulled her close and held her. Their growing baby between them, the love they shared which created a new life, nestled within her body. He pulled back and leaned back on his calves.

“It’s been seven years since the last time I asked you. Almost, anyway. Seven years full of ups and downs, mostly downs. Deep downs. I.. I know we’re moving past the pain and suffering I put you through, put us through. But it happened and I know I fucked up." He took a deep breath and he closed his eyes.

“Do you want to stand up?” he asked her, as he opened his eyes.

“I don’t think I can,” she whispered, and he nodded, helping her to sit cross legged as he continued kneeling. She thought maybe he was doing penance, by staying on his knees, again asking for absolution.

“When you left, Scully, I was broken. I was angry and hurt. But, I know now, it was what we both needed. You were right to go,” he said, holding her eyes with his, being sure she understood.

“But, Scully,” he said shaking his head. “the moment, that defining moment when I realized exactly what a huge mistake I had made, pushing away the one person I loved and needed in my life, was that day I stopped reaching for you.”

She looked at him with tears in her eyes again. His head was bowed, his eyes closed. He looked up at her and he had tears in his eyes as well.

“Every morning, I would wake up and reach for you, as if I forgot during the night that you were gone,” he said quietly, his eyes full of sadness. “Every morning for two years, Scully, I would reach for you and my arms would come up empty.”

She bowed her head and cried. Those days always so fresh in her mind. The days without him, the nights even worse. Missing his warm body beside her. His scent, his arms around her as they slept. Their conversations in bed which were some of the most intense and soul searching they had ever had. His touch on her skin, making her tingle. Their lovemaking and the way he knew just how to please her.

“That morning,” he began again, taking her hands as she looked up at him. “I got up and walked into the bathroom. I took a shower, got dressed, went downstairs to make coffee. As I waited for it to brew, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong and it hit me as the coffee finished brewing. I didn’t reach for you that morning.”

She bit her lip to stop the tears she felt building. She needed to hear this again as much as he needed to say it. To take this pain they both suffered and finally move past it.

“As soon as I realized what was wrong, I sat at the table and wept. That it had become so normal to not have you there, I forgot to try and reach for you. I cried for everything I had put us through and then I cried for me. I didn’t know how to get you back, or even if you would want to come back. I had pushed you so far away,” he said and she squeezed his hands.

“I sat there at the table for a long time. Making decisions and plans to get you to come back. To be with me again, happy and whole. But, in the days after, I did nothing about it. I grew angry with myself at my lack of action. Angry at you even though you hadn’t done anything. Then you called me and asked me about Tad O’Malley." He shook his head, his eyes closed. “I was still sore at myself and you by association, so I was short with you when I saw you. I made callous comments that I knew would rankle you. I wanted you to hurt the way I was hurting, so I pushed when I should have reached out. So many times..” He trailed off, shaking his head again.

“It has taken us a long time to get back to where we are, Scully. For me to even consider asking you. To have the balls to even venture taking this chance. I’m not asking this of you now because we are on the verge of this crazy new chapter of our life together,” he said, letting go of one hand to hold her face. “I’m asking because, I don’t ever want to wake up one day and not reach for you again. I want to reach out and find you there, right where you have always belonged. By my side and close to my heart.”

She wrapped her hand around his wrist and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and tears spilled down her cheeks. She opened her eyes and he was staring at her. She could see fear and hope intermingled in his eyes. She let go of his wrist and held his face, pulling him down for a kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and his went around her waist. They sat there for a few moments before he pulled back and gave him a small smile.

“Mulder, I have said no in the past because marriage is not something I felt was ever “us,” she said quietly. “I don’t need to see your name and mine on a piece of paper, or have a ring around my finger to know where I belong. I’ve known that since I first met you. You challenged me from the moment I walked through the door. You ran headlong into me and I didn’t try to stop you. Your desire for everything was contagious and I willingly became infected with it.”

He smiled at her choice of words. It was a good explanation for their relationship. A contagious desire to find answers. It had infected them both until she wanted out and he did not. None of that was worth the price he paid losing her and she him. She knew he knew that now. Knew they both knew it.

“I almost said yes the last time you asked me. I felt it, but I couldn’t do it. But look where that would have left us. Married and separated within two years. Of course we didn’t know the future, but would it have made these past four years harder or easier? Would being married have made us try harder? Would we.. have gotten divorced? God.. that hurts to even think about, let alone to say." She clutched her chest and took a sobbing gulp of air.

“Scully, we can't change the past. I.. I don’t even know that I would,” he said and her head jerked up. “Seven years we were partners, the only person the other trusted implicitly, best friends, until the night we took that step forward. Would you change that past? Move it forward or back?”

She stared at him. So many moments raced through her mind. Moments where they had been so close to moving forward. Nights she had stood outside his hotel room door, wanting to go to him. Nights she had wanted to call him and tell him how she felt. Times when he had driven her crazy, but all she wanted to do was kiss him, push him against the wall and rip his clothes off.

But then she thought of the what the morning after those times would have been like, how they would have proceeded. Would they have gotten closer or pushed each other away? Knowing what they went through then, his brain anomaly, his abduction, his death and then resurrection. No. She would not change that past. It all led to where it needed to go. The heartache that came with it, that was a learning tool. Preparing them for the future. This future.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, I wouldn’t change that past. It all transpired the way it was always meant to.”

“Exactly,” he said, reaching for her hands again. “Things happened the way they did for a reason. We may have wanted them to go quicker or wish they had slowed down when we knew their outcome in the future, but then it wouldn’t be our past, Scully. Our story is ours because of it. These past four years have been hard and so goddamn lonely, but they have made me appreciate you more than ever. I can’t say with total honesty that I would understand that, if I hadn’t lost you. If you walking out that door hadn’t woken my ass up. I can’t say where we would be.”

She nodded and they looked at one another. Relying on their unspoken communication to speak to the other the best way they knew how. She heard so much when they spoke this way; his eyes had always been her guide. She knew something was wrong when he would not look at her. Had seen his heart laid bare to her so many times when his eyes were on hers.

He took a deep breath and reached for the box. She took a deep breath too, feeling anxious, nervous, and excited all at once. This was it, this was the last time he would ask. The last time he would need to. She knew she would say yes, but she wanted to tease him a little first.

“Can I see what’s in the box before you ask me?” she asked him, a teasing smile on her face.

“No, you cannot,” he said, staring at her hard, an exasperated huff coming out of his mouth.

“Well, I’m just a little curious because, as you know, they say two months salary is what you should spend. And Mulder, seeing as how you don’t have a job right now…” She shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows.

“Shut up,” he said through this teeth. She smiled and crossed her hands in her lap, looking up at him expectantly. He cleared his throat and shook his head. She smiled wider and he grinned back.

“Scully, I’ve asked you this many times. Sometimes I’ve asked halfheartedly, trying to get a rise out of you." She chuckled and he smiled. Then his face was serious. “Other times, I’ve asked and been completely serious, my heart breaking a little when you said no. But, I always knew it wouldn’t matter if we were married or not, because it was still us. You’re right that a piece of paper and a ring does not a marriage make, but..I’d like it anyway. Knowing that we have been bound by law as well as by heart,” he paused and reached for her hands, setting the box down.

“What it comes down to Scully,” he said quietly, looking in her eyes. “Is that I love you. I want to be joined with you in every way. So, I ask you this now, reaching out from my heart to yours. Will you marry me?”

She stared at him, here on the floor of their baby’s room. Him on his knees, her sitting cross legged and heavy with their child, their hands joined together. There was no fancy dinner, no ring in the champagne or fancy dessert. Just them, in a room of new beginnings and journeys that lay ahead. It seemed fitting that it would be here in this room, in this house they turned into a home together. This was where they became them. Here they would remain and add to the fray. She took a deep breath and said the only words that seemed fitting to such an important question.

“I guess,” she said with a smile. He smiled the goofy grin she loved every time she saw it, raising his fists in the air and throwing his head back.

“She said “I guess”!!” he shouted loudly in the quiet house.

She laughed and then put her lips together, trying to hold back her smile. She failed horribly. She felt so happy and he was so adorably excited, she felt her soul light up. He put his hands down and looked at her and she could see her happiness reflected in his eyes. They both reached for each other at the same time, her wrapping her arms around his neck again as his went around her waist. He chuckled into her hair and she smiled.

He pulled back and held her face in his hands, kissing her deeply, all of his love seeming to pour into this particular kiss. She felt it all over her body and her heart was fairly singing.

“You guess?” he asked, rolling his eyes as he pulled back and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. He smiled at her and shook his head.

“Well.. I still haven’t seen what’s in the box..” she said playfully, as she eyed it on the floor.

He laughed and took his hands off her face. He picked up the box and turned it toward her before he opened it. She was looking at the box, waiting for him to open it, then she looked up to find him staring at her. She kept her eyes on him as he opened it. The ring did not really matter, not nearly as much as the man holding the box did.

She heard it creak open and she glanced down. She gasped and then her eyes flew back to his, then back to the box. It was not a ring at all, but a gold cross necklace, just a bit bigger than hers, with a stone in the middle. An opal. It was beautiful.

“Mulder..” she said as she touched the necklace, shaking her head at the colors that were captured from the light in the opal.

“I know you’ve said you’re not a ring person,” he said, taking the necklace out of the box, closing it and setting it back down. “But, you are a necklace one. I also know that eventually, boy or girl, you would want to pass your necklace on." He raised her chin up to meet his eyes. “So, I wanted to get you a necklace that was still you but a little different. Just as you are now.”

He held the necklace in his hands, hanging it by the chain. She looked at it as it swung lightly, before she caught it in her hands. He let go and she stared at the beauty of the stone inside it. So many colors danced and played in the light, it was absolutely beautiful.

“You know,” she said as she touched the opal and marveled at its perfection. “Some cultures believed that opals had supernatural powers, or fell from the heavens when lightning hit the earth. Some people thought it could guard them from disease. Some even considered it as a symbol of hope and truth or simply good luck,”

“Who needs Google, when you’ve got Scully?” he said with pride in his voice.

She looked at him and her brows furrowed. She pulled him to her and buried her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of this man she loved so much. The man who knew her so well, he bought her a necklace instead of a ring.

She put her head on his shoulder. “My answer definitely wasn’t good enough,” she whispered and he chuckled, pulling her tighter. He breathed a deep breath and rubbed her back.

He pulled back and looked at her. “Will you marry me?” he asked again with a smile on his face.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Phew, that was a close one,” he said as he reached around to unclasp her necklace, both of them chuckling. He handed it to her and exchanged it for the one in her hands. He leaned back and looked at her, the goofy smile back on his face.

“It looks beautiful,” he said, holding the cross between his fingers. “You’re right about the history of the opal, but that’s not why I chose it." He released it and let it fall back onto her chest.

“I chose it because it’s the only stone that captures the colors of every other stone. All of our birthstones reflected in one. Yours, mine, the baby’s, and William’s,” he said as she reached and held it in her fingers, softly caressing it. “All of us together, close to your heart.”

She smiled and felt tears in her eyes. “God, Mulder. Seriously, you are getting so mushy and sentimental in your old age.”

“Hey!” he said, feigning outrage. She leaned forward and kissed him. She held his face in her hands and stared at him.

“I love it, Mulder. It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I would have picked.”

He smiled and kissed her again. Then he leaned back and started to get up. He moaned and she laughed as she heard pops and cracks as he stood all the way up, putting a hand on his lower back and swearing a couple of times.

She put her hands out and he pulled her up carefully, holding her while she regained her balance, and stealing a kiss while he did. He took the necklace she still held in her hands and walked over by the crib, where there was an empty nail on the wall she had not noticed before.

He hung the necklace there, his fingers stroking it, before he ran the cross between his thumb and forefinger. He shook his head and turned back to her, pulling her close as they looked at the necklace hanging there.

“Think of it, Scully. Think of how much has happened with that necklace. How many times it has been lost and found it’s way back. It’s like us in that regard. We’ve lost our way many times. Yet here we are, together, as we were meant to be,” he said against her hair, as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

She sniffled lightly, but these tears were tears of happiness. He was right, the necklace was symbolic of them. It may have lost its way from time to time, but it always came back.

The new necklace would never lose its way. She knew where it, and she, would always be and always stay. Here, in this home with this man who had been like a strike of lightning in her life; bright and full of energy. The man who found a cure for her disease and was her symbol of hope and truth. He had surely picked the best stone when he picked that opal. He knew what he was doing. She held him tighter and closed her eyes. She loved him so much. He squeezed back and kissed her head.

“I love this necklace, Mulder. I do, but.. hmm I don’t know. I kinda feel like maybe, I might, be a ring person. Maybe?” she said into his chest, joking but not wanting him to see her smile.

He laughed and let go of her, stepping back and smiling at her, as he turned and walked back by the box. She looked at him quizzically as he picked it up and walked back to her.

He opened the box and took out the necklace holder. Underneath, lay a simple gold band with a small diamond set in it. She gasped as he took her hand and slid the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly.

“I’m not an idiot,” he said, giving her a knowing smile.

“Oh, Mulder!” she exclaimed, looking at the ring. She was speechless.

This too was perfect. Nothing too grand...simple and beautiful, just what she would have picked. She shook her head and looked at him and he smiled at her raising his eyebrows.

“I love you,” she said, staring at him. She felt surprised, but also not, all at once. Of course he would have a ring. Of course the man who asked her four times and had been rejected every time, would be traditional, but also so Mulder about it. The necklace was the real gift, but the ring was for her.

As much as she said she did not want to get married, that it was not necessary, deep down she knew she did. And he knew she did. And he knew she wanted the ring, too.

He stepped back and put his hands out wide, gesturing to the room, to her, and the room again. She smiled and then stepped toward him.

“You did a great job painting the room, Mulder. I’m sure Skinner appreciated your help as he put all the furniture together,” she said cheekily.

“You wound me, Scully. Right in the heart,” he said, as he put his hands over his heart. She laughed and wrapped her arms around him again.

“It’s perfect, Mulder. All of it is perfect. Aside from the room, when did you have time to plan all this?”

“Well,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “As you so kindly mentioned earlier, I am unemployed. It’s amazing the things you can find to do when you have nothing but time and the drive to find what you need. Both of those pieces of jewelry are antiques. I knew what I wanted, I just had to find them.”

She thought of him, spending his days searching for just the right items, and her heart filled with love. He had grown and changed so much in the last couple of years. She loved him more than ever for it.

She looked around the room. The paint, the pictures, the furniture, the chair, everything was perfect. It felt good. They were ready. They were engaged. Jesus..

She pulled back and looked at her ring again. She looked up at him and he was watching her as she looked at the ring. She shook her head and smiled at him.

“Is it time for bed yet?” she asked him, putting her hands on his chest. The ring catching the light and lighting a fire inside her.

“Bed? It��s the middle of the afternoon. Are you tired?” he asked, surprise showing on his face.

“Oh, no. I’m not tired,” she said, her hands running down his chest to the bottom of his shirt. She looked at him and watched his eyes widen.

He grabbed her hand and whirled her around, pushing her shoulders to get her through the door. She laughed as he kept going until she was in their bedroom and he closed the door firmly behind them.

Her laughter echoed down the hall, filling the recently lonely house with happiness and love.

_______________________________________________

This has been another fun and challenging story to write. I love them at this stage in their lives, happy and together. Hope you all enjoyed this story.

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Post MSIV #Love #Happiness #Domestic Life #Domestic Fluff #Asked and Answered #Changes about to come their way #One month to go

[scullysexual]

So I decided to do something different. I wasn’t confident in my analysises so I just decided to do a basic rewatch. After having all these things to look out for actually made me pay proper attention for the first time so thanks to @enigmaticxbee​ for giving me this idea with their rewatches. And no, I don’t pay attention to Mulder. 

😊 = Yes.

😞  = No.

😡 = It happens/it appears and I’m not happy about it.

MYTHOLOGY EPISODE.

Case: Four members of the same graduating class have all died in unexplained, mysterious deaths.

Themes: Abduction, time loss, stolen evidence, corrupt government figures, Scully misses it.

Favourite Quote: Logically, I would have to say no.

Would I recommend It: Yes. It’s the first episode. There’s a proper introduction to Mulder and Scully. You wouldn’t be lost if you didn’t watch this episode but there would definitely be some minor confusion (take it from me, I know personally)

My Initial Thoughts: I struggle to get through this episode. I love all the Mulder/Scully moments but the actual case/storyline doesn’t interest me much and it’s not an episode I frequently rewatch.

State: Oregon.

Special Minor Character of the Episode: Detective Miles.

Special Prop of the Episode: Einstein’s Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation. Dana Scully. Senior Thesis.

Mulder’s Theory: I think these kids have been abducted.

Scully’s Scientific Explanation: I’ll buy that girl’s suffering from some psychosis.

Inappropriate Mulder Humour: It’s probably a safe bet Ray Soames never made the Varsity Basketball Team.

Inappropriate 90′s Terminology: Vegetable/ Not my aisle of the produce section.

Scully’s Favourite Sentence(s): I can’t substantiate it, no.

Something Happens to Scully: 😡 (she gets hit in the face with the detective’s gun)

Mulder Drives:  😊

Scully Drives:  😞

Brief Case Appearance:  😊

Sharing Glasses: 😊

Scully Autopsy:  😊

Scully Smiles: 😊 (and a laugh)

Scully Writes a Report: 😊

Scully Ditch:   😞

Scully Pyjamas:  😊 (Not the silk ones...yet)

Stupid Tiny Gun Watch:    😡

Mulder’s Hand on Scully’s Back:  😊

Mulder and Scully Talk On The Phone:  😊

Scully Costume Change Counter: Five.

Below the cut are just my thoughts throughout watching the episode then followed by what my final thoughts are because I watched this episode twice. You don’t have to read them if you don’t want to.

Her pants don’t match.

I love Scully’s Pilot hair.

It’s a good way to avoid boring background exposition- just have your character be in an interview during the first episode.

Scully/Gilly being creeped out because csm doesn’t react is really good. Even all the other looks she gives him throughout is good-ass acting cause I doubt Scully would have been told there’s an old dude in the corner smoking a ciggy.

I don’t like the plane bit. The episode would still work without it.

The red X that never appears again. It is unnecessary tbf.

I like how they blocked the road with how they parked the cars. Nobody can get past now, they have to wait for you to move your car.

Is this really the place to read your report, Scully? Right by the loud machine?

Did nobody check the straps before they went ahead and decided to do this?

I don’t want to say it’s an alien but I don’t think it’s a monkey either…

Mulder has a lot of jokes in this episode: Longer vacation, basketball team, Steven Spielberg…

Why does Peggy freak out?

They have access to the crime scene, right? Why are they there in the dark?

I don’t think Mulder is a light, Sculls.

They look like children who have just been caught outside in a forest after curfew.

I get it but why don’t they know what dirt is…

I hate the ‘lost time’ affect.

You know, as far as “(potentially) unnecessary stripping scenes go, this is one of the better ones. You could argue that plot is the main drive here (though you could also argue male gaze)

So they wanted Scully to be on their side yet they don’t tell her anything? It seems very counterproductive because we all know Scully was never going to be on their side, she’s not really on Mulder’s side either tbf.

“That was some woman” for some reason doesn’t read or sound right.

Yes, Mulder is really shitting himself at this fire. It must just be his anger, it’s clouding his fear.

This kid can’t act, I’m sorry. It’s kinda painful. Choices are being made with this line delivery right now.

I don’t know if blood actually works like that but that streamed out of her nose.

“You stay away from that boy” Considering it turns out to be Billy at the end of this, that’s a pretty suspicious thing to say.

There’s a lot of references being made in this episode.

Standing in the mud and the rain and the mud. Can you imagine how many takes they must have done of that monologue, how long they stood in the rain just for it to be cut out. That had to be rough on Gilly to know that it was all for nothing.

So I’m guessing they went back to a…motel? before going to the hospital.

Don’t laugh, that’s offensive.

It’s a shame we never see Scully get this excited over aliens again. It’s adorable.

And Scully gets hurt again.

So like…does it ever explain how Billy is in a waking-coma through the day then up and standing at night? I guess you could say it’s the aliens but like…how does that actually work? Is it explained and I’ve just never paid attention?

Yo what is this girl wearing for pyjamas? Yikes!

The whole closing his eyes/looking like he’s just came acting decision was a CHOICE. A fucking terrible choice.

I like the mirror thing. How she’s standing on the wrong side.

This episode goes on forever.

She’s in bed early like 11:20. If you can’t sleep you just get up and move. Do something else.

Remember Ethan? Least the dude got paid.

I’m glad they didn’t do this csm scene every episode. That would have got boring.

Final Thoughts: The more I watch this episode the more I actually like it (I’ve watched it twice now to do this note thing) It’s interesting though to see what made it into the future mythology episodes: the implant device, group abductions, destroying evidence…It’s also clear to see what they decided didn’t work: the red X being one of them.

#charlee's solo xf rewatch

[monikafilefan]

A season of marigold and crimson part2

I would post the link to part 1 here, but since I still don’t know how to do that, let’s just hope you can find easily on my blog. But just in case, here’s the ao3 link to part 1.

Tagging @today-in-fic

Scully’s pov after she and Mulder argued about her health in the middle of the wilderness.

——

One dead whitetail, an abandoned hunters barn, and any lingering resolution with Mulder was whisked away with the wind. He had told her to go get warm as he took one last look around the barren land and Scully had not hesitated. She dragged herself back to their car—effectively hiding her indignant tears from the one person who wished she wouldn’t—and melted into the passenger seat.

Her exhaustion was evident in the dark circles lining her lower lashes and the ominous hollowing of her cheeks. Emotionally she was just as tired, but even more angry. So very angry that her life was once again tethered by only a fraying rope as she floated off in the distance, and the one person who would sacrifice anything to keep her on solid ground was the one she’d just unintentionally hurt.

This wasn’t fair to him—to them, her frustration in knowing that what she felt for him was so much more than just friendship and respect. This dangerous two-step of wanting more from their partnership and needing to keep their status quo was maddening. Because what would it matter in the end when the time came to say goodbye? He would have to learn to dance without her.

But he didn’t have to do that; not yet. She was still there, still standing by his side, holding him up with her presence as he supported her with a crooked smile and a reassuring palm to her back. Her back, where she had permanently inked his existence under her skin as well as within her heart.

The truth she spoke of under the bone-colored moon was not just that she was dying and Mulder refused to see, but that her soul was swelling with hatred for what a group of men had done to them both in order to protect it.

Staring out into the blackness of a rising winter, she sobbed silently until she saw the catlike silhouette of the man she tried to deny she loved approach the driver side.

If the gust of cold air hadn’t stolen her breath, the sight of Mulder’s red rimmed eyes and dejected expression would have. Her chin quivered and throat clogged with regret.

He tore off his leather gloves and splayed his fingers over the heater. “Warm?”

“Yeah…” Scully knew he consciously chose not to ask if she was okay. And even though she would’ve certainly said she was fine when she was nothing of the sort, she found it hurt deeply that he hadn’t.

A pregnant silence yawned alongside the hum of the heater and Mulder made no attempt to leave. She would make sure his patience with her was well worth the wait.

“I want you to understand something,” she murmured, staring at her fidgeting fingers. “Why I didn’t want to talk about it...”

He shook his head. Those long, dark lashes concealing pain she knew was whirling like a sandstorm in his eyes. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say those things to me?”

“Mulder…”

“No, I don’t blame you. It’s me I blame. And whether you’ve chosen to be my ally and friend freely or not, I can’t help but feel like I’ve placed you in this position—marked you as the perfect target because of my own selfish need.”

The darkness and injustice of it all she’d been at war with since that moment in the hospital when Betsy perished in front of her churned harshly in her gut.

She sighed, feeling her chest constrict with the weight of it all. He didn’t get it, and he never would if she did not willingly cut herself open and expose what lay inside her heart for him to truly see.

A Y-incision of Dana Scully.

“Mulder, you heard what I said but you didn’t listen.” She ran a finger across his now clenched fist and he loosened it, lacing his slender fingers within hers. The tactile comfort they’d so rarely yet so naturally indulged in was something she’d been cherishing more often lately. She learned to hoard these precious moments that meant the most.

“I’ve denied how sick I’ve been for months. Yes, it’s true I have seemingly incurable cancer that stemmed from my abduction over two years ago. And it’s taken me a long time to admit that to myself, even though the evidence was as glaringly as the sun. But Mulder, this didn’t happen to me because of you. I’ve never thought that. Not once.”

“How can—”

“Shh.” She cupped his jaw, stubbled with sparse, chestnut hair and forced the eye contact they both needed.

She felt it then: that familiar electricity singing through her skin where they were entangled in a forever knot, a circle. An ouroboros of their interwoven life.

“I’ve seen death. I’ve analyzed it and cut through pieces of people’s past to uncover the mystery of it. I’ve hovered that line before. I don’t want to die, but it doesn’t scare me,” she told him as she tenderly thumbed his cheek, feeling him stifle a sob. It scared him. Everyday, she knew he was terrified.

“But you know what does scare me, Mulder? What jolts me awake in the middle of the night, what makes my stomach turn and heart ache? His hand gripped hers like an anchor in a raging sea, and her liquid eyes never strayed from his. “Leaving you behind.”

“God, Scully… please don’t say that,” he pled, reaching out to stroke her wind blown hair. It was something tangible to reinforce her presence for him. “You’re here. You’re not going anywhere...”

It was a questioning plea—to her or anyone who would listen, and she could promise him with certainty that he was right. “No, Mulder I’m not going anywhere. I’m here with you and this is where I choose to be. I always have.”

Scully allowed him into her inner sanctum of hidden emotions. Embraced his full presence in her heart. And for the first time in a long time, she felt complete. She opened herself up fully for just a moment… and it was freeing.

She may still be heartbroken watching him suffer helplessly at the prospect of losing her. She may be foolishly and wholly in love with him. She may still be creeping closer to the inevitable end of her life. But at least she would not be alone while living it. And neither would he.

“Always, Scully,” he agreed and softly kissed the back of her hand, his hot tears burning down her chilled fingers. “But I’ll find you a cure. I’ll always fight for you because I can’t… I just have to. I’ll do anything it takes. Even if I have to dance with the devil... all the way to Hell.”

——

#part 2 #angst #romance #cancer arc

[greekowl87]

False Flags Ghost Ship 4/?

The First Fic: (False Flags Redux) | Ghost Ship: (1) (2) (3) or if AO3 is your thing.

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this chapter forever. I keep editing it but never seem happy with it. I guess at this point, the best thing to do is just post it instead of sitting on it for another month. It is what it is. Sorry for any typos.

Be warned there is some smut at the beginning of the chapter. 

Anyways, tagging @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm for the original prompt that inspired this series, @frangipanidownunder fic workshop forever ago that helped tidy the plot of this (@just-fic-already ) and @baronessblixen . Tagging @today-in-fic

4.

When it first happened for me, when I first remembered, I genuinely thought I was going crazy. The cops were already calling me a serial killer for the first three murders that I committed back in ‘97. Then after the feds caught me. Then the other memories started swirling like a goddamn tornado. I’ve told you about it before. I got two other lifetimes rattling up around there and it was hard. But I know my priorities. I have my priorities. I don’t want my wife back. I want her and that bastard to suffer for what they did to me. The Smoker sprung me from jail and just gave me ten thousand dollars and a means to get back at the ones who did this to me. And I know where exactly to start.

. . . .

Scully always loved watching Mulder sleep. Something about it that she found grounding, almost like a connection to the Earth. But recently, since their evolved relationship, it had become almost primal as in he belongs to me and no one else official. She sat up in their bed, resting her back against the wooden headboard. She shifted the tee shirt she had pilfered from Mulder earlier in the evening and wished she could have been in something a little less confining.

Their dinner had been a quiet affair and afterward, they retired to their bedroom and watched a movie on AMC. Mulder had fallen asleep sometime around ten and Scully still found herself up watching the television as a rerun of The Twilight Zone came on. She remembered catching reruns of the show late at night with Charlie as a kid, arguing over the practical implications of the storylines. She smiled at the memory and wished Mulder was awake so she could do the same now. That was something she liked to do in her current life, she mused, but it was also something she liked do then too. They also argued and that was one of the first things that she had found attractive about in Bellefleur on their first case: his mind.

She shifted in bed and rested her hand on her arm and took a moment to appreciate his profile. How could both of them have the same souls and the same faces after more than a century? How would genetics be involved? Was she her own great-great-own-relative? What about him? Had their child lived? It seemed impossible but she believed. The photo that she had could have been doctored and placed as a clue by the unnamed powers that had manipulated their lives and put the chip in her neck. But what about the rings? She just knew from the moment she touched them those rings belonged to them. Psychometry, Mulder had called it but she preferred to call it faith. Scully traced his profile with her right index finger trying to catalog his face like he was one of her unanswered questions.

Faith.

She thought she had lost her faith awhile ago yet she still believed, at the very least, she believed in them.

“Why you up?” he mumbled sleepily catching her off guard. She moved to shut off the television but he caught her hand. “Leave it. I can at least see you.” His eyes opened and he squinted at the screen. “The Twilight Zone?”

“I was just remembering,” she said softly.

“Something new?”

“Something from my childhood. I used to watch this show with Charlie and we would argue, or rather I would, about the practicality of the plot.” She smiled in the television’s light. “Whether or not such things could actually happen.”

Mulder could hear the lightness in her soft chuckle. He reached for her, pulling her close. “Of course you would. I imagine the argument was one-sided.”

“It was. I hadn’t met my match yet.”

“And who might that be.”

She slapped his bicep playfully and whispered, ”Shut up, Mulder. You know who.”

Mulder took a deep breath and felt her snuggle closer as if trying to burrow herself next to him. “What is it, Scully?”

“Just thinking about everything.”

“Have I done something wrong?”

“No. I was just thinking about us. Past, present, and future.”

“We’ve both been doing that a lot lately.”

“Any regrets, Mulder?”

“For us? Never. Why do you ask?”

“I just wonder how all this could be possible with everything,” she whispered. “Nothing new.”

He hummed in thought as his hand, with a will of its own, worked its way underneath her tee shirt. She rolled slightly away from him to give him more access. “What do you wonder,” he murmured.

Invitation received, loud and clear.

“One of the first things I fell in love with was your mind,” she whispered to him. “Back in Bellefleur on our first case.”

“My mind?”

Scully felt herself relaxing under his ministrations and sucked in a deep breath in surprise as his arm pushed her shirt up and ran his fingers around her breast. She bit her lip as he bent forward and kissed her. She tried to form coherent words. “Yes. Your mind.”

“What else?”

“Are you that vain, Mulder?”

“Not currently, no.”

His mouth traveled to her chest and enveloped one of her breasts erotically within his mouth. Scully’s hips arched off the mattress as she brought her hands around his head, holding him against her. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of him. Mulder surrounding her. Mulder made her feel like a goddess. Mulder loving her for all eternity.

“Why?”

Mulder heard her question. Why was he doing this? Why her? Was this real? Why? Mulder gave her breast the worship they were due before gently removing his mouth to move downwards as he slipped off her tee shirt. Why? He loved her. He knew this was his soulmate. Somehow, they had loved each other for at least two lifetimes. He just knew in his bones and soul she was the one.

“Why? Why not?”

She sighed and flushed her shoulders against the mattress as if trying to flatten herself against the mattress for Mulder’s advantage. She wanted to forget momentarily and just let it be them. To just live in the moment. The first night the consummated their partnership in this lifetime was one that he could not forget. Every time he made love to Scully he tried to memorize every aspect of it.

“Mulder. I want to forget everything else tonight. Can you do that? Can you make me forget for brief?”

“No,” he whispered. His voice was low and husky. He raised his head and met her eyes. “I will make it so the only thing you feel, realize, and remember is us.” She squirmed beneath him and felt herself grow hot. She ran her hand down his smooth back and silently watched his dark eyes. “Which is infinitely better. Do you want to watch?”

Scully nodded and licked her lips hungrily. The tension between them since January had been palpable. After the failure of the first round of the IVF and the shadow of Diana still lurking around, things were tense but they were still able to find comfort in their new intimacy. The honeymoon seemed to end when they played husband and wife in Arcadia and the tension returned, worse than before, but since they had been in the Outer Banks for the past few days, they were getting back to basics. Or so she thought.

“Tell me how you want it, Scully,” he murmured against her thigh.

“I’m leaving that up to you, Mulder.” She hissed feeling the first fiery streak of his tongue. “But try to make it last.”

“Simple enough.”

Scully leaned back into the pillows as Mulder gently pulled the last barriers of clothing that separated them. She relaxed into the sensations of his mouth against her hot core as he strummed her like a musician tuning his instrument. She let out a soft sigh of contentment.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispered against her skin.

“We’ve done enough connecting,” she whispered.

“Mmmm,” he hummed, sending shivers through her. “Not like this. Not enough. There’s never enough. Moments like this, Scully, I feel like I have known you forever...more than just six years, more than two lifetimes.”

He went back to lovingly kissing, flicking, and sucking that sacred spot of hers as her toes curled into the sheets and her nails raked through his hair. “Forever,” she chuckled. She clenched when he introduced those amazing fingers into the mix. “Forever is a long time.”

“You are an eternity, Scully.”

He carefully brought her to her first climax as she gasped silently and closed her eyes as she felt the familiar spasms and Mulder riding the wave with her. His warmth surrounded her as he moved up the bed, bring the quilt with him. She turned to her side and wrapped a leg around Mulder’s hip and scratched his upper back invitingly. “Do you want to know my favorite thing about moments like this, Mulder?” Scully whispered.  She kissed him slowly up his clavicle. “The intimacy between us...how everything feels so natural. And the funny thing was is that it’s always been like this, even before Norfolk.”

“How so?”

He pushed his hips enticingly against hers. Scully chuckled softly and pulled him closer. “Bellefleur. Our first case. Do you remember the mosquito bites?”

“Had I known it was my charm earlier on…” he teased.

“Seriously, Mulder.” He thrust against her again and she felt him like a branding iron. Her blood began to sing again and a new thought started to form in her mind. “I remember feeling safe with you and that’s when I decided I would always follow you into the darkness. But I want to remember that feeling again. I want to try to mix it up.”

“Mix it,” he chuckled. He kissed her again and she twisted against him. “How so?”

“I want you to surround me,” she answered. “All over. I want you to take me from behind.”

She was very rarely vocal with her wants and he was more than happy to comply. “Slow or hard and fast?”

“Slow,” she told him.

“Slow,” he murmured. “I can do that.”

Scully rolled onto her stomach and raised her hips. Mulder got behind her and spread her hips sensually, running her hands up and down her thighs hypnotically. Mulder rolled his neck, drinking in the sight before him. She was and had always been an exquisite heavenly creature. Scully groaned appreciatively at his ministrations. “Mulder, you’re killing me.”

“That is the opposite of what I want to achieve,” he said. “Just a little wider.”

He entered swiftly to the hilt and her eyes rolled back into her head ad her knuckles turned white as she grasped the sheets. It was not pain or pleasure but the sheer feeling of fulfillment of being completed and whole. “Mulder,” she moaned. He bent over her and the skin on skin contact inflamed them eternally.. Feeling his chest against her back, his arms and legs entangling around her. He was completely enclosed around her. It felt so good. “Mulder, this...this…”

“I know, Scully, I know. I feel it too.”

He moved easily within her, around her, it didn’t matter. He was here. They were here. They were together. Memories of a past life together that seemed too quick to the sensations of the present, remembered the past, and became caught up in the possibility of the future. They were coming together. Scully cried his name as he howled into her shoulder. They had now. As they rode the wave together, Mulder went lax and rolled off to the side. For the first time in a long while, Scully felt sedated. Her entire body melted as Mulder rode wave after wave of pleasure together with her. Then he gathered her up as she reformed, melded at his side. She sighed and lightly ran her hand up and down his chest over his heart as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Mulder,” she murmured.

“Mmph,” he responded. He was already on the edge of sleep. He still had Scully and that was all that mattered.

“I want to try again.”

“Try what?”

“The IVF.”

His eyes opened and he kissed her fiery red hair instinctively as if to assure himself she was not a dream. “Are you sure, Scully?”

“Yes.” She remembered how much she loved this man, her husband in one life and partner in another, her soulmate. “I’m sure.”

“Okay. We’ll do it first thing when we get back.”

. . . .

Skinner felt another headache coming on, this time, courtesy of a problem that his two agents had handled this case. He could not remember the last time he had been in Norfolk. Maybe when he had still been in the Marines in Vietnam but any navy town still carried the same spirit. Being back at a field office carried a different air as well in contrast to D.C. He looked up from his reading of Mulder and Scully’s case files to watch Benson and Yarrow, two different SACs coordinate effortlessly with one another as they spanned two states with enough manpower to find the Unabomber.

“I don’t give a fuck if the North Carolina hasn’t found a clue,” Benson yelled. “That bastard killed eight people in my turf and I want him found.”

“I thought it was only seven,” Yarrow said neutrally.

“I include the unborn child he slaughtered from the last victim,” he snarled.

Skinner watched the room of agents freeze momentarily under Benson’s fury before scurrying back to their tasks. The assistant director got out of his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. Dealing with Mulder and Scully’s aftermath was worse than dealing with his agents in person. He quietly excused himself, drawing out his cell phone and walking through the hallways and out into the sidewalk of downtown Norfolk.

Skinner was surprised how warm March had been this year. It was a relief to see the two of them stepping back from their work even though he suspected--no, he knew--that there was something more going on between them. After the case back in December and the kidnapping, something had changed between Mulder and Scully’s partnership. They weren’t fooling anyone at this point.  His mind went back to his first instinct in recalling his agents to assist in the recapture of Buckley but he quickly vetoed the idea. They deserved some time away and were likely safer away from everything.

Skinner spent a few more minutes outside before disappearing back into the building and into a flurry of new activity. Phones were ringing. Benson was snapping his fingers at an agent near him. “Yarrow,” Benson shouted. “We got a lead. Tappahannock.”

Yarrow nodded. “Damon. Andrews. Get on it!”

Skinner looked at Benson in confusion. “What? What is it?”

“Somebody caught sight of him at a gas station.”

“Where?”

“Yorktown,”  Yarrow said. “That’s your backyard, Benson.”

“I know but that doesn’t make sense,” Benson started. “He escaped around Elizabeth City. Why would he be making his way back north? Assistant Director, I thought your agents were elsewhere.”

“They’re still in North Carolina but maybe we should give Mulder a call,” Skinner answered thoughtfully. “It was his profile that led to Buckley’s original capture.”

. . . . .

The next morning brought promise, or at least potential and hope, Scully thought as she sipped her coffee.

Dressed in an oversized hoodie and a pair of running shorts, she sat on the deck of their rented beach house. The sunrise was a lot more subdued in contrast to the previous morning. Last night had done a miracle for them by reaffirming their relationship and bond. Their respective cell phones remained respectfully silent and the local news surprisingly had no coverage about Buckley’s escape. Skinner and the brass must have been working double time to keep this quiet. She sighed and took another sip of her coffee. That was their luck, she supposed, to face unknown dangers. She just wanted to reconnect and figure out to make of this more intimate partnership with Mulder. The past months had been a little tense. Diana causing trouble, Cassandra Spender, just everything. The fought and bickered. The makeup sex had been good too but afterward, there was always the malignant unspoken tension.

Scully watched a flock of pelicans fly low across the surf information. The morning’s rosy hue danced as the waves broke onto the sandy shore. Maybe today she would inquire about the couple’s surf lessons. She never thought she would be bored on a vacation. She could not remember the last time she felt bored. Or when she took a vacation...Maine probably with that demonic doll and Mulder asking her to pick out china patterns and marriage proposals. Maybe he had been joking then but the thought of it, the very idea…

“Scully.”

Mulder, newly risen from the dead, wiped the sleep from his eyes. She smirked from behind her coffee cup at the sight of Mulder, spiky hair and scuff and all, standing in the door frame of the sliding glass door. “Well, good morning to you too, Mulder.”

“You could have woken me.” He sat on the wooden bench next to her and gave her a tired smile. “You stole my shirt.”

She studied his shirtless form, noting the sweats, before cheekily replying, “I’m not complaining about the view.”

He flashed her a smirk. “You could have woken me, Scully. You know I want to watch each and every sunrise with you.”

“Romantic, Mulder. You should have been a poet.”

“Maybe I was in another life but I save myself for all the colorful language and exploits in our case reports.” A soft kiss on her cheek startled her. “You still should have woken me.”

“You needed to sleep after that spectacular performance. Do you want me to get you a cup?”

“I’m good for now. I just wanted to talk, Scully. Just for a moment.”

“Shoot.”

“We’re okay, right?”

“Why? Is there something wrong?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“Mulder.”

“This vacation if we can call it that…”

“Why all this insecurity? I thought we settled that last night.”

“We are but you know how I always think. It never stops.” He shrugged and looked out over the horizon. “With everything.”

Ah. The unspoken everything that included the emotional baggage of two lifetimes. “You’re the psychologist.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Talk to me,” she challenged. “We have always been on the verge of something, haven’t we? Remember the night in Bellefleur when I rushed into your room to check for abduction marks? Or right after my abduction when that town’s mayor wouldn’t stop congratulating us on our honeymoon?”

‘“I fail to see where you are getting at, Scully.”

“You crossed half the world to save me,” she continued. “Not everyone would do that. I feel like we’ve been chasing a common goal that everyone sees but us.”

“You’re my partner.” Her admonishing eyebrow let her know his bluff was useless. “I loved you before that. I can’t remember. Your abduction I think is when I realized it. I remember sitting in my apartment, messing with your cross, unable to sleep. I thought about suicide during that time too. Especially when you came back and everyone was ready to give up on you.” Scully took Mulder’s hand. He brought her knuckles to his mouth and kissed her soundly.

“I had felt the same. I was thinking about that this morning about how we both always had some sort of feelings for each other, how we loved each other before finally admitting it. Before any knowledge of another lifetime. We were are already in love, Mulder.”

“What’s your point?”

“Was the past already ruling our present then? And don’t go saying subconsciously.”

“My subconscious thoughts are filled with things we can do in the office.” That warranted a smile from her. “I beg for you to just tell me where your thought process is leading because I am not really following.”

“You’re so dense sometimes,” she laughed. “The point is, to me, is that the past doesn’t write our futures, Mulder. That is what I am trying to say. I cannot refute what we’ve experienced over the past few months but I know what the present is, I know what we have now.”

He nodded and sensed that was the end of the topic for the time being. He sat next to her on the deck bench and wrapped an arm around her and wrapped her legs over his lap. He caressed her exposed legs. “I’m thinking you may be right. Just this once.”

“Just this once?”

“Maybe. I like it when we’re like this, Scully.”

She rested her head against his shoulder as they watched another ocean sunrise. “We do have this, Mulder.”

“Not all the time…”

“Remember what I said about not letting the past write our present? We may not be married in this life but there is no one else I consider to be my…”

“What?”

“Whatever we are, Mulder.” She squeezed his hand in acknowledgment. “Remember, we have now. And surfing lessons today.”

He chuckled. “I can’t believe you talked me into surf lessons.”

“You should do fine after your performance last night. I have complete faith in you.”

His laughter made her heart feel lighter as they enjoyed another sunrise together.

. . . . . . . . .

Happiness is fleeting. Fuck that. I’ve been good. I should have had Dana back as my wife but instead, that bastard still has her. Mulder...fucking Mulder. Somehow, he always gets the girl. Mind my time like last time but I won’t make the same mistakes.

. . . . . . . . .

“Scully, do I really have to wear this?”

Mulder fidgeted uncomfortably in the wetsuit that he wore and he had been thankful that Scully had persuaded the surf instructor to do by the privacy of their beach house instead of out in some random beach access point. He could tell she was amused by his struggles as she tried to hide a smile from behind her hand. Her cheeks were turning red from laughter. “You’ll be fine. It’s very form fitting and it looks good on you.”

“Just form fitting?” He tried to adjust the tightness he felt lower. “It’s like a body bag.”

“It’s more like a second skin,” she corrected softly.

“How come you don’t have to wear anything underneath?”

“I could but I’m a modest Catholic, remember? Now, why don’t you go down to the beach and wait for me? I’ll be right down.”

“Scully, for the record, this gives me a wedgie,” he mumbled before he left for the beach. She watched him walk away pulling at his ass. Scully hid a smile behind her hand. “I can’t wait for you to worm your way into your own little thing.”

Down at the beach, Mulder saw a young man with two separate longboards wearing his own wetsuit. “Hi, Fox,” the young man greeted enthusiastically. He shook Mulder’s hand. “Ready?”

“Almost. And it’s Mulder. I hate it when people call me Fox,” he replied.

“No problem. My name is Lucas by the way” The young surfing instructor did not annoy Mulder at all and he was pleasantly surprised by the man’s professionalism. “Are we still waiting on your girlfriend?”

“My partner will be done in a bit,” he clarified.

The instructor nodded and he surveyed Mulder with a curious eye. “It’s unusual for us to get requests for surf lessons this early in the year. Most tourists wait until April or May.”

“Well, we normally don’t get a chance to go on vacations together,” he answered coyly. “And we wanted to do something fun.”

“Besides,” Scully’s voice carried from behind him. “I grew up surfing California when my dad was stationed out there. This one here…” She took Mulder’s arm affectionately. “Is from Massachusetts and never got a chance to try it.”

“The only time to surf Massachusetts in during the winter. I took a gnarly surf trip with some friends up to New Jersey in the winter and it was amazing. Whereabouts up there?”

“The Vineyard and you would have to be crazy to go out in the dead of winter,” Mulder answered.

“You’re plenty that,” Scully murmured under her breath just for him to hear.

Mulder felt his heart swell with affectionate on. Lucas clapped his hands together excitedly. “Let’s get started, huh? Who wants to go first?”

“I will,” Scully volunteered.

. . . . . . .

The water was freezing and it took Mulder a good twenty minutes to adjust to it. He stood near the wave breaks watching Scully paddle out on the longboard and Lucas swim alongside her. He watched them exchange some words and without any assistance, Scully paddled the surfboard into position and easily sat on the board, waiting patiently. Mulder smiled. Scully had been holding out on him; she was a natural. A small wave began to close in and she instinctively popped up and rode the wave effortlessly towards the shore before a slight miscalculation caused her to lose her balance and tumble into the break. Mulder rushed, doing his best to swim/wade towards her as she emerged laughing happily. He wrapped her arms around his neck so she could stand easier which caused her to laugh all the more.

How long had it been since he had heard laughter like that from her? “You okay?”

“Yes,” she continued to laugh. She drew him close for a kiss before the surf washed the surfboard in further towards the shore and her along with it. She tightened her arms around her neck and continued. “I forgot about the leash.”

“You sure this isn’t your first time?” Lucas asked excitedly as he swam back towards them. “You’re a natural.”

“I grew up in San Diego as a teenager. It’s kind of a requirement.”

“Oh, man. I love it out there. The last time I was out there had some awesome surf.”

Scully nodded. “It is beautiful out there.”

Mulder made a mental note to go beach next time they had a case out there. “Well, Mulder, it looks like Dana it down. Why don’t we get the other surfboard on you, Mulder?”

“Scully is doing such a good job…”

“Mulder, quit being such a baby,” Scully admonished. She was already gathering the surfboard to swim back out. “Hey, Lucas, don’t forget the disposable camera. I want to remember this.”

Mulder’s face blanched in horror. “Scully, no.”

“We can never have enough memories, Mulder.”

That was the end of it. The exception of Scully’s endless laughter, the rest of the day progressed into a blur for Mulder as he tried to learn the futile art of surfing and instead mastered the art of falling face first into the surf. Towards the middle of the afternoon, one particularly nasty fall that caused him to roll his shoulder and end their day at the beach. Despite the pain from his injury, Mulder could not remember a happier day in the longest time.

. . . . . . . .

That evening, Scully padded softly to the kitchen back into the living room with a new ice pack for his shoulder. The television played softly in the background as Mulder lay on the couch. The shoulder injury wasn’t too severe and he would eventually be fine. Nothing that a good night’s sleep would not fix. Mulder lay on the couch and got up slightly to make room for her at the end. “Do you want a pillow?” she asked.

“No,” Mulder mumbled drowsily.

He awkwardly curled up on the couch like a child with his head in Scully’s lap. She smiled absently as her fingers raked through his hair and pressed the ice pack against his shoulder. He hissed in response. “If you weren’t showing off your boyish agility today,” she whispered, “you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“I think you just wanted to show off,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to see the pictures.”

“Me either. Are you having fun, Mulder, despite the injury?”

“Hearing you laugh, genuinely laugh, and have my personal doctor take care of me? What could be better, Scully.”

She smiled and propped her feet up on the coffee table as they settled in to watched the local news for the evening without a care in the world and just relished being in each other’s company.

#false flags ghost ship #false flags redux #xfiles #xf fic #txf #txf fic #msr #msr fic #mulder and scully #mulder #scully #multichapter fic #hopefully it's okay? #angst #fluff #stuff

[sigritandtheelves]

ok for the 5 headcanon prompt thing (And i'm horrible at coming up with these honestly) ummm: mulder has a hidden disability of some sort and scully finds out about it and is super supportive

This was a tough prompt, but I decided to interpret it in relation to Mulder’s alleged “brain disease” in season 7. In other words, what if the show had actually dealt with it as a Thing? Sorry, I don’t think it actually really fits the request, but it’s something?

1. They have just returned from Los Angeles, where she wooed him with magic and he kissed her while no one was looking on the Santa Monica Pier. He has more magic in mind as he tosses their bags onto the floor of her apartment. He doesn’t think about the thing in his brain that wants to kill him, but it waits. It hums like white noise, omnipresent. He has months, maybe. He is determined to make every moment of his life count. Like now. And now. Right now.

She’s wearing blue. He loves her in blue. He tickles the hem of her shirt, works his fingers under it while she feigns interest in sorting her mail. She is smiling, but pretending not to. It is a game

“Anything good?” He asks.

“I’m pre-approved,” she says, holding up a solicitous credit card envelope.

She drops it to the table when his whole hand slides under her shirt and then his lips are on her neck and then…

And then he is looking up at her. He is looking up because he’s on the floor and she is crying and tugging with one hand at his chest and saying his name over and over and oh Scully, your hands in my hair can’t heal what’s wrong, he thinks.

2. She is livid. She is enraged. She is pounding her fist into a pillow to keep from losing it all together.

“But why, Mulder? Why wouldn’t you tell me?” There are tears, she is so angry. And more tears because she is sad.

“It wouldn’t—I thought…” His eyes are closed and he’s leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. She’s pacing her living room now. They’ve just come from the hospital. “I wanted to wait… so you didn’t have to suffer as long.”

She’s stopped in front of him, fists at her hips, still in her travel clothes. Her blue that he loves. “Jesus fuck, Mulder. I’m a doctor. I’m your—your partner. You need to tell me.” And then she is dropping onto her knees and the anger is gone but the tears are not. “You need to tell me,” she says again, quieter this time. She is shoving her face into his neck and grabbing at his shirtsleeves with both hands like she can shake the disease out of him and her sobs are all like little knives in his heart.

She is crying so hard that it makes him cry too, and then he mumbles “I’m sorry” into her hair.

His knees come to the floor, to the outsides of hers, denim against cotton, so he can fold his whole body around hers. She slumps against him. He slumps against the floor. He kisses her. He makes love to her there, right there on her rug between the armchair and the couch. He tells her this is all he’s ever wanted. She asks how long he’s known.

“That this is all I’ve ever wanted?”

She frowns. Did you only love me because you were dying? she wants to ask. She doesn’t. It is too cruel.

3. When his mother dies it is too too much. It is a grave omen. It is a future echo of what might come.

Mirrored, then, in his apartment not hers, they come apart in exactly the same fashion only now it is his head at her breast, his coffee table shoved aside, not hers. They come apart and then they come together.

Days later, when he tells her he saw his sister, when he tells her he saw them all in starlight, her face crumples because she doesn’t want to doubt him, but she does. Because she thinks it might be a sign that things are worse.

She has traded blue for black leather.

4. Out of desperation, (a cure for everything, he promises) she follows an enemy and almost loses her life. Now it is Mulder’s turn to be livid. He hovers like a thundercloud. He storms like the sea. He has so little time—he will not spend it without her. How dare she almost take herself away?

Don’t you understand? She wants to scream. Wouldn’t you do anything? Didn’t you do everything?

They eye each other across a room so thick with desperation and regret and fear and love and relief and anger and Jesus how could you? that they can almost taste it like warm metal.

He nearly reads her mind. He would, but he doesn’t have to.

“I’d never forgive you if you died for me,” he says.

She pushes herself off of her couch and walks to him. “What can we do?” She asks as she lifts her palms to his face. He doesn’t touch her. He can’t. Not yet. But then he does because how can he not? She smells like fresh air and danger. He smells like fearsweat. “I can’t do nothing, Mulder,” she says into his sweater, and his arms come around her.

5. Is it a miracle from God or a gift from the devil? Some hellish combination of mad science and corporate greed conspire to rip his lungs to shreds and in doing so, strap him down to a North Carolina hospital bed. Scully is tracking down his other records, his brain scans, when they administer the nicotine or it never would have happened. She’s not there when he is poisoned back to life, but first to death. She never would have left him but… His heart stops for a moment. For a moment he is dead. A moment. Then a minute. A full minute. And then it beats again.

When he is alive (You act like you’re surprised.) his death seems to have cured his other death. Deaths? There are no more beetles. There are no more dark gray tendrils in his brain. Something miraculous (devilish, impossible, nefarious) has happened. What disease is cured by death? What monster would design such a thing?

He is dead-alive. But mostly he is alive. He lives to go back to L.A., to see this stupid movie, to tumble already half naked into the hotel sheets with his love, tipsy on Champagne.

They are suddenly so present, so perfectly aligned with the universe and each other, they are bursting. They are swollen with life and promise. Her fingers are always always in his hair. “Your beautiful brain, Mulder,” she says.

He sighs, dramatic. “You only love me for my brains,” he says. He is lying on his side, naked now, trailing a hand along the skin of her back. She laughs, rolls over, pulls him on top of her: red hair on the pillow, tiny cold toes on his thighs.

“Show me what else you’ve got, then,” she says, and he pulls her hips toward him.

He has his whole life, he thinks.

-end-

I’ll leave it up to y’all what happens next but psst I’ll give you a hint, he doesn’t go to Oregon the second time 😉😘

[starbuck09256]

Starry Night in Nevada

50 states of sex challenge thanks @softnow @viceversawrites 

taggins @today-in-fic

She shifts uncomfortably on her heels, her face a mix of panic and awkwardness. She swallows hard licking her lips as she states “a weird killing at the Clown Motel in Tonopah, Nevada. You want to go to the middle of nowhere Nevada and hunt down a ghost clown?” She is hoping he suddenly has a change of heart. She hates clowns has been terrified of them since she was a child. Please change your mind, please please please. She could just tell him no, say I don’t feel like going to Nevada in March because it’s still a 100 fucking degrees outside and dry heat my ass, and clowns are fucking scary and there are no such thing as ghosts... Maybe leave the last little bit out. Maybe she should just go down on him here in the office rip the file from his hand and throw it in the trash as she swiftly unbuckles his belt and slides her hands down his hips as she lowers her lips on his cock. That generally works to make him forget about things. Fuck he is holding up tickets, his bag is packed in the corner. When the hell did he have time to pack?  

The blow job idea won’t work, she thinks, she already had him pulsing inside her this morning at 3am because she couldn’t sleep and his kisses are better than any ambien. He had left shortly after saying he wanted to get a jump on things at the office and apparently pack for this nightmare case. “Don’t we have some like budget meeting thing we have to go to this week?” She says wondering if they would have enough time to fully investigate this case and if she can get out of it. “yea, but it’s on Thursday, besides our flight leave in 2 hours. I uh already packed for you too,” He says and that is when she notices her small carry on bag tucked in the corner.  “you went through my stuff and packed for me?” her mood more dangerous now that she is aware how far he went for this little trip. “Not like that Scully, remember the mix up at the airport last week? We got back from California and they lost both our bags, they delivered them to my place I got everything washed and dry cleaned and the weather is gonna be the same so I thought I could save you the trouble I grabbed a couple things when I left this morning so that you could get some sleep. Because you know you were up.. Late.” he’s moved his face next to hers breathing in her shampoo and perfume. He licks his lips hovering just above her mouth. “so late, Scully doing important things,” she sighs and he grins at her failing resolve his lips land on her neck gently sucking and trailing small kisses until he stops just under her ear. “Fine, let’s go catch a cab.”

The clown motel is even creepier than she thought it would be and Mulder definitely notices. She will barely go inside. Tonopah doesn’t have a morgue it only has three gas stations, six bars and one school. Priorities she guesses. She finishes the autopsies quickly at the local high school lab hoping that they can catch the next flight. Mulder comes to meet her letting her know the culprits walked into the police department and confessed while she assures him it was simply an overdose of Viagra mostly likely to get more bang for their buck at the local brothels and the projection of the clown walking down main street was merely a coincidence. A young deputy let’s her know they will handle all the rest and thanks them for coming all the way up here to bust up a recreation of an episode of Scooby Doo.  

“you glad we get to go home?” he calls out as he changes in the bathroom. She is so glad, “yea actually I hate clowns, and that motel was beyond creepy.” she admits her high heels are already off and she is looking at the assortment of clothing Mulder has packed for her. Lots of sexy unpractical lingerie, her favorite green sweater a pair of faded jeans, and a coat. Why would she need a coat in Nevada of all places? “I noticed you seemed pretty uncomfortable. Were you afraid of clowns as a kid?” he asks he comes out of the bathroom freshly showered rubbing his hair with a towel. Loose fitting blue jeans and a grey shirt finishing off his look. She looks up at him “yes I was, clearly irrational but they are creepy”. He smiles at her walking to the bed dropping the towel on the floor. He crawls up her bracing himself on his elbow as he reached over to play with the buttons on her blouse. “it makes complete sense why you of all people would be afraid of clowns.” She looks at him confused while enjoying his light touch across her chest. “How’s that?” she mutters. His fingers have undone the top three buttons and he is slowly letting his hand trickle over her lace bra. “Clowns are people in disguise, they are hiding themselves, you realized that the only real fear you should have is of people” it’s a statement from his clinical psychology days. His hand slips inside her bra gently pulling at her nipple. “Mulder, you had this case solved before we even got off the plane, why are we here?” He unclasps her bra. “I want to show you something but it won’t be ready for a few more hours, think we can think of something to past the time?” his grin is sheepish and endearing. She turns on her side to face him as her hands move down to pull his shirt up as she strokes his abs. “Oh I think we can think of something.”

In the earlier days of their new arrangement he would have fucked her against the door as soon as they got the keys to the rooms. But the new secret life they lead is more relaxed. They make love in the crappy motel in Tonopah and then relax to watch something on satellite. It’s late and she wants to go to sleep but Mulder lets her know he is going to wake her up for her surprise the real reason they flew across the country drove 4 hours and why she had to suffer through seeing a clown motel. He wakes her up at 3am nuzzling her thighs and kissing his way up her body. “what time is it?” she mutters. “It’s time to get up, change into the jeans and sweater and bring the coat. I have everything else in the car.” “What? Mulder.” “Come on Scully it’ll be worth it, I promise.”

The drive is short up a steep hill on the edge of the cemetery he gets out and tells her to cover her eyes while he “sets up”. Not knowing what the hell he is talking about and not caring because it’s 3am, she lets her eyes fall shut only to feel Mulders hand an instant later pulling her gently out of the car. “Where are we going?” she mutters. But he is too far ahead of her to hear. They walk up the hill and her eyes adjust to the darkness. She sees it then he has set up a blanket a thermos and a small portable telescope. “Come lay down with me” he smiles tugging her to the blanket. She lays down on the blanket and he cuts off the lantern he brought. She looks up to see millions of stars shining down on her. “oh my god,” she whispers. He is right next to her holding her hand. He leans in and kisses her whispering as to not break the enchantment of the night sky ”Tonopah Nevada has the best star gazing in the united states, and tonight there is a meteor shower, and I personally have always wanted to make love to you under the stars.” She turns and looks at him and chuckles shaking her head. She licks her lips and kisses him her hand cupping his face pulling him on top of her. The night breeze is cool against her skin as he moves inside of her, her breath catching as she shutters around him still watching the shooting stars outlining his face in the night sky.  

Author Notes: Tonopah Nevada totally is the star gazing capitol of the U.S. It also totally has a clown motel that is incredibly creepy. It is 3.5 hours from the nearest anything and has lots of brothels and a huge cemetery. Sorry it’s not that smutty. Hope you liked it. 

#msr fanfic #mulder and scully #50 states of sex challenge mulder has always been dating scully how they found out she is afraid of clowns

[spookyscullies]

how to begin an ending

rating: NC-17 (for language)

plot: Mulder is trapped in a downward spiral of grief after Scully is shot in her apartment instead of Melissa.

tagging: @today-in-fic

Stacks upon stacks of files. Everywhere. Covering the floors, lining the walls, upon every surface in apartment number 42. Files interspersed between piles of dirty dishes. Some hadn't been touched in ages, with dust that created a film on them. Others had been left open, papers spilling out. The rooms were left dark, always. Never a light turned on. It was a hopeless place, and just like it was devoid of any light, it was also devoid of any real life.

The lock clicked and the door pushed open. He stumbled in the doorway and slammed the door behind him. He slumped against it, falling slowly to the floor as his back pressed against the door for some stability. He buried his face in his hands, his head pounding in excruciating pain. It always felt like this. Even without the hangovers. Sure, he went out every few days to get hammered, but the headaches were a preexisting condition. It was a wonder his still had his job, although he was damn near close to getting fired. Skinner wouldn't fire him, though. Mulder knew he just felt sorry for him. One sorry son of a bitch. That's what Scully's brother had said to him that day.

Characteristically, that day had been dark. He had found it hilariously fitting. Of course it was stormy. Of course it was raining. Of course the sky was overcast and angry. It was only suitable, and it only made sense. It was a grim day, overflowing with sorrow and despair. A lot of hatred for himself and a lot of hatred towards him from others. How could he be forgiven? He was to blame. It was his fault she was dead.

Mulder eased himself up from his position and walked over files to reach his couch. His coffee table was littered with the current leads he was following. All of them were dead ends, and he knew it. There was nothing that could be traced to anyone. They covered it up too well. They took what was most precious to him. They did it again. His eyes wearily glossed over the M.E. report. Single gunshot to the temporal fossa. Cause of death: fatal injury to the brain and blood loss. Absolutely nothing left at the scene. No finger prints. The bullet had proved to be untraceable. No sign of a break in. The perfect set up for a case to go cold. He squeezed his eye shut tightly.

It had been the first place he'd gone to after returning from New Mexico, Scully's apartment. He had to get back home eventually, but he'd wanted to see her first. Upon reaching her apartment complex, however, he was greeted from a few blocks away by flashing lights and dozens of personnel flocking outside the building. He had immediately pulled over on the side of the road. He ran the rest of the way, pushing past law enforcement officials and residents of the building, flashing his badge along the way.

He followed the corridors, ignoring the looks of pity or confusion that came from the local police . The door was wide open, and there she was. Skinner stood above her, his eyes filled with grief. Her auburn hair was splayed against the floor, stained a darker shade of red by the pool of blood that leaked from the wound. Her eyes. The sight of her eyes wide open, staring into nothingness was an image he could never get rid of, no matter how much he tried to drink it away.

Mulder sunk to his knees, his breath stolen from him. His fingers gently brushed her cheek. She was still warm. Her lips were slightly pulled apart, as if in shock.

"Mulder, you can't." Skinner said quietly.

He didn't listen. He tenderly closed her eyes.

"Agent Mulder."

Mulder felt tears slip from his eyes, his hands squeezing her shoulders and drawing her close to his body, holding her lifeless form in his arms. He shook violently as his sobs overtook him. Her blood-soaked hair was pressed against his face, her head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck.

"Scully." He whispered softly, rocking back on his knees. Her tiny frame remained motionless in response to his whispers. His hot tears trailed down his face, landing on the top of her head.

It might as well have been if he held the gun to her himself. He killed her. He did this. He did this to her. His life's mission destroyed her, an innocent. It wasn't even her quest and here she was because of him. He knew why she stayed, but God, he should've told her to leave long ago. He should have told her to stay the hell away from him. She would have fought him, told him that she wouldn't leave her side, but he should've done something. If he had done anything, she wouldn't be lying here dead.

Mulder slammed his fist down on his coffee table, his sorrow pulsing through him, coursing alongside his rage. His fingers gripped the underside of the table, and through a fit of fury, he overturned it and threw it hard to the floor. The wood splintered and groaned and he kicked at it in indignation.

He sunk onto the couch, clutching a pillow against his chest. His heart clenched excruciatingly, remembering all the hurt Scully had suffered for him. How she had bravely undergone it, never asking for pity, never looking for sympathy. Why did she do it? It baffled him to this very day, why she so stoically remained by his side, never backing down. Even after her abduction, even after her coma, she came back and aided him.

It wasn't fucking fair. Why her and not him?

Everyone was clad in black. A long procession of people trailed around the coffin, draped in the colors of the country Scully had served so faithfully. Mulder stood staring for what seemed like hours. It hadn't been an open-casket ceremony, and he thanked whatever god that was out there for that. He wouldn't have been able to handle it. Hell, he wasn't handling it now. One by one, each member of the congregation placed a rose upon the coffin. Finally, he had reached the front of the line. His hand shaking, he lowered the flower onto the small pile that had already been laid there. He had attached something to his rose. It was something he had been saving until her birthday. It was an Apollo 11 keychain, just something that he thought she would appreciate.

He watched as the coffin descended into the cold ground, turning away when members of her family began to pour dirt into the darkness she had been entombed in.

"Fox?" Melissa tapped him on the shoulder.

"I can't do it. I'm sorry." Mulder muttered, forcing his voice not to shatter.

Melissa was silent for a few seconds, as others around began to do their share in the work.

"You know Fox, I think she loved you." She said solemnly.

He glanced up at her, his eyes red, tears threatening to break free.

Mulder leaned against the arms of the couch, fighting to stay awake. For what, he sincerely didn't know.

_______________________________________________________________________

His eyes jerked open. Sunlight was peaking through his windows. His head felt heavy, and his brow was beaded in sweat. He looked around, inspecting his surroundings. There were no files on the ground, none on the table. In fact, the table was still in one complete piece.

He heard rustling in the kitchen. Alarmed, he stood to his feet. He swayed back and forth a little, shaky on his feet. He staggered toward the kitchen.

He saw a flash of red hair.

"Scully?" He mumbled, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

She turned to face him, her eyes filled with concern.

"Mulder, what are you doing up and walking around? Go lie back down, you still have a fever." She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead and guided him back to the living room.

"Scully, you're... you're alive?" Mulder stopped in his tracks, his hands gripping her arms.

"Of course I'm alive." Scully laughed, but her smile faded as Mulder leaned in toward her, their faces nearly touching. "What are you doing?"

"I thought I lost you." He whispered. He pulled her into a tight embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"Lost me?" She questioned softly against his chest. She pushed back to look into his eyes. "Mulder, I think you're a little delirious."

"I think I am too, Scully. I can't believe how deliriously stupid I've been all these years." He held her face in his hands, his thumb tenderly stroking her cheek.

"What do you mean?" Her deep blue eyes searched his, looking for something to tell her what this all meant.

"I had a fever dream. You were dead, Scully, you died. You were shot... instead of your sister. I saw what my life turned out to be. How miserable, how lost I was without you. It was a nightmare. You were gone and the pain was stifling, like all the air in the world had been taken away. I couldn't breathe. Every day was a day filled with enduring agony. And out of all of the horror I've felt in my life, all of the pain I've experienced, I don't think a single thing can compare to that feeling of having you gone. It was unbearable. What I mean is that I don't know how I ever went through life without you. I don't think I can go through life without you."

Scully stared at him in stunned silence, her fingers interlacing with his.

"You know you don't have to. And you know that was just a dream, Mulder. I'm here." Scully kissed his forehead delicately, remaining there for a few moments.

"Scully."

She met his eyes; they shone at her with such intensity. He tilted his head forward. There was an instant that seemed to last for thousands of years. The second before their lips met, their noses touching, so close they could feel the breath from the other bouncing off their skin. His lips captured hers, tender but with zeal, like a desire fulfilled after years of longing. They moved with each other, feeding off of the other's passion, tongues wandering. Hands roaming.

They broke apart at last, eyes shining with joy.

"You're it, Scully. You're all I need." Mulder tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

She nestled her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around him. She deliberated for a moment

“I love you too, Mulder.”

#msr fanfic #txf fanfic #txf fan fiction #msr #mulder and scully #txf #scully #mulder #dana scully #fox mulder #todayinfic

[syntax6]

Also for Flick Fic Week

Here are some bantery, smutty FtF-related parts of “Scavenger.” :)

The worst part about the dream was that she never knew when it was coming.  Good days, bad days, boring days -- there was no rhyme or reason.  The beginning wasn't always the same, so even in her sleep it could sneak up on her.  She would be with Mulder, sometimes arguing, sometimes walking -- once, to her chagrin, they had even been making out -- when the room would start to spin.  She felt the floor go out from under her, like an earthquake, and bile would rise in her throat. Dark and cold set in next, but those were bearable. The worst part was feeling herself expand, the terrible pressure that pushed her internal organs back up under her ribs, and the second heartbeat that echoed hers.  

She heard it in her head, felt it in her bones, relentless. The end was the same: she awoke clawing the sheets, gasping for air.  Always, her hand went to her middle to touch the phantom inside. Scully rolled out of bed on shaky legs and went to splash water on her face.  She knew the source of the dream, of course; she'd read his reports until the paper was threadbare.  It got so she didn't know how much of the dream was her memory and how much was his nightmare come to life in her subconscious.  Plus, there were holes.  She remembered most the pounding inside her and the white white ice. Water dripped down her chin as she stared at her face in the mirror. 

I went there to quit, she thought, I went to leave him.  

She remembered her speech because she'd practiced it in the car on the way to his apartment.  She had vague recollections of standing there, telling him she was through.  His face, crystallized in disbelief, this she would always remember.  But his answer was...what? She couldn’t recall. She could ask, but then he might tell her. How embarrassing, she thought, if he had said okay.  If he had been relieved.  You were great Scully, but I agree it's time for a change of scene.  Keep in touch.  

She had practically forced herself back on him at the end, had in fact been forcing herself ever since -- wither Mulder goest, she went also, whether he liked it or not.  Lately he'd been disappearing on his own again, leaving her behind like something he'd scrape off his shoe. Thanks, he'd said last night, and seemed to mean it, but still she didn't dare ask.

*snip*

Dusk settled, muting the crazed colors of the Woodsbury town fair.  Helpless stranded balloons waved from the trees, and a brass band played swing music on center stage.  Mulder and Scully crossed the soft, fresh-cut grass, taking care not to step on any picnickers enjoying the show. Children flew past them like accelerated particles -- one hapless victim crashing headfirst into Mulder's knees. 

"Fireworks won't start for another hour," he said as they stood in line at the concession stand.  The scent of popcorn hung heavy in the air.  "We have time to ride the Ferris wheel."

She eyed him.  "Mulder, no."

“Scully, yes."

"Amusement rides at country fairs are notorious for their poor safety codes."

"It looks plenty safe to me."

"I've heard that one before -- usually just before one or both of us ends up in quarantine."

He paused to order his hot dog.  "And she'll have..."

"A veggie burger," Scully supplied, and Mulder made a face.

“Now that's danger right there.  Those things will scrub out your lower intestine like a Brillo pad."

"At least my food doesn't contain an actual intestine."

He scanned the chalk-written menu. "Beer?”

"Why not?"  They weren't on the clock so one beer couldn't hurt.  

Mulder handed her plate to her but couldn't get his wallet out with his hands full of hot dog. "Hold my wiener, Scully?"

She took it without thinking, and the kids behind them laughed.  Mulder bit his lip in silent mirth as she gave him a long-suffering look.  "You do this to me on purpose."

"It's a heck of a wiener, isn't it?"

She took advantage of his open mouth and shoved one end in.  "It sure is, Mulder."

They strolled over in the direction of the temporary picnic tables.  "Seriously, Scully," he said between bites of wiener.  "When was the last time you were on a Ferris wheel?"

"Seriously, Mulder?  Never."

"Never?  That's impossible.  Why not?  I know you're not afraid of heights."

"We didn't do stuff like this when I was a kid.  My parents weren't circus people."

"That ends a long-standing question I've had," he said, and she nudged him in the shin with her foot. 

"Plus, a rickety, waving bucket fifty feet in the air?  I don't see the attraction."

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it," he replied.  He tipped back his head to drain his bottle of beer.  "Finish yours and we'll go."

She looked down into her bottle.  "I may need another."

"It's fun.  You'll see."  He grabbed her hand and started dragging her toward the line.

XXX

Over the trees they went, halting at the pinnacle to load more people on to the wheel.  Mulder used his weight to rock their swing, and Scully gripped the side.  "Admit it," he said.  "It's nice up here."

She peered through one eye at the blanket of lights stretched out beneath them.  "It's okay."  Up in the air, it was cooler.  The big band had shifted into "Stars and Stripes Forever," and the music wasn't so loud from their vantage point. The wheel heaved to a start again and Scully relaxed a bit in her seat.  The bucket of bolts wasn't going to collapse just yet.  

"I just love the Fourth of July," Mulder said, stretching one arm behind her.  "Barbecue and fireworks and all-day baseball games."

"The holiday ends tomorrow," she reminded him. "Kersh is going to want to know where we are."

"He won't even miss us."

"Sure, right up until the next fertilizer assignment comes in."

He looked at her. "I didn't think you'd even noticed."

"Mulder, how could I not notice?  The man has given us every scut assignment that comes down the pike." He turned his head, and she frowned.  "Wait a minute -- what you mean is, you don't think I *cared*."

He still avoided her eyes.  "Not exactly."

Scully forgot her unease and shifted in the swing, grabbing his arm.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I figured you liked the change, that's all.  We're coloring within the lines for once.  It must be a relief to you."

"I can't believe you'd say that, Mulder. All our training, all our years of experience in the field, it's all being wasted on pissant cases so Kersh can grind us into the dust, and you think that makes me happy?"

“I didn't say happy.  I said relieved."

She looked away.  Up, up, and around they went.  She felt a little dizzy.  "I don't believe this."

"Well, the truth is, Scully, that sometimes I don't know whether you differentiate between the X-Files and a giant pile of sh--"

“Mulder!” 

"Well, it's true!"

"I can't believe you'd even say that."

“Oh, come on, Scully.  At the end there you weren't exactly bowling anyone over with your enthusiasm."

"I worked every bit as hard as you did."

"I never said you didn't."

She glared at him.  "No, I just don't quite live up to your high standards, is that it?"

"Now you're putting words in my mouth."

"I don't think I am."

"You left, Scully.  You quit, remember?  You had a transfer and you wanted to leave."

"Not the X-Files!"

"No, just me."

Her mouth snapped shut.  "Is that what you really think?"

He gave a half-shrug.  "It's the truth, isn't it?"

"Mulder, I told you I wanted to stay.  I told you I wasn't going anywhere."He shrugged again, his eyes on the ground below, and she realized the problem:  he didn't quite believe her.  She rubbed her forehead with one hand, wondering what to say, and she felt his fingers close over hers.  He tugged her hand down and into his lap.

"Fireworks are starting," he said just as the wheel came to a halt again.  They swayed in front of a glittering sky.  The first round of lights sputtered out as quickly as they had exploded.  Scully curled her fingers around Mulder's and watched the giant ghostly smoke spiders dissolve into the trees.

XxX

Yawning, she opened her door in slow motion when he stopped in the motel parking lot.  Mulder popped the trunk and pulled out a familiar box.  Scully blinked at him.  "You're not seriously going to watch more of those tapes tonight, are you?"

"I figure I've had my break. Time's ticking here, Scully. If we don't ID this guy soon he's going to put another notch on his belt."

She drew a shuddering breath and walked towards him.  "Okay, then. Two sets of eyes are better than one.  Let's get to it."

"No, Scully. You get some rest. No point in both of us burning the midnight oil."

"It's just past eleven."  She put her hands on his back and began steering him towards his room. "Let's go.”

“Okay, okay."  He let her propel him to his door, where he fumbled with the box and the key.  Scully leaned against the outer wall and yawned some more. Inside, he wrestled with the VCR while she took off her shoes and on his semi-made bed.  The sheets smelled of starch and Mulder.  "I think this is the one," he said as the TV screen came to life.  "Yeah, June nineteenth is where we left off." He yawned as well and crawled across the bed to join her.  

She wiggled her toes in his blankets.  "You like Chris Cullen as a suspect?" she asked.

"Wouldn't rule him out.  We know he had contact with at least two of the victims.  By his own admission, he's been here during the summer for the past four years."

"What if we can't find Mark Roy on any of the tapes?"

"I don't know. I'm hoping like hell that we do, but something tells me it's not going to be that easy."

She nodded and settled in against the pillow.  Deep and soft, it let her sink forever.  She watched the flickering black and white images through heavy eyes.  A man with a long beard was buying a six-pack of Heineken and Twix bar.  Yuck, Scully thought, and then was fast asleep.

She jerked awake hours later to find a blank, glowing screen and Mulder passed out beside her, the remote still in his limp hand.  Curling towards him, she nuzzled into the pillow and contemplated his slackened face.  Lashes shadowed his cheekbones and she could see the faint stubble creeping in around his chin.  His mouth was parted a bit, his lower lip shining in the surreal light.  In her dreams, she could taste that lip -- salty and cold.  She felt it pressed to hers with such urgency it took her breath away.

Just a dream, she thought lazily, but it seemed so real.  She sneaked another look at his mouth, and Mulder sighed.  His breath teased over the plump bottom edge, making it quiver, and Scully felt an answering flutter in her belly. Her subconscious could *not* be making this up. I've kissed him.  I must have. 

She drew up and looked down at him more sternly, as if he were holding out on her.  Still no memory came.  Impossible. His mouth worked in and out once, almost like an infant's, and he turned his head a bit on the pillow.  Scully's heart sped up. I could do it now, she thought.  Just to see.  If there's any way to know for sure, it's to try it again. She squeezed her eyes shut, hardly daring to believe what she was contemplating.  She wasn't going to molest him in his sleep, was she?  

Yes, yes she was.  He would never know and she needed to know.  It was just a kiss.  She swallowed hard and began her approach.  Her hair fell forward as she leaned down so she tucked it behind her air.  Already her skin was sensitized, the sweep of her fingers against her skin making her tingle.  Mulder didn't move.  She lowered her face another few inches until she could smell him, smell the cotton of his T-shirt and the warm creases in his neck.  Her mouth watered and she licked her lips.  His exhales brushed her lips; she almost jerked away. Light-headed, she closed her eyes and let gravity do the rest.  Their mouths met.  

Scully froze, terrified he would wake, but Mulder slept on.  Gradually she relaxed and let herself feel his lips against hers.  Nope, she thought as she lingered, never done this before. She shifted position and kissed him a bit more firmly, changing angles so their lips brushed again and again. Suddenly, he stopped cooperating...

He pulled himself from sleep like he was dragging the ocean, slow, the tides sucking him back in.  He could taste her tongue against his lips and he didn't want to wake up just yet. But his eyes flickered open. Cool air and warm skin. Scully's hair against his cheek.  He could hear her heart beating, or was it his own?  She looked down at him with wide luminous eyes.  

Oh my God, he thought, panic face in action, but he didn't so much as twitch.  He kept perfectly still so as not to scare her away.  When he found his voice, it came out pitched like gravel.  "What was that?" 

"Um."  She cleared her throat and looked at her hands  "An experiment?"

"I see."  He stared at her some more.  "What was the purpose of this experiment exactly?"

"To see if we had done... this before."

“We haven't."

"Yeah, that's what I found out."

"You were unclear?"

"Um, maybe a little, yeah.  It's hard to explain."

"Oh."  His hand came up and cupped the curve of her face.  He stoked her fine skin with the pad of his thumb; she leaned into his touch.  "Maybe we should do it some more, then. Just so you're certain."

"We could..."  She licked her lips. "We could do that."

"Good."  His hand snaked around to the back of her neck and brought her down to him, closer this time.  Her breath whispered across his face just before her lips came down on his.  He exploded like the evening's fireworks, sparklers behind his eyes as she learned him with her hot little tongue. He tasted her lips, her teeth, felt the soft weight of her pressing him into oblivion.  Her thigh made a rough slid over his, denim on denim, Scully twisting in his arms.  He sprinted around the bases waiting for her to stop him sliding into second, but she just raised her chest for his hands.  Shaking, he stroked her through her T-shirt with tender fingers until she broke off panting against his face. 

"Mulder--"

"Stop?"  He found her swollen nipples with his thumbs and she shook her head.  Her free hand slipped under his shirt to skim along his ribs.  He took it as his cue to do the same.  

Soon he had her bra undone, trapped under the cotton shirt with his nimble fingers.  He pinched her nipples at the same time and she cried aloud.  His cock twitched in his jeans.  She was breathless, needy, and for once he knew what to give her.  His thigh rose up between her legs.  He couldn't imagine they would actually get their pants off; even in his dreams he couldn't get that far.  If they left their clothes on, it wasn't really happening. They groped like naughty teenagers, grinding together on the bed while he played in her mouth with his tongue.  The pressure in his pants grew unbearable but he made no move to relieve it.  

Scully wasn't as patient.  His hips bucked when her fingers found him, playing along the taut fly.  He pushed his head deep into the pillow and gritted his teeth.  The only sound in the room was their ragged breathing and Scully working their zippers.He sighed when he felt her weight come down on him again, his cock still tucked half inside his jeans.  She kissed his neck, his ear, his chin.

He couldn't believe the velvet smooth expanse of her back.  Jerking her shirt up, he mapped greedy hands over every inch of her.  His fingertips found the loose waistband drooping at her hips, rubbing up and down and sneaking a little farther in each time.  Scully's hips picked up his rhythm, forcing him deeper, until at last he met the leg band of her underwear.  The lace edge was slippery, wet, and he wedged his fingers inside.

Scully spasmed and muttered a dirty word near his ear.  

"There?" he breathed against her sweet skin. She hummed a yes, pushing into his hand, and he clawed her hair out of the way to see her face.  

Her eyes were closed in concentration, her brow furrowed the way it did when she was working out an argument.  Thinking about fucking me, he thought, and nearly lost it right then.  He bit her shoulder, cotton and all .Her tempo increased, her rocking deepened.  Blood thrummed in his veins.  Thisisitthisit… 

The phone rang. He froze but Scully's hips jerked several more times on his hand.  She braced herself on either side of his head. "Phone," she murmured, sounding lost.  

Phones ringing at 2am meant only bad news.  He pressed his face to the hollow between her breasts.  Somehow, he managed to free his hand from her thighs, and Scully collapsed onto the bed, still breathing hard.  He steadied himself and answered the phone. "Mulder."  His voice came out just a little strained.

"Agent Mulder, it's Eleanor Kot.  I'm sorry to disturb you at  this late hour."

He lay back, closing his eyes.  His dick throbbed in time with his pounding heart. "What is it?"

"We just got a call from CiCi's daughter Janet.  CiCi went to the town fair and hasn't come home."

Mulder looked at Scully.  Her hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed, but her eyes were concerned.  He reached over and squeezed her knee.  "Scully and I'll be right there," he said to Eleanor. 

"Hurry," she answered.  "It may already be too late."

XxXxXxXxXxX

#XF fic #Fight the Future

[atths--twice]

Okay... so Nothing Lasts Forever... I have to admit that the only parts of it I truly enjoy are the MSR scenes. The rest of the episode is creepy and honestly gross to me. So, the focus of this chapter will be on their relationship and not the story line. I think we can all agree that that is what is most important anyway, right? I mean, come on...

Chapter Thirty Nine 

Shining Light  

Time spent in church, prayers, discussions and decisions, lead to conversations that should have been had years ago.

March 2018

Scully woke up and felt off, the same way she had been feeling for a few days now. Something was not right, and she could tell. Turning onto her back, she sighed, so many thoughts running through her head. Closing her eyes she thought of the last few days.

Mulder had come over after the case in Connecticut and they had spent the night together, each healing the other in turn. They slept together, holding tight to the other, and she had ordered breakfast for them when they woke.

When he left, his eyes were saying things his mouth was not, and she felt inexplicably nervous. He kissed her forehead and left, no words spoken, and then no call or text for a couple of days. Things were strange between them, and she felt confused and off balance.

Pushing the covers back, she sat up and sighed, making a decision. She would go to mass and see if that helped. Recently she had been doing that more often, spending time at a church near the hotel. She did not always make it for a mass, but she found simply sitting in the church to be calming and peaceful. She took a quick shower, dressed, and headed for church.

The coolness of the holy water, the scent of the candles and pews, and the beauty of the stained glass brought back so many memories from her childhood. First communion, confirmation, her rebellious pull from church, her mother’s desire for her to find her faith once again, and how she found it again following her cancer diagnosis.

She sighed as she sat and closed her eyes, listening to the priest as he began to speak, but at the same time not paying much attention, drawing strength instead from the building itself and the memories it held. She felt for the quarter on a chain in her pocket and thought of her mother. She wished her mother was there, sitting beside her, ready to listen and offer advice for the worries plaguing her heart.

Scully knew how much her mother loved Mulder. She had known for years, and she could almost hear what her mother would say - It’s your decision, Dana. Nobody can make the decision for you.

Yes, she might say those words, but her eyes would silently be praying and begging for her to go back to him, to find her happiness again, and for them to be them again.

If only it were that easy …

She sighed again, her fingers rolling across the quarter in her pocket. “I’m trying,” she whispered. “We’re trying.” Sighing again, she let the quarter go and clasped her hands together, prayers passing silently across her lips.

Communion received, her mind still racing, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Glancing at the screen, she sighed and walked out of the church, heading to meet Mulder for a new case.

Seeing the manner in which the victims were killed and the reason for it made Scully feel uneasy, because it reminded her  of the case with Father Joe. She hated what that case did to her and Mulder, but it had forced them to talk in order to move forward. Following that case, a shift occurred. It was still a dark and sad time and was not something she liked to think about.

She investigated liver transplants in the area and found nothing out of the ordinary. Feeling the need to go back to a church, she texted Mulder where she would be and sent him the address. Opening the doors, she walked inside and dipped her fingers into the holy water, crossing herself as she knelt a bow at the pew before she sat down.

She sighed as she attempted to find peace in the church. So many thoughts swirled in her head, with Mulder first and foremost. She knew he was enjoying and welcoming this slow walk back to each other, and so was she, but what was the plan for the future? Were they just going to continue on this … visiting each other for comfort? Hanging out, going out to eat, and then sex if they felt like it? It was nice, very nice, but it was not enough. She wanted more, but was also scared to take that leap again.

She closed her eyes as she thought of the hurt she had suffered from their separation. The loneliness, the solitude, the feeling of missing her other half. She thought of William, or Jackson, whatever name he went by, and she knew she had failed him. His parents, the ones he had known his entire life, were dead and he was all alone in the world. A boy with amazing abilities who had no way of understanding how or why he possessed them was now alone and scared. Being young, ignorant, and powerful  was a lethal combination, and she feared for him.

Opening her eyes, she looked to the front of the church and made a decision. She stood up and walked toward the candles, intending to light as many as she felt were needed to address the challenges she, Mulder, and their son now faced. Not many were lit initially and for that she was grateful. She knew she was going to be asking for a lot.

She did not want to be selfish in her prayers, so she lit one asking for peace and guidance for her family members. Nieces and nephews making life decisions they may not be prepared to undertake. She lit another and prayed for wisdom to do her job to the best of her ability and to help those who were unable to help themselves. She lit one for William, praying that one day she would have the chance to tell him the truth and be given a chance to explain why she made the decisions she made. The last candle she lit, she prayed for Mulder, for peace, understanding, and guidance that would be required for them to find their way back to one another.

As she lit his candle, Mulder appeared at her side joking about not bursting into flames as he crossed the threshold. She smiled at his joke, her prayer still in her head as she told him of the liver transplant recipients all being accounted for as he struggled to read off the information he gathered from a document on his phone without his glasses on.

“Oh, God, help me,” he said and she stared at him, amused. “Sorry.” He looked up and raised his hands as he put his glasses on, reading the screen of his phone and telling her what he discovered.

“I think we should hand this over to the NYC Organized Crime division, Mulder. I don't think this is an X-File,” she said, looking at him and shaking her head, as he raised his head in intrigue. “I'm gonna need some time here. I can meet up with you later, or you can wait for me.” He nodded and put his hand on her back before walking away.  

She turned back to the candles, needing to finish her prayer. This one was for herself and she prayed for wisdom and guidance, and to not be such a fucking coward. With a small groan, she asked for forgiveness at her choice of language and crossed herself as she turned around.

What she saw made her heart skip and her breath catch. There Mulder sat, waiting for her, just as she had suggested. Though she had suggested and hoped, she had assumed he would wait for her as he always had, outside, or even meeting up at a nearby coffee shop. She honestly thought he had left to do just that, leaving her standing there alone, but he was different now. They were different. Maybe her prayers had been heard after all.

“You waited,” she said quietly as she came to stand beside him. He looked up at her and away from the bible he held in his hands. Once more she had to ask for forgiveness, as the glasses he wore gave her some very impure thoughts.

“I waited,” he answered in the affirmative, sliding over so she could join him in the pew. She sat beside him and smiled as he went back to looking at the bible in his hands. Her prayers continued as she sat down, her thoughts jumbling together as the past and present began to blend.

She heard him mentioning the scripture about vengeance and she smiled, telling him it was a common biblical passage. He looked so disheartened that she felt the need to share something with him.

“Did I ever tell you how I came to believe in God?” she asked quietly, knowing he would get a kick out of the story.

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“When my brother Charlie was a baby, he got seriously ill. I think I was about four. I later learned that it was rheumatic fever.”

“Hmm,” Mulder nodded.

“Every night, Mom would tell us to get on our knees and pray for his recovery.”

“Your prayers were answered. He lived.”

“Only, after the first couple nights, I wasn’t praying for him,” she said, thinking of being a little girl again, her prayers so big. “I was praying for a puppy.” Mulder gave a big quiet laugh, and she laughed with him. “And we got one that Christmas. I thought God had performed a miracle.”

“I finally know why I’m not a Christian, Scully. My parents never got me a puppy,” Mulder said with a smile, and she laughed quietly.

“So are you-you praying for another miracle now?” he asked her curiously.

“I don’t know if I do believe in miracles. But I do know the power of faith,” she told him softly, as she took her mother’s quarter from her pocket. “I saw it in my mom, the strength that she received.” She stared at the quarter, holding it in her fingers. “I could use some of that strength now.”

She put the quarter back in her pocket and smiled. “I need what you have. You always bear north, Mulder … no matter which way or how hard the wind blows against you.” She stared at him with a smile, and he smiled back.

“I think all I have- all any of us have are the results of all the choices that we’ve made. And at the end of the day, we just hope that we made the right one,” he said softly and she nodded, closing her eyes, her choices weighing heavy on her heart. “Don’t know if that measures to what you’re saying, but it’s what I feel.” She opened her eyes and looked at him, his smile so open. She sighed and nodded again.

“Five minutes, okay?” she whispered, and he nodded, putting his glasses back on and picking up the Bible.

“Make it ten, I’m really interested in the Old Testament. Curious what happens to this Joseph fellow,” Mulder said and she laughed, closing her eyes again.  

“Oh." She heard beside her a few minutes later. “That took a dark turn.” She heard the book close and then his deep sigh. She smiled again, both of them then quiet as they sat in a shared pew.

_____________________

Walking down the street to the church, Scully rolled her neck, fighting the crick in it since falling down the elevator shaft a few days ago. Shaking her head and then giving her whole body a quick shake, she attempted to release the thoughts of the possibility she had faced of falling to her death.

What a horrible way to go, she thought, shaking her head again.

Walking through the doors of the church, she took a second to look at the stained glass, as she always did. The colors were beautiful and this time of day, they were even more so. This was one of her favorite churches, mainly because of the beauty within the architecture and spectrum of light the windows created.

Sighing, she stepped to the candles, needing to offer up prayers again. More of the same, but one in particular. Crossing herself, she stared at them and then at the window above, admiring their beauty. She took a deep breath and grabbed a stick, lighting the first candle and giving thanks for her health and for no broken bones or serious injury in her fall. Another candle, asking for health and safety of her family. Another, for her mother, thankful for the love and advice she bestowed upon all of those around her. Another, for herself, asking for guidance and strength to do what she knew she wanted but was still afraid to voice.

The last candle was for Mulder. Well, more importantly for Mulder and her and the decision weighing heavily upon her mind and heart. Before she could offer up a prayer, the candle went out, and she heard Mulder’s footfall behind her. She would know that gait anywhere.

She turned and looked at him, and then back to the candle, the irony and humor not lost on her. He may not have burst into flames when he entered the church before, but here at the one she frequented, he apparently had some kind of power, making the last and most important candle go out.

“That must be a sign. I’m all out of miracles. Turn back. Give up.” He smiled and reached for a stick. “Accept your place in the numbing embrace of the status quo.”

“Mm-mmm,” he hummed, lighting the stick. “I will … relight your candle and extend your prayers through mine.” She smiled as she watched him, knowing he had no idea the intention she placed upon that candle.

“What prayers?” she asked, unable to resist teasing him.

“I can’t tell you. They won’t come true,” he said with a shrug.

“It’s a prayer candle, Mulder. Not a birthday cake.” She laughed and he chuckled softly.

“Prayers aren’t meant to be sentiment. It’s a conversation,” she said, looking down at the candles. “You can do it like a meditation, or if your needs exceed your grasp, you can ask God to act on your behalf. But you don’t believe in God,” she said, glancing up at him. “So you’d essentially be talking to yourself.”

“Well, I might not believe in God, but I believe in you. Therefore I speak to him through you.” She stared at him as he spoke, but he was not finished. “Through the transitive property of equality. If ‘A’ equals ‘B’ and ‘B’ equals ‘C,’ therefore ‘A’ equals ‘C.’ Reason and faith in harmony. Isn’t that why we’re so good together?” he asked her.

She stared at him, raising her eyebrows and moving her head, her eyes dropping to his lips. “Are we together?” He looked down, his face sad and thoughtful. He took a breath and started to answer her, but she cut him off. “You know, I believed I could protect our son, and I failed. I thought we could live together, and I fled.” She looked at him sideways, almost unable to meet his gaze head on. “I gave up on that, too.” She looked down and kept her eyes on the candles,

“If only you’d fled earlier,” he said and she looked at him. “You know how many times I’ve envisioned that scenario, where you left that basement office before I even needed glasses? You’d have your health, your dog, your sister.” He stared at her and she stared back. “You’d be Kersh’s boss at the FBI, and be married to some brain surgeon, and have a bunch of kids that you wouldn’t have to give up.”

She took a breath, waiting a beat. “Mulder, I don’t begrudge you any of those things. That’s not what I was talking about,” she said, looking down and then back up at him again.

“Well, what are we talking about, Scully? Because I don’t know if any God is listening, but I am standing right here, and I am listening. Right beside you. I’m all ears. That’s my choice.”

She stared at him, millions of thoughts running through her head. How she gave up William, gave up on them, and ran away. She did leave, but it had been for good reason, and yet … Still though, one thing had remained the same no matter the hurt and the pain they caused each other. He was there beside her, and she knew he always would be, no matter the context or label.

She looked around the church, having no idea how he even knew she would be there, and looked to see if anyone was around before she leaned forward and began to whisper in his ear. She thought about what she wanted to say, what words would be enough to convey her innermost feelings and desires.

“I’m ready, Mulder. For everything. I want my mystery answered and to stop chasing monsters.” He stood still and stared at her. She needed him to understand, to know her heart completely.

“That’s not my four-year-old self looking for a miracle,” she said, taking a deep breath. “That’s my leap of faith forward. And I’d like to do it together.”

Mulder nodded and kept his eyes on her. “I’ve always wondered how this was gonna end.” He stared at her before turning to pick up a stick and light the last remaining candle.

They stood there and watched the flame flicker and then his hand was holding hers and the tears in her eyes spilled over. “Like a conversation, you said?” he asked softly and she nodded, wiping at her eyes. He took a deep breath and squeezed her hand, keeping his eyes on the candles, as she watched his face.

“You didn’t flee, you saved us both. You didn’t give up on anything Scully, least of all me, or us. You saved us." He turned to her and stared into her eyes. “I told you years ago that you saved me, and that is just as true today as it was then. Even more so. You’ve been saving me for twenty five years, Scully. Keeping me honest and making me a whole person. Even apart, you are what keeps me whole.” He put his hand on her face and stroked her cheek, his thumb brushing away her tears. “Your goddamn strict rationalism. Oh …” He looked up heavenward, horrified, and she laughed, putting her hand over his on her cheek.

She closed her eyes as she laughed and cried, before opening them to look at him. His face was serious, and he let go of her hand to hold her face gently, shaking his head as he did.

“I stopped seeing you. I looked too far into the dark, and my shining light got left behind. A light only lasts so long before it goes out, the darkness swallowing it up." He shook his head and she cried harder, holding onto his wrist. “If you had stayed, your light would have gone out and we both … Scully, I can’t even fathom it. You didn’t flee, you made a decision that hurt. We were broken, and you saved us from being broken beyond repair. Any other form of breaking …” He sighed and shook his head.

She closed her eyes again, and he rested his forehead against hers. She took shaky breaths and then pulled back, looking at him, the man she loved for most of her life. She moved her hand from his wrist and stepped back, moving his hands from her face, holding them in her own. She looked down at their hands, his so large, keeping hers safe within.

“Scully,” he said so quietly, it was like a breath. He interlocked their fingers and squeezed as she looked up at him. He searched her face and she smiled softly. He glanced at the candles and took a breath. “I don’t know where to begin, how to answer our mystery, Scully. I don’t know how to find someone who is determined to stay hidden, as he should, but …” He turned his head to her and smiled gently. “Without hesitation, I would go to the ends of the earth to find him, if that’s what I need to do.”

“For the second time?” she said with a soft smile and he smiled with a nod.

“I know a guy with access to a snow cat,” he said with a shrug, and she laughed softly before letting go of his hands and stepping closer to him, her hands on his chest. He stared at her, and she sighed.

“I love you, Mulder,” she whispered. He grinned and put his hands on her waist, holding her lightly.

“If I kiss you, will the lightning hit me?” he asked softly, and she laughed again.

“It won’t, but I might if you don’t,” she said quietly, and he nodded, bending his head and kissing her softly, making her heart race. He straightened up and his hands pulled her closer, his forehead once more falling to hers.

“I love you, Scully. More than you could ever quantify or understand,” he whispered, and she smiled.

“Show off,” she whispered back, his answering chuckle making her smile.

They stood there, in front of the light of the candles, the beauty of the stained glass beside them, foreheads pressed together, and silent prayers being said between them. She closed her eyes, her decision made, her heart at peace. He was there, holding the other end of the line, making sure to never let her go again.

____________________________________________________

Like I said, I choose to focus on the less gory aspects of the episode as the MSR is so much better to gaze upon anyway. For so many reasons. 

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #X Files Novel #Nothing Lasts Forever #Here we go... its time. #We have reached the point of no going back #They are finally ready #God we needed this so much

[scullysexual]

titanic au | multichapter-au | au | multiple parts | historical au | msr | mature | ao3 | 8/13 | @today-in-fic​​ | 

For Mulder, a wealthy English-bred socialite who’s had everything given to him since birth, the Titanic is shipping him off to a prison, a life he no longer wishes for or wants. For Scully, an Irish stranger from the lower class, it offers a new life, a future she can truly envision in America. What if the universe put them on the same path to achieve those dreams at the cost of life? 

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

- - -

A JEWEL BENEATH THE MOONLIGHT: CHAPTER EIGHT.

“What happened to her?” asks Scully. They sit at the table, a bowl of grapes shared between them, the sketchbook open and on the first page with the drawing of Mulder’s sister.

“She ran off,” Mulder answers. “One night is was in her bed and the next morning she was gone.” Mulder shrugs. “We think she just ran away and that was the last time I ever got to draw her.”

Scully looks down at the drawing. “It’s like a photograph,” she says. “Why did she run away? Was your home life really that bad?”

“No actually, it was fine.” That surprises her. Scully looks from the drawing to Mulder, disbelieving that the Mulder household could be ‘fine’ when children are running away because of it. “Really,” he says. “They weren’t as bad as they are now, they were even loving once, but then Samantha disappeared and Father grew cold, Mother grew withdrawn. All the happiness faded away.”

Sombre pools in Scully’s chest. “That’s sad,” she says and Mulder nods. She can see him trying to ignore that the event, and the outcome of the event, still affects him twelve years later. He doesn’t hide it very well.

She thinks of her own family and the necessity to stick together in order for everyone to survive. They didn’t have a choice whether they wanted to drift apart, they couldn’t.

Mulder shifts in his seat, frowns thinking. “They blamed me.” Scully listens. “They never outright said it but I know that they did. My parents were out that night and I was supposed to be looking after her. She disappeared under my watch.”

He doesn’t meet her eyes, and it occurs to Scully that he believes that, believes that he is the blame. Anger replaces the sombre, rage directed at his parents for making Mulder feel like it was all his fault, never denying or confirming this fact, feeling their child without closure.

“You were twelve, Mulder,” Scully says, shaking her head, barely believing that two grown adults could potentially blame a child. “How can they blame you?”

Mulder shrugs again. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he says, brushing it off. He reaches for the book and closes it, hiding his sister and the secret away. “She’s gone and she’s not coming back.”

He gets up and moves towards the safe. Scully leans back, still furious at Mulder’s parents but saddened for Mulder himself, for his carrying this unnecessary guilt around, for believing that he is the cause of all the misery.

“Mulder…” she begins but the door rattles, interrupting her. They both spin to see the door handle move and keys sliding into the lock.

“Who is…?”

Mulder places a finger on his lips, shushing her as his eyes flick to the clock.

“Come on,” he whispers, motioning her to stand. The lock begins to turn as Scully hurries over to where Mulder stands by the adjoining door, a rush of adrenaline surging through her.

Just as their front door opens, Mulder pushes open the adjoining door, dragging Scully through it. She gets a glimpse of a man in a black dinner suit before she’s rushing through the other bedroom and out of his parent’s front door.

Losing themselves in the crowd of people, Scully turns back to see Krycek staring them down as he slowly strides towards them.

A rush of excitement powers through her. “You ready to run, Mulder?”

He gives her a bewildered look before she grabs his hand and sprints off down the corridor.

They weave through the labyrinth of corridors, skitter around the flow of people returning from dinner, Krycek only just behind them.

She’s never felt this excited in a long time, missing the childhood act of playing chase. It’s clear Krycek was sent to find Mulder and the consequences they will both suffer just at the notion of being together should worry her, but instead she finds herself exhilarated, free.

They run down the decks, anything to lose Krycek in the crowd, something tells them to stop running but they ignore them, comtinuing through doors and corridors Scully’s not a hundred percent sure they should be exploring.

They collide with service trolleys, Mulder almost knocks a steward down throwing himself around a corner. The man is unimpressed but Mulder and Scully can only laugh, apologising through bouts of fits before they’re disappearing through another door.

A wave of heat immediately hits her upon entering and Scully knows without a doubt that this is the boiler room and somewhere they should definitely not be.

They clamber down the ladder, the smoke and hot air clouding their vision. They almost pass through undetected, hidden by smoke billowing from the fires until a worker looks up and catches them. His shout of ‘hey’ alerts the other workers as all they begin shouting things at them. Scully feels Mulder’s grip on her hand tighten and, despite the warmth, they begin running through the area before anyone can stop what they’re doing and haul their asses out of there and report them for prohibited entry, Mulder shouting words of encouragement along the way and Scully only being able to laugh.

They reach another door and it’s dark initially, but as soon as the door is shut and they’ve both entered, lights begin to flicker on.

“The cargo hold,” she hears Mulder say.

She begins wandering through the gaps between the cars, marvelling at each one she passes. Each car has been shined and cared for, not a single scratch can be seen one any of them.

“Which is yours?” Scully asks, swirling around to look at Mulder.

He stalks forward, weaving in and out of the cars just as Scully had done. He stops before a black coloured one.

“This one.” Scully strays over. Once there, a smile passes over him as he opens the door and outstretches his hand to her. “My lady.”

Going along with his game, she takes his hand and climbs into the car. Inside, she pushes the visor down as Mulder climbs into the front and honks the horn, making Scully giggle.

“Where to, Miss?”

Leaning forward, Scully rests against her arms, looking up towards the roof of the hold. “To the stars.”

She looks down from the ceiling to see Mulder smiling at her. With a kiss beforehand, he climbs through the window, just about fitting through and falls against the back seat, pulling Scully with him.

Scully sighs, wrapping herself tighter around Mulder and leans her head against his chest.

Content once more, she says, “We could just stay down here. Nobody would ever find us.”

Mulder presses a kiss to the top of her head and snuggles against her. “They’d find us eventually.”

“It’s a big ship, it’ll take them the rest of the journey and by then we’d be long gone.”

She shuts her eyes, all the more ready to just fall asleep against him. She feels the scratch of his nails against her arm and it lulls her, soothes her, she could drift away right now.

“When this ship docks, I’m getting off with you, Scully.”

Scully opens her eyes in disbelief. She’d been joking originally but when she looks up she sees the sincerity in his eyes, the truth. He was getting off this ship with her.

“Mulder…” she starts.

He moves his hand from her arm to clasp with her own hand, entwining their fingers together.

“I don’t care what anyone says. I love you and I can’t go without you.”

The urge to laugh overcomes her. This whole thing is absurd and stupid and is in no way possible. She feels bad, however, when she looks up at him through her laughter to see his face fall, his dreams crushed.

“Mulder,” she moves away from and he folds in one himself, takes her action and laughing as even more rejection from her.

“It was stupid and I shouldn’t have said it,” he answers, beating himself up.

Scully shakes her head. “No, it’s just…we’ve known each other for three days.”

He smiles a little at that. Maybe he forgets as easily as she does that they only met just days ago even though, for some unexplainable reason, it doesn’t feel longer.

Mulder relaxes, now certified she is no longer rejecting, pulls her to him again.

“I’m right, though,” he says. “You’re the only one that I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Scully lets those words sink in. She thinks to that first night, how broody and sad he’d looked sat upon the rail, a complete juxtaposition to how he’s been these past two days in her company. He’s laughed and been happy, done stupid things and broken into boiler rooms and cargo holds, risked his father’s wrath just to spend time with her.

She could mention Phoebe, about how she would take this knowledge but Phoebe is history, an already forgotten face in the millions she’s already saw in her life. Phoebe won’t bring Mulder happiness, but Scully will.

She answers with a heated kiss, turning and situating her knees onto either side of his thighs. Lets her tongue explore his mouth and permits his to do the same to hers, allowing the steady pace to grow urgent, get more flustered as they fight with pieces of clothing and strip them from each other’s bodies.

Once divest of clothes, Mulder trails his kisses downwards, focuses on each sensitive spot on his journey. Scully moans when she realises what he has in mind, feels the heat and moisture pool below.

They switch positions, Scully in the seat and Mulder on his knees in front of her. She forces her eyes to open, to look down and savour the sight before she feels Mulder’s tongue against her, feels the wonders he begins to do to her sensitive flesh.

Her moans fill the hold, reverberating around the room. She soon understand that Mulder is a quicker learner, quickly grasping onto knowing what makes her buck with pleasure, which action has her moaning louder.

When she’s had enough and just wants him inside, she yanks him gently by hair.

He does as she asks and climbs back up her body, landing with his lips against her once again. The taste of herself on his lips makes her feral, makes her need stronger as she pushes him down onto the velvet and climbs on top of him.

Way down below in the pit of the ship, they make love for the second time that day.

 Their time in the hold is cut short. Muffled voices waft their way from the boiler. Krycek may have given up finding them himself but it didn’t stop him from sending others to do is dirty work.

Mulder and Scully scramble to put their clothes back on. She struggles with laces, haphazardly tying them as quickly and as best she can before they hop out of the car.

Their surroundings give them an advantage. Quietly, they scramble around the hold, keeping an eye on the direction of the touch beams and use the cars and other vehicles as means of cover.

Adrenaline kicks in once more as she giddily follows Mulder to the end of the room to the other exit. Once through, they run back up the ladder and decks. They burst their the door to the outside, startling some old woman who stands nearby. They pay no mind, breaking out into bouts of giggles as they allow their breaths to calm down.

Happy and carefree, the music drifting from inside the dining hall, she lets Mulder swirl her around and when the adrenaline of their night runs out and her skin begins to cool, Scully shivers. Mulder pulls her closer, wrapping himself around her to warm her up and Scully accepts. She’ll never get enough of being in his presence.

“You don’t need to worry about us only having known each other for three days,” Mulder says against her hair, recalling their conversation from earlier. “We’ve still got four more days to learn more.”

Scully pulls away, smiling. She moves to her tiptoes ready to kiss his beautiful face off before a ringing above them surprises them, a shout from atop of the tower.

“ICEBERG AHEAD!”

They barely have time to react before their side of the ship collides with a mountain of thick ice. The ship is slowed down considerably, the sound of metal scraping against ice making Scully cringe.

Mulder yanks Scully out of the way as the railing cuts through the thinner pieces of ice as they fall onto the deck.

Scully stands frozen in place, unbelieving of what she just saw. Passengers and Mulder rush to the side, trying to get a look at the possible damage done.

An icy feel runs through Scully that has nothing to do with the cold weather. Distantly, she hears Mulder call her over and on autopilot she goes, standing beside him.

“Do you think it’s done much damage?” he asks but Scully hardly acknowledges his voice. Her father once told her what happens when an iceberg hits a ship, how it rips through the metal like paper, creating tiny holes for water to seep into it.

“Scully?” Mulder asks again.

It doesn’t matter what level of damage has been done, water is already leaking into the ship.

She walks away, her eyes darting around the deck, landing on the lifeboats she can see decorating the area. Twenty lifeboats, she’d overheard earlier. Twenty. She feels sick.

“Scully, you’re scaring me…”

Scully spins, suddenly in override mode, a gush of emotions ranging from wanting to laugh to wanting to cry.

“There’s only twenty lifeboats. Each lifeboat can fit sixty to seventy people on it at a push. There’s, what? Three thousand or so people on board?” She does the math in her head, a series of numbers and estimations flying around. “one thousand, one hundred, and fifty people so people can fit on the boats.” She angry now, angry at their stupidity, angry that she’s the only one who can see what’s happening here. “One thousand, one hundred, and fifty people, Mulder,” she repeats, homing that number into him. “Out of three thousands. More than half are going to die.”

She watches as he processes this information, almost disbelieving what she’s saying.

“No,” he refuses. “They said she couldn’t sink.”

Something within Scully snaps.

“She’s a heap of metal, Mulder, of course she can fucking sink!” she shouts. The people around them stare at them, the kids kicking around the ice debris stop as they begin muttering to each other. Scully ignores them, ready to go off, wondering how people can be so stupid.

“What did you think they did? Cast a bastard spell to warn off that thing?” She carelessly motions to the iceberg taunting them from the distance.

“No, I just thought…” he begins but the words die on his tongue.

Scully tries to calm down. To relax and be level-headed about this.

“I need to tell my family, Scully. They need to know.”

“They probably already do,” Scully says, calmer now.

“They won’t know about the lifeboats. You need to tell them.”

Scully nods. They make their way back to the door, heading back down to the first class accommodation.

#txf #titanic au #i write

[aion-rsa]

Evil Season 2: Katja Herbers Talks Jinn and Dark Tonics

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This interview contains spoilers for Evil season 2.

Evil season 2 turned a new page in The Pop-Up Book of Terrifying Things MMXXI. The first episode, “N Is for Night Terrors,” began with Dr. Kristen Bouchard (Katja Herbers) trying to literally bury the hatchet on things which might disturb her sleep. Ben Shakir (Aasif Mandvi) found something, or someone, new to keep him up past bedtime. David Acosta (Mike Colter) doesn’t need to close his eyes in order to dream. He is close to becoming ordained as a priest, but the church keeps throwing too many practical applications on his study sheet.

The second episode, “A Is for Angel,” saw the trinity question the justice of God, as an archangel laid plans to open the second bowl of torments for mankind. The headlines which crawled across Evil’s news coverage of a global plague mirrored the worldwide reaction to the COVID pandemic. Recently exorcized from CBS, Evil now possesses Paramount+. The supernatural suspense drama dips into The X-Files territory. David wants to believe, probably even more than Fox Mulder. Forensic psychiatrist Kristen wants to get to the bottom of belief, much like Dana Scully conducted her own autopsies in search of physical explanations for anomalies. Ben is all three of the Lone Gunmen, plus about half of Skinner. He knows all the tricks tech toys can pull, and a safe distance from belief.

In “F Is for Fire,” the analytic team from St. Joseph’s is forced to look beyond the Catholic church, and Christian teachings, to answer the most burning questions a young Islamic girl may have. The episode is the hottest of the series so far. The very opening is a sexual fantasy strong enough to set Kristen off on the prowl. Bouchard was a trophy-winning mountain climber before she went looking for things that go bump in the night, and this gives her a shot at a little of both.

Prior to Dr. Kristen Bouchard’s work with the investigative team, she was an on-call expert in forensic psychology for the District Attorney’s office. Prior to Evil, Katja Herbers played Dr. Helen Prins on WGN America’s Manhattan and Emily Grace in HBO’s Westworld, and had recurring roles in The Americans, The Leftovers, and Manhunt: Unabomber. In a conversation with Den of Geek, Herbers stoked the fires of her relations with the jinn, David, and her new bosses.

DEN OF GEEK: I have been enjoying the show since the first night terror. Are you kept awake at night pondering the bigger questions?

KATJA HERBERS: No, I have to say I don’t. I’m more interested in the actual terror of this actual world, like climate change and things like that.

You’ll be exploring some of that on this show. How do you feel about being part of the conversation?

I love that. I think our show is so very timely, unfortunately, for a show called Evil and the things that we explore. I like to think that watching something like this can also be a way of processing the world that we’re in and may hopefully sometimes be a bit therapeutic or cathartic or just offer some relief because you see these characters’ fight. Then maybe you yourself can sit back and just watch some other people take care of business.

In season one, there was a rising sexual tension between you and David, and this season, you’re more on the prowl. Was this detour to avoid the will-they-won’t-they Mulder-Scully arc or are you just taking David’s vows more seriously?

No, I think it just is because Kristen murdered someone and she’s now looking for some kind of a calmness in herself and needs to find that anywhere, and that might be with any guy in any bar. She’s trying medication, she’s trying it all. I think the will-they-or-won’t-they will continue because I do think they have a very genuine connection, both intellectually and also there’s a physical attraction and I don’t think that’s going to go away.

How are the drug interactions affecting the spiritual ones? You’re taking a different type of drug than David, but altered reality is still altered reality.

Yeah. I ask for them, because I’m seeing things that aren’t there. I’m seeing this jinn with a head on fire, and I’m having hallucinations. I think that I actually ask my psychiatrist specifically to prescribe me a certain medication because I’m also a psychiatrist and I know what I need. I believe in medicine and in science, but I know that those things, it can take a while until you’ve found the right cocktail for your brain chemistry.

I do think that she’s suffering from unfortunate side effects there or at least that’s how she sees it or does it not have to do with the medicine? Is it actually all supernatural? And is this jinn following her? I guess that’s the whole question of what’s going on with Kristen.

Are the characters becoming more steeped in their supernatural reality or are they just becoming more suggestible to the force of expectation? Ben also has an imaginary friend.

Yeah. The job that we have, does mean that a lot of things I cannot explain purely scientifically. I do think that my character is more open to a supernatural explanation of things than she was at the very start of the first season. I think probably, I’m sort of in the middle of David and Ben. I think all three of us are dealing with things that we cannot explain, and I think that’s very interesting. What is a human being, if we don’t show the doubt that they have? Anybody who is completely certain of things, they can get a bit boring maybe.

Do you miss George?

Yeah. I do miss George. I find him very funny and endearing and weird. Luckily enough, most of the demons are played by the same actor, who’s wonderful, Marti Matulis. So, I do get to hang out with the actor, just in a different costume.

When Ben caught the telltale blood stain at the end of last season, was Kristen willing him not to remember it?

Yes. Exactly. I thought that was very funny.

(Creators and showrunners) Robert and Michelle King bring a great sense of humor to this. Will there be any strictly humorous shows like The X-Files did “Jose Chung’s From Outer Space?”

I hope so. That would be very fun. I think nothing’s too crazy for the Kings. I’ll put in the request.

How intensive is the investigation into Orson LeRoux’s death going to be? And how much peril is Kristen facing?

Well, I think it’s going to be quite intensive, if not for the police looking for whoever killed him, but also just internally in Kristen’s mind, because she did that, and now what? She’s not lying awake, pondering if she did the right thing, because I do think that she did the right thing – it was him or her children, that was very clear to her. So, what mother wouldn’t want to protect their children? But she is now a murderer, and I think it has changed her and she’s become somebody who is way more willing to go to the edge of things.

She also has district attorney training. Do you think she would have done the same thing if it was someone else’s family?

I don’t think so. No. I think she would have gone to the police.Think this was a very emotional act, and that kind of emotionality only comes if you’re protecting your own.

Do you know why she is being singled out? Has that been revealed to you?

For some reason, this Leland guy seems to have it out for her. Maybe because she seems like a good person and the good needs to be destroyed. I don’t know. Or maybe it’s because they want to get to David, unclear.

I read that the COVID forced a change in the season arc, second season. Were there any lost opportunities that you might have to revisit in future seasons?

At the start of filming this season, it had more to do with locations and things. We couldn’t be in a room with more than X amount of people. So, I think there was going to be something on a subway platform that didn’t end up happening because we couldn’t have those kinds of extras there. But I don’t think it held us back creatively. If anything, the protocols just really slowed us down. People have had to wait for the season a very long time because of COVID unfortunately, otherwise it would have been out long ago.

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Do you have any more freedoms at Paramount+ than you did at CBS?

I think so. We only found out about the move when we were way far into filming, I think we were at episode 11 or something. The freedoms will also be found in the editing room, where we used to have to be exactly 43 minutes. And now maybe sometimes, you can have a little bit more air around a scene. It could maybe be 45 minutes, and those two extra minutes can mean, does a joke land or does it not land? I’m very excited about the move and the extra creativity that comes with that.

Are you at all superstitious? Would you do Macbeth?

Yeah, sure I’d do Macbeth, but can I play Macbeth? I’m not very superstitious. However, I sometimes will have a stupid thought in my head like, you better go to the other side of the street and then I’ll be like, “oh, okay, well, there you go, might as well do it.” I used to work with somebody in the theater who had to get in and out of their costume eight times before they could go on stage because otherwise it wouldn’t go well. My OCD stops at, once a week I’ll walk to the other side of the street, but it doesn’t go further than that.

A lot of people click with this show because they recognize the supernatural in their everyday lives. Do people come up to you on the street and ask for answers?

No, because nobody ever recognizes me, which is a wonderful, wonderful thing. I have literally never, ever been asked about Evil on the street.

Do you yourself go looking for answers?

Well, on a scientific level, sure, but not in a supernatural way.

Evil airs Sundays on Paramount+.

The post Evil Season 2: Katja Herbers Talks Jinn and Dark Tonics appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/36bpiUf

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[baronessblixen]

Rocking Motion

My entry for this week’s @txf-prompt-box challenge! Tagging @today-in-fic and @fictober as well

Prompt: An emergency lifeboat ride

Bonus: Someone suffers from seasickness

Double bonus: Krycek, CSM or Jeffrey Spender makes a cameo

It’s fluff, you guys (everyone helping me decide earlier: thank you! Fluff eventually won out. You angsty people get a story tomorrow). Set in no particular season, but it feels seven-ish to me. 

They have been in all kinds of strange and life-threatening situations. Trapped in a small lifeboat with Mulder and a guy who Scully swears looks like Krycek's twin in the middle of the ocean is a new one, though. With Mulder hanging off the side puking his guts out, Scully still hopes to wake up and encounter this is all just a silly nightmare. Any moment now, she pleads, as Mulder vomits again.

"You should have let me die in the water, Scully," Mulder tells her, his voice raw, "That would have been kinder." The Krycek twin chuckles and Scully narrows her eyes, throws him an angry look. No one but her is allowed to make fun of Mulder; especially not someone who could be their arch enemy's doppelgänger. He quiets immediately.

"Mulder, you'll be fine once we're on land again. I promise. It could have been much worse." They could, in fact, be dead. It borders on a miracle that they're alive, healthy, or at least hanging in there in Mulder's case, and safe. When their boat drove into a rock and tipped them over, they almost recreated the Titanic movie – at least that's what Mulder told her, his teeth chattering. Except they didn't even have a door Mulder would insist she lie on and her refusing to do so resulting a fight. There was nothing. Until suddenly the lifeboat sped past them, around them, picked them up and now here they are. For once Scully is not going to question it and just accept it as it is. As unlikely as the scenario is if she allows herself to think about it. But they'll have to follow up on Mulder's lead tomorrow. Or not, she thinks as she watches Mulder, his whole upper body hanging over the ship's rail, his face pale and sweaty, being sick.

"How long until we reach mainland?" Scully asks Krycek's twin; the name tag on his waterproof jacket says 'Ron'.

"A while, miss." Scully stares at him, her face disgusted; it's not his fault that he looks like Alex Krycek, but it unnerves her. He tips his hat, smirks, and Scully shudders. She opens her mouth ready to ask him if he's Krycek in disguise taking them somewhere to torture or kill them, but she stops herself just in time.

"Is there a quiet place I can take my partner?" She asks instead.

"Sure. Take him downstairs to my cabin. I'll stay here." His grin reveals two missing teeth. Lovely. His voice, she now realizes, sounds nothing like Krycek either. Krycek was missing a hand and this man has two of them. She eyes him anyway, looks him up and down, which he seems to misinterpret as flirting.

"Thank you." Scully finally says deciding that if he wanted to kill them, he would have done so already. She walks up to Mulder, who looks even more miserable than he did five minutes ago.

"Scully, throw me back into the water please. I'd do it myself, but I don't have any strength left."

"Oh Mulder," She sighs, gently patting his back, "come on. I'll take care of you."

"I feel like dying, Scully." But he follows her on unsteady feet.

"You're not going to die, Mulder. Not today. I'll make sure of that."

The cabin is cool, dark and has a small cot where Scully steers him to. He sits down and glances up at her, sad puppy eyes and all.

"Lie down, Mulder."

"It's gonna make it worse, Scully."

"No, it's not." He remains stubborn and upright. Who is the medical doctor here, anyway? Scully gently, then less gently, pushes at his shoulders. He's got no strength left and finally, albeit with a heavy sigh, lies down on the cot.

"It's not better."

"Mulder, give it more than a millisecond, will you? Keep your head as still as possible and close your eyes."

"Don't wanna close my eyes."

"Then look at the ceiling. Find yourself a stable object you can look at." He turns so that he's on his side. His eyes are on hers, curious, unblinking. "Mulder?"

"If you don't move, you're a stable object." He tells her.

"Scoot over."

"My doctor said I should lie still."

"Scoot over, Mulder." He does as he's told. The cot is big enough for the two of them. She hasn't planned to lie down; one of them should keep an eye on the Krycek twin just in case. But Mulder's eyes, the misery reflected there, are too compelling and make her forget everything else. Their bodies are not quite touching, but Mulder is radiating warmth, and Scully moves just the tiniest bit closer to him.

"Try to close your eyes, Mulder."

"I'd rather look at you." Scully wills herself not to blush, fails, and hopes that here in the dim light, Mulder can't see it.

"Does it help?"

"Hmm."

"You know your sea sickness is caused mostly by your inner ears." She touches his ear, follows its unique shape.

"Tell me more."

"Your inner ears control your balance and whenever there's a conflict in what they sense and what your eyes see, you will get sick."

"Why don't you get sick? Why are your ears telling you different things than mine?"

"I don't know, Mulder." She chuckles.

"You don't know? Dr. Dana Scully doesn't know?"

"No, I don't. How are you feeling? Any better?"

"I don't feel like puking my guts out."

"That's improvement, isn't it?"

"I guess."

"Still rather be dead?"

"No. I feel like I'm in heaven, though."

"Why's that?"

"I get to unabashedly stare at you." This time Scully blushes so furiously she's certain Mulder can't miss it.

"I'd kiss you right now, Mulder, if you didn't smell like puke."

"Keep that thought until we're off this boat and somewhere I can get a toothbrush and toothpaste."

"Hm, maybe I'll do that." She says and smiles.

#for everyone who needs some fluff #it's silly silly fluff #let's celebrate the fluff #fictober #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

[allyinthekeyofx]

One life 1/1

Time to get back onto the @fictober bus!  Also tagging @today-in-fic

Thanks to @scully-loves-ruthie and @baronessblixen for your invaluable advice on this.

 My Father used to say that we had but one life and that we should live it to it’s very fullest, grasping every opportunity that came our way; that to do anything else was not only a waste of the life we’d been given, but a waste of those who had given us life.

I didn’t really understand at the time, didn’t understand how the actions of others could ever affect those around them to any great degree.  That our lives are not our own and I certainly never subscribed to the theory that our lives are predetermined from the moment we are born. Mere pawns in a much greater purpose, a much larger plan at the hands of a greater being.  I didn’t believe in destiny, in the belief that regardless of the paths we chose, that the end journey would be the same. 

I have faith though I suppose, although it’s a faith that has not been a constant despite my best efforts, because I struggle to believe that any merciful God could allow such atrocities to occur daily in a world he created, with such pain and suffering inflicted by his hand on the innocent, on the frail and on the weak.

Because the world is full of evil.  It has existed in man since the beginning of time.  Lurking in the darkest reaches of humanity, waiting to strike. To maim and to kill so as to take away from us that which we hold so dear.

One life.  One chance to somehow, in the scant few years we inhabit this planet, to make the right choices. To take the right path.

But as I sit here now, bathed in a soft blue light in a room illuminated only by the glowing screen of the large plasma TV I persuaded myself I needed in an attempt to fill the silence that has surrounded me for months,  I can’t help but remember my Father’s words.  I don’t know why I switched the TV on tonight because truthfully I don’t have the will or the interest to flick through 160 channels just to find some way of filling an empty hour or two. 

Mulder is the channel surfer in this partnership and he isn’t here.

   So I settled on the news.  We are away such a lot that sometimes it’s hard to keep abreast and so if I do decide to lose myself in TV land I usually head for any one of the 20 news channels available to me.  I’m not too choosy because essentially the news is constant.  The areas might be different but the content is pretty much the same and I find a perverse comfort in that sameness in a way I never did before I left him.

I’m not really watching  - It’s more a comforting presence when the silence stretches too thinly, a way of relieving the isolation when the phone doesn’t ring for days.  Because since my Mom died there is no one really who would care to call. Certainly not to chat casually over mundane things.  

Mulder doesn’t call so much now although in the beginning, when I first left he would call constantly, looking for excuses to try to re-connect.  But some things cannot be mended, some things just aren’t meant to be.  The very experiences that brought us together eventually grew too big, too ugly, becoming  all consuming until we both realised that to remain together would destroy what little we had left.

But on nights like this when I’m alone, thoughts drifting inevitably to the house we once inhabited together, I miss him. I miss him so much it hurts.  I will always love him of course because how can I not?  We shared so much that, time, no matter how constant can ever change that; nor can it change the fact that despite there being  a million reasons why we can’t be together there are not quite enough to keep us completely apart and when we started working together again I was stupid enough to believe that somehow, that would be enough.  But I know now it can never be enough, not after everything we went through, not after all that we lost.

The sudden sound of screaming jolts me from my thoughts and just for a second I feel myself tense.  But the screaming is coming from the images playing out on the TV. Gunshots, people running.  The grainy footage caught on a smart phone even as the image shakes and the harsh, raw gasps of someone struggling to breathe filter through its speakers as they seek to escape the danger even as they record it. No need anymore to imagine the horror that exists in the world. Technology is all around us and we no longer have to rely on someone being in the right place at the right time.  Because now it seems as though  we are always in the right place.

A school shooting.  Another one. Multiple deaths if the reporter is to be believed. Children killed by children.  I shake my head.  I have seen so many things, faced so many harrowing cases and situations both in my work as a doctor and my time in the F.B.I. but I think this saddens me more than anything I’ve experienced.  

Children killing children.  

And not for the first time I wonder just what kind of world is it that we have created?

I’ve seen enough and my hand gropes for the remote that has wedged itself down the side of the sofa and  I shift position slightly in order to prise it from its hiding place, taking care not to wake the small creature snoring gently beside me.  The dog I vowed I would never have again.  But loneliness makes us make rash decisions and thankfully it’s a decision I haven’t regretted. Yet.

I’m surprised when I click off the TV how dark it is outside.  Night has crept in unnoticed and it prompts me to pick up my phone from the small table in front of me.  If it’s past 10pm I will turn in for the night because it’s been a rough few weeks and while I am still remarkably fit and healthy, I’m conscious that my body is aging and sometimes, the rigours of the job give me aches and pains where once I wouldn’t even have noticed.

But before I have a chance to depress the small rectangular button that will wake the phone up from its slumber, the screen suddenly illuminates, a split second before it rings I see the name flash up.

There is a moment’s silence after the call has connected and I wonder suddenly if he has called me by mistake. Smart phones, despite Mulder himself being smart, are not his strong point.

“Mulder?”

And then his voice.  

“Did I wake you?”

I sigh, despite myself because he sounds shaky, upset, confused even.

I know this man’s voice. I know every cadence, every inflection. I can pick up his moods by a single uttered word.  There is a part of me that hates the fact that I know him so well. There is a part of me that doesn’t.

“No, no I’m still up. What’s wrong? Are you ok?”

The silence hangs in the air lazily as I wait for him to respond.  There is a slight stirring in the pit of my stomach, that feeling you get just before you drop off the first big freefall on a rollercoaster. A sick dread that there is no going back, that no matter how much you wished that you had gone on the ferris wheel instead, you are stuck on that rollercoaster with no hope of getting off. It’s a feeling I haven’t experienced in years and if I’m honest, I’d hoped to never feel again. Because I recognise it for what it is - that within the moments silence that is now marred by the beating of my heart, I know that he is trying to find a way to tell me something he thinks I don’t want to hear.  Oh yes. I’ve heard the sound of his silence far too many times over the years to not recognise the reasons behind it; but then, I hear him exhale.  His decision is made.

“I miss you.”

And I close my eyes against the rush of emotion his words evoke within me, even as I fight against him with everything I have; this thing between us that I no longer want but at the same time want more than anything I ever have before. Because I need him and not for a single minute did I ever stop needing him.

Daggoo whines thinly in his sleep, legs twitching as he chases some after some elusive prize, never quite catching it no matter how hard he tries and for the first time in years I realise that maybe it’s time I stopped running away and turned back around; because the prize, no matter how elusive is almost always worth the effort.

I clutch the phone tightly lest my shaking fingers betray me and I lose my hold on it, forcing myself to breathe before I respond to him, finally recognising the man who has always been right there in the distance just waiting for me to find my way back.

To my life, to our life.

To the only one we have.

And I smile into the silence as he waits for my response, feeling his fear, knowing he is a scared as I am.

“Me too Mulder”  I whisper, “Me too”

end

#one life #my fic #msr #revival #season 10 #post home again

[greekowl87]

Fic: False Flags Redux 11/13

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) | AO3

Almost coming towards the end. Thanks as always to @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm and @scully-loves-ruthie for putting up with me. Tagging @today-in-fic.

You forgot about me, didn’t you? Honestly now, no one forgets about me. Not really. I remembered reclaiming myself, the 19th-century version of myself. A sea captain. I also remember being a gangster in the roaring 1920s as an enforcer for the Italian mob. I got good at killing and I loved it. I got three lifetimes jiggling around up there and it does get overwhelming. Multiple personality disorder is what the prison doctors diagnosed me. But it’s all me. It’s all me.

But when I saw her and knew. And him. Those bastards.

That bitch.

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia October 13, 1862

Scully pulled her shawl tightly around her as she walked nervously along the muddy main street to a small white building, the local tavern. She lowered her eyes as she passed a small group of drunk Union soldiers who whistled at her leeringly. She wrapped her arms around herself, hurrying her steps, wishing she had agreed to meet her baby brother with Mulder by her side. She would feel safer at the very least. She opened the door to the quaint establishment and noticed the soldiers and the few men she recognized from the town. The owner saw her enter and whistled. “You are expected upstairs,” the barkeeper told Scully.

Scully shivered, wishing even more than Mulder was with her. She felt so naked without him next to her. Quietly, she climbed up the wooden staircase to a room that was partially opened, the lamplight illuminating the otherwise dark hallway. She pushed the creaking door open without preamble and saw her baby brother Charlie, in full uniform, sitting at a table with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey between them. “Did you bring him?”

“No,” she said stiffly, “as per your request. I came alone.”

“Drop the act, Dana.”

Scully remained standing, her face cold and emotionless. Despite her short stature, his older sister’s pride poured forth with newfound confidence and authority that had not been there the last time he had seen her.“How did you find me?”

“You weren’t that hard to find,” he shrugged, nodding towards the empty seat. He poured them two healthy glasses. He collapsed in the antiqued wooden chair. “You look...good...given...despite everything.”

“Given everything? Despite everything?” Scully repeated slowly.  She circled around the table and took the other glass of whiskey and knocked it back. She poured herself another glass with the recklessness of a man. “What a polite way of saying I fucked up and ruined the family honor.”

“You know the weight of your actions.” He watched her ominously. “You know what you did, Dana.”

“I’m happy,” she answered simply. She walked slowly to the opposite chair, took the glass and drained it in one gulp. “Isn’t that enough considering that I should be counted as a widow. I have not heard from Franklin before I fled Norfolk.”

“Well, you really did vanish. It was rather difficult for me to track you down.” Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Did your Lieutenant teach you that?”

She annoyed the barb and simply decided to be truthful. “He treats me like an equal and does not seem to mind that I can drink him under the table,” she said in reply. “Nor does he feel intimidated by my intellect. Unlike you.”

That was one of the things she loved about Mulder. Even though they acted as a traditional couple out in public and when in front of the Skinners, Mulder treated her every bit of his equal in private. They would read whatever books they could together and debate it over dinner. Mulder valued her intellect and opinion and was the only person who did, ever. Her family supported her studies but stopped when it came time for her time to marry at seventeen, they cast her aside to her new and awaiting husband, like tradition dictated... Scully doesn’t still know how she managed to put off her marriage to the Captain for so long but she did. But Mulder...Mulder was different. She sensed that about him the moment she met him at that dinner party. That’s why she took him to her bed that night, made her decision to take things into her own hands, and live happily with Mulder instead of in misery.

Charlie took his own glass and swished it around. “You were always the smartest of us, Dae. Bill the most loyal, Melissa the free spirit, me the clever one…”

Scully snorted. “Clever? Please. You could just talk your way out of trouble. How did I get stuck with the extra penmanship lessons and you didn’t? The exploding inkwell was all your doing if I recall.”

“No. That was Missy” he corrected with a smile, “I’m clever, but you, Dana, you were always the smartest.”

She snorted uncharacteristically. “You don’t like Mulder. You look just like father, Charlie.” She collapsed in the wooden chair, tucking her skirts under hair. “And stop looking at me like that.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t appreciate you judging me.”

“You betrayed your marriage.”

“He makes me happy. Isn’t that enough? It was like pulling teeth with him to make him turn, but once he did...Charlie, I found a kindred spirit.” She sighed, downing the liquor. “I’m happy.”

“Who did the deed?”

Scully blushed. She remembered that fevered night the first time they tasted each others flesh. It had been unlike anything else that she had experienced. “It does not matter, but after Franklin left…” She sighed. “Franklin ordered Mulder to stay behind, to take care of me, to ensure I would be safe during his absence. That was when the invasion… then things happened. It was mutual, between us. He is a truly good man, Charles. I love him.” Scully took a deep breath and steadied herself. “He comes from a good family, Charlie. He’s honorable and just. He’s a good man.”

“Who are you trying to convince, Dae? Me or yourself?” Charlie poured another round between them, took his glass, and slouched in the chair. He looked at the cloudy amber liquid in his glass. “Despite our happiness,” he sighed, “you know how we were raised.”

“Duty before anything else,” she sighed bitterly. She sipped the whiskey. “Have you ever loved someone so much that it hurts?”

“Once. Maybe. I don’t know.” Her brother shook his head slowly. Scully was aware of both of her brothers’ marriages, how traditional they were and how Melissa disappointed their parents’ expectations, and how she was left bearing the torch. She followed it, for awhile, until Mulder. Scully took her brother’s silence as a ‘no.’ “Before Elizabeth, there was a girl from school but she...she was married before I could do anything.” He came aware of himself. “Stop changing the subject, Dana!”

“Charlie,” she began, “you asked me to spy. How many rules and traditions did you expect me to break without consequences? You lecture what I should do, who I should be.” Scully sighed. “You don’t understand. You’ll probably never understand.”

“Your husband’s alive, Dana.”

Like a bullet piercing it, Scully felt her heart skip a few beats. “What do you mean?”

“He’s in Alabama. Buchanan was promoted to an admiral,” Charlie spoke softly, watching his big sister’s stoic expressions. “Rumor has it that a new ironclad is to be built.”

“How does that concern me?” Scully focused her gaze suddenly on the opposite wall. God, she should have brought Mulder with her. Mulder. Just focus on Mulder and everything will be okay. “He left.”

“You need to go to Alabama to finish the mission.”

“I need to go?” Scully hissed. All of her emotions welled up inside her. “I will not go anywhere without Mulder. There is no mission without us!”

“You don’t know the man, Dana! How much do you trust him?”

Scully closed her eyes, unfamiliar fury working its way through her veins. When had she grown so bold? “I have always been the dutiful daughter, the good daughter. I have never once questioned my role in the scheme of things or done anything by myself. But for once, Charlies,” she spat, slamming her glass on the wood table, “I want to be happy. This is my life. My life. My choices. Franklin left me, abandoned me, and appointed Mulder as my guardian. But despite everything, Mulder is a better husband than Franklin ever was. Mulder...I love him, Charlie! More than you can ever imagine.”

“What about your country?” her brother pressed.

“Country?” she scoffed. “Which one? America or the fake Confederacy? Both sides are bloody. This war is nothing but a waste of human life.”

“Don’t go on sounding like one of the pacifists.”

“I’ve seen the destruction,” she continued, standing to her feet. “I’ve seen the fear. I’ve seen the suffering. All you have seen are the soldiers. What about the poor family who lost their father? What about the people who have lost everything?”

“What about the war effort, Dana? I thought that was what mattered to you?”

“What good is a  war if there is nothing to believe in, Charlie?”

“You have a husband, not a lover. You are married, Dana. Even though your duty is to the country, it is also to your husband, and to God.”

“I am a widow. My husband is dead.” Scully swore. “Duty to my country, the United States of America, which is currently split in a bloody battle and my husband, my dead husband--” Scully laughed bitterly. “I married him because it was what our father desired, and I was Franklin’s second wife. He already had nine other children by his first wife. I was a social decoration. He doesn't love me, maybe once, but not anymore. He left Mulder to quote ‘take moral charge of me’ because I am a weak female. And he has not sent one word…”

“You ran, Dana,” her brother reminded her.

“I could see the light from across the river from the fires burning last year. I could only imagine what would happen.. We feared for our lives,” she began. “We were going to try for Richmond but we only got this far. We are waiting.”

“You need to continue our mission and go on without him.”

“What mission,” she hissed. “There is no mission without Mulder.”

“Your husband is alive, Dana! Rumor has it that they are laying a foundation for a new ironclad that we must know about.”

“I can care less!”

“What the hell, Dana?!?! Who cares about that traitor rebel?”

“What about Mulder,” she whispered, her voice become fragile. I care, she thought, I love him. “How would I explain him coming with me if I do? To continue the mission?”

“There is no Mulder. He does not a part of the plan, Dana.”

The words seemed to have finally sunk in. “So, what? You’re asking me to abandon him?” Scully asked incredulously. “After all he has done for us.” For me, she added mentally. He saved me.

“He was an asset and a deserter. A coward,” Charlie continued, grinding into her nerves. Charlie used to be the supportive one of her big sister, normally keeping his thoughts to himself while their big brother Bill had always been the hypercritical one. “And a rebel.”

“You don’t know him like I do.”

“Dana, he is an asset,” Charlie repeated.  “I could care less about him. He is not my big sister, you are.”

Scully poured herself another glass and stared at it in thought. She could not imagine anything else with Mulder. In the short few months that they had been together, she was truly happy, a real happiness and love she had only read about in one of her books. Charlie shifted and sighed. “I am here until the end of November, Dana then I am heading home to Baltimore to mom for Christmas. Melissa will be there, and Bill and his new wife. It would be nice if you were to accompany me.”

“What of Mulder?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“Well, I guess the ultimately depends on your decision.”

She could tell her baby brother just gave her a veiled threat. She stood, dusting her skirts. “Thank you for the whiskey.”

She gathered her shaw and left coldly, out the door and into the muddy road. She felt stinging tears in her eyes as she hurried her steps to the small Skinner farmhouse, breezing passed Sharon Skinner and her husband and out back to the carriage house where she knew Mulder would be. He sat at the small table against the wall. There was a small fire going that he had made. He looked up with a warm smile but it slipped when he saw the heaviness in her blue eyes.

“Scully? Are you okay?”

She shook her head. She took off her shaw and hung it on a stray hook. “Mulder, do you love me?” she asked quietly.

“What sort of question is that?” he asked hesitantly. What was she doing? “Scully? Is there something wrong?

“Just answer me, Mulder! Do you love me?” she snapped. He took a deep breath and got up from the chair, stalking slowly towards her. She felt uncomfortable suddenly and backed against the door. He continued to stalk towards her until Mulder invaded her personal space and he rested both arms around her, encasing her against him. “Mulder,” she murmured warily.

“I would die,” he began, “before I let any harm come to you. You, Scully, are my guiding light. My guiding star.” She clenched her eyes closed and buried her face between them. “I love you, so much, it hurts, Scully. I would not through my life away from anyone else but you.”

The weight of the words hit Scully full force. Mulder was already an outcast and he had given up everything, literally, everything for her, including his honor and reputation and she knew that he would still bear the brunt of any accusations they faced to keep her honor intact. Charlie’s words echoed ominously, that she had to leave him, but her heart already knew the answer. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I will never abandon you,” she cried.

What had happened, Mulder thought sadly to cause this reaction. He hugged her tightly and she clung to him. “We’re okay, Scully.”

“I love you, Mulder,” she hiccupped in his ear.

“Why are you acting like this? What is wrong?”

“Not now,” she whispered, kissing his forehead. “Not tonight.”

“Scully, what did your brother say to you,” he continued to press. “Please tell me.”“Not tonight,” she whispered quietly, peppering his face with kisses. “Tonight, I want you to make me forget this war. Make me forget everything about it. I just want to feel you and pretend we were never married to anyone else before each other. I just want to feel like that we are the only two souls in existence.”

He nodded, understanding her request. If it was in his power to make her forget this war and everything hung over them if only for a brief few hours, he would do it. He would do anything for, including falling on his own sword in her name.

. . . .

Mulder spooned behind her and blanketed his body partially her own smaller body beneath the thick comforter and wool blankets. The fire in their small room was partially dying and Mulder was dreading getting up naked in the stark air to add more wood to the dying flames. Scully tugged his arm slightly and whispered, “Just a few seconds longer.”

“A few seconds longer and our toes will be ice later,” he murmured, kissing her unruly red hair. “A minute at most.”

Scully watched him wearily, his long back dancing in the shadows of the firelight. She could see her nail marks across his shoulder blades. He tossed a couple of logs onto the fire before shuffling back into the bed and swallowing her again. “Cold,” she huffed humorously.

“I could do that thing with my tongue again,” he murmured into her ear mischievously.

“Where on Earth did you learn that anyhow,” she breathed, writhing against him in memory.

“What do you think I was reading? It’s from a French author,” he nuzzled her neck. Scully sighed as he coiled tightly around her. “You wanna tell me what was wrong, Scully?”

“Franklin is alive, Mulder,” she confessed, barely audible. She felt him tense before pressing a possessive kiss into the back of her hair in response. “This doesn’t change anything?”

“No, not for me.”

She felt tears of relief in her eyes but her heart was still heavy. “Charlie told me this. But there is more, Mulder, he expects me to continue my original mission, spying and bringing intelligence to the Union army. Franklin was promoted to an Admiral and Charlie expects me to go to Alabama to be with him.”

“Where do I play into all of this?”

“You don’t, apparently,” she whispered.

She tensed against, waiting for the disappointment, as Mulder ran his large warm hand up and down her thigh. “You never once have said you are doing it yourself.”

“What?”

“Charlie is telling you what you need to do. You have not declared your own actions yet. That is what I love about you, Scully,” he said softly, kissing her. “You are capable of making your own decisions. I just hope that I factor into them somehow.”

“You do. You always do. There is no me without you. There is only us.” She heard his uncertainty. Slowly she turned to face him and caressed his cheek. “I just don’t know how yet, but there is no future without you. I’m not going back to Franklin. I just...I just don’t know what I can do.”

“We,” he murmured softly. “We’ll figure out something.”

. . . .

Norfolk City Morgue Norfolk, Virginia December 19, 1998

There was another body. Another murder. Another death that should have been prevented. She should have stopped him, not examining these deathly remains. Scully pulled the rubber apron over her blue scrubs and lowered the safety glasses and pulled on the medical mask. She stretched the latex gloves over her hands for the most secure fit. Glancing to the side of the medical bay, she saw Mulder hovering nearby, wearing a mask of wrought of concern, not for the case but for her. She arched an eyebrow sarcastically and he gave her a small smile. There was no future that did not include him. She remembered it saying it in the past. Her present self believed it.

“How bad,” Scully asked as she came to his side.

“Same M.O. My profile just more complicated. I can’t…” Mulder sighed and lowered his voice. “I can’t draw a complete profile with these specific actions. I need more.” More? As if reading her, he shook his head. “Not just then. And now. But in between. There has to be more. Did your research uncover anything else?”

“Maybe the prisoner of war camps,” she whispered, watching the ASAC and Diana Fowley enter. “I’ve read the thing but I can’t be certain.”

“We need to talk tonight,” he murmured in her hair discreetly. “I’m remembering more. By the way, you look adorable in the surgical mask.”

Scully felt herself smile. “Do you remember the French book you read?”

He licked his lips and smiled deviously. “That’s probably where I learned my, and I quote, ‘amazing tongue antics,’ and my love for sunflower seeds. I perfected it for you.” Mulder desperately wished he could comfort Scully. Instead, he squeezed her forearm. “Call me, if you need anything. I’ll be a few blocks away.”

“Are you going to try and finish the profile,” she murmured.

“Revise. The more I remember, the more he does, more connections and explanations are created. I need…” He took a deep breath. “I can’t find the answers.”

“You can,” Scully countered, glancing at Fowley. “I’ll call you. Okay?”

“I’d kiss you if I could.”

“I know. I would too. You just want to make all the other girls jealous.”

He smiled tightly. “Just call,” he reminded her. “I’ll be here.”

“I know you will.”

Mulder squeezed her forearm before leaving wordlessly out the back before Fowley and the ASAC could chase him. The past had cleared her head and made her feel more capable in the present. All the past months’ doubts about her and Mulder and the crone-bitch Fowley, she knew that Mulder was hers. Loyalty and love ran through time and souls. Fuck that bitch.

“Agent Scully,” ASAC Benson called. “We’re glad we caught you! Have you had a chance to perform the autopsy yet?”

“I haven’t had a chance to look at the body much less perform an autopsy.” She began. Thank God she was wearing a surgical mask to hide her facial features. “Agent Mulder is reworking his profile. Is there anything substantial you can tell me about this body?”

Diana was glaring at Scully (of course she was). “Same M.O. as the last body. Shot at the base of the skull, execution style.”

“Wonderful. How was the body identified?”

“Fingerprints. Buckley is not making an attempt to hide his work,” Diana continued, watching Scully was she readied her instruments.

“I would suspect not, after how he blatantly left his signature all over the last crime scene.”

“What does Agent Mulder think,” the ASAC asked.

“He’s unsure. He is going to revise his profile from a new angle.”

“Past lives. There has to be something with past lives,” Fowley interjected. Scully bit her tongue and readied her tape recorder. “Buckley wrote a journal which makes a mention of past lives, three exactly, which Agents Mulder and Scully make mention of in their report.”

“We mentioned he suggested such a notion. Agent Mulder and I concluded schizophrenia or some sort of mental illness. The report clearly shows that.” She knew the report. Fowley was not going to take that from her. “Agent Fowley is mistaken in her interpretation.”

“What is Buckley’s motivation then?”

Scully felt herself growing distant as she turned on the tape, refusing to answer the question. “This is Special Agent Dana Scully. The date is December 19, 1998, at…” She glanced at the wall clock. “9:37 a.m. I am about to perform the external examination of…” Scully paused, coughing slightly.  She took a deep breath. “Katherine Buchanan, aged 31, white caucasian, red hair.” She opened the cadaver eyes. “Blue eyes.” . . . .

Mulder watched Scully from a distance before getting into their rental car. Scully would be safe here at the morgue with the other agents around her. Buckley would not be able to get to her. She would be safe. Mulder remembered the uncertainty and cloudiness that Scully described as the memories of her former past life, but the memories eventually settled and the secondary consciousness merged with his current one. The more he remembered, the more he loved Scully and the worried he became too.

In the car, Mulder withdrew a file with xeroxed portions of the journal, looking at mentions for times of being in Alabama and in a prisoner of war camp. After Scully called the other day, he did some research of his own, specifically about the prison camps. Personally, he had no recollection about such prisoner of war camps. He had been lucky.  He and Scully eventually hid out the rest of the war as civilians or tried, so that when everything was said and done, they could have had a life together. Could have. They did. He remembered the look of terror in her eye as she confided remembering her own murder by Buckley (or was it Buchan?) over a century ago. Maybe he could have suffered something that caused him to mentally snap? Why about the anger? Was it directed towards him, Scully, or both of them? There had to be more. As he flipped through the copied pages, another name, Frankie Luciano, and mentions of speakeasies and prohibition. Mulder made a mental note to make a call to the FBI archives back in Washington.

He jumped when he saw Diana knocking on his driver’s side window. Reluctantly, he lowered it half way and raised an eyebrow. “What, Diana?” he asked her.

“You’re considering the past lives theory, aren’t you, Fox?”

Mulder set his jaw and looked at the road. “Again, Diana, profiling is not your job, it’s mine.”

“Why don’t you let me help? Agent Scully does not believe like you or I do. She is not open to the possibilities like we are,” Diana said. She held up a folder enticingly. Mulder eyed it like the snake offering the apple of knowledge. “This might be what you are looking for.”

He made no move to take it. Diana could not be more wrong. “Are you going to tell me what is in that file?”

“Mmm,” she smiled seductively and he frowned. “Come on, Fox. You know I have invaluable insight.”

“I’m certain you do,” he murmured, his mind flashing to Scully and the looks of revulsion she would no doubt give him if he did help. And now, with their trek into familiar, unknown territory and newly blossomed intimacy between them, he did not dare wreck that. “Excuse me.”

He rolled up the window, silently proud of himself in displaying a newfound willpower to ignore her siren calls. He shifted the car into gear and began the short drive back to the FBI field office, his mind dancing at  all sorts of different possibilities

. . . .

Scully had performed a variety of autopsies. She had cut open old and young, men and women, adults and children. She had seen everything from alien viruses to heart attacks to the most violent ways possible. She had seen bodies tortured and mutilated. Hell, she had even examined an elephant that had been abducted by aliens. As a forensic pathologist and an FBI agent, she had to keep a cool exterior. There had been some that troubled her. Exhumations were never pleasant. Having to examine the polydactyl sisters and seeing her own daughter Emily on the table instead still haunted her. But this. This unsettled her just as much.

The victim, Katherine Buchanan, with red hair and blue eyes. The messages could not have been clearer. Obviously, he was trying to tell her something. A warning. Or simply that her time was coming. The victim’s body had been mutilated and desecrated, fortunately, Scully thought, she had died early on and did not suffer. But Buckley had continued, carving her body like a Christmas turkey. She had seen work similar to the mob, usually as a retaliation or to send a warning, when she had first been at Quantico. She had read how hitmen took pride in their work. Hell, she had even remembered seeing an article in one of her medical journals tracing the history of such violent killing tracing all the way back to Jack the Ripper.

But this...none of it made sense. Buckley was being careless. Or deliberate. Scully and the crime scene techs found his fingerprints all over the place. The technique of the killing, it was like Buckley had knowledge of the mob or of being a hitman, but none of it made sense. Scully cast one last glance at the covered body and peeled off her gloves and tossed them in the medical waste bend. She took off her safety glasses and gathered her tips and medical files wearily. She wanted nothing more than to take a hot bath and fall asleep in her bed, preferably with Mulder coiled about her.

“Agent Scully!”

She felt physically tense as she heard Fowley’s voice. She forced a smile. “Yes,” she sighed, “Agent Fowley,” force the smile, “what can I do for you?”

“Have you concluded your autopsy?”

“Yes, but the ASAC will have to wait. I still to write my findings down in a report.”

“Did you find anything noteworthy?”

“Aside from the violence post-death, then no. Agent Fowley, if you will excuse me, it’s been a long day for me. I would like to retire early. If you’ll excuse me.”

She turned to leave but Fowley held out a file. “Those wounds look like the work of someone in the mob, don’t they? And the victim, the victim looks an awfully like you, Agent Scully.”

“Coincidence,” she whispered dismissively. She was growing uncomfortable with Fowley’s presence. “What do you want?”

“I have information. I tried to give it to Mulder, but he dismissed it. I thought you would find more use for it.”

“I’m sure Agent Mulder had a good reason.”

“He mentions a past life as a mob strongman during the 1920s.”

Scully was quiet, measuring her words. “I suspect that might be more useful to Agent Mulder’s profile rather than my autopsy. If you will excuse, Agent Fowley, this report is not going to write itself.”

She gathered her notes and materials to her chest and walked quickly out of the door and down towards the locker room where her clothes and possessions were. Her mind was already trying to make sense of the new information and how it could impact everything. Quietly, she had begun formulating a theory and had yet to share it with Mulder. He obviously wanted revenge. He shot her, execution style in March 1865 in the back of her neck with a revolver while Mulder watched on. But the other victims...what was he trying to say? The first victim was shot like she had been. The second victim reminded her of her 19th-century doppelganger self, but the style of the killing and the mutilation post-mortem was worse. She shivered and opened the locker door, looking for her cell phone, and hit the speed dial number one.

“Mulder.”

“Mulder, it’s me,” she spoke quietly.

He was quiet on the other end of the line, likely noting the shift in her voice. “Scully, is everything alright?”

“I...I don’t know, Mulder. Where are you right now?”

“At the field office. Are you ready for me to pick you up?”

“Yeah.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Um, we need to talk about the profile. My findings today…”

“Scully, what is it?”

“That could have been me,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder to ensure she was alone in the room. “Mulder, he is trying to bait me.”

“Scully,” he called her name again. “You don’t know that. The second victim bore an uncanny resemblance but…”

“Her name, Mulder. Katherine Buchanan? That is no coincidence, it’s deliberate,” she pressed. “Remember William and Katherine? I’m surprised no one else has connected the dots.”

“Well, not everyone remembers their past life,” he soothed. “We do. Scully, I’ll be there in a half hour. Try and calm down. He isn’t making this personal.” Mulder paused, sounding utterly unconvinced of his own lie. “Just sit put.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she replied, glancing at the medical files. “I’m not going anywhere.”

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia December 10, 1862

“I’m not going anywhere,” Scully said, drawing herself to her full, small height as her baby brother Charlie sighed heavily. “I’m not leaving, Mulder. I don’t want to go back to Franklin. I don’t want to go back to the war and spying. I am not leaving him”

“Dana, you are talking nonsense.”

“You gave me a choice, Charlie and I choose Mulder.”

“I didn’t actually think you would go through with it,” he scoffed.

In the same small room of the inn, brother and sister stood and opposite ends like chess pieces. Queen takes bishop. Check.

“It’s my life, Charlie,” she said. “Do you know how unhappy I was with my life during the past seven years? I was miserable. Mulder has saved me in more ways than I know!”

“You’re using personal motive to disregard the larger fight. We can make a difference!”

“I did it so I could in the beginning, but it’s just not worth it to me anymore,” she said simply. “I watched the ironclads battle in that river, I saw hysteria grip Norfolk at the impending invasion from the Union army. I have heard the stories of bloody battles. I do not want to be a part of that anymore. Can’t you see? There’s much much more to life than this bloody war! I have a life with him, with us, there is so much potential!”

“So, what would you do? Stay here and be a farmer? With Mulder?”

“If I must. I’ll do anything to stand by him.” Scully shook her head angrily. “These people need help right here! I see countless refugees, civilian and freed slaves and the like come through here looking for a new life. I could help! I could teach! Do something. I don’t want to be a part of this war anymore. I want to help people rebuild.”

“Is that deserter Mulder talking or you, Dana?”

“It’s my life. I’m not going to Alabama. I’m staying here.”

Charlie drew a deep breath and finally nodded in resignation. “I guess, I guess I’ll see you when the war��s over then,” he said softly.

“Have you figured out what to tell mother?”

“I’ll think of something. Just keep in touch.”

Scully knew what he was saying. This goodbye could be the last or maybe, with the war over, she might be able to return home and face her family with Mulder as her new husband. But likely, she would never see any of her family again. “I’ll write Missy if I can, send word if I’m okay,” she said softly.

“I’ll let her know. What name will you be using?”

“Healey. Katherine Healey.”

“Mom’s name.” He nodded and gave a sad, wistful smile. He hugged his big sister and dipped his head. “Merry Christmas, Dana.”

“Be safe, Charlie.”

“Before I leave tonight, I will leave instruction with the commander of the garrison how you desire to help teach the refugees and the freed slaves. That way, you can begin rebuilding in your own way.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled. “Goodbye, Dana.”

She watched him don his officers cap and button up his overcoat and go out the door, down the stairs, and out into the night. Scully suddenly felt smaller, more alone. No one told her being brave and standing her ground could be so lonely. She pulled on her cloak and gathered her gloves and headed down the stairs and out into the night.

The main street was still muddy. It was always muddy. The mood was always cold. Sad. She looked up the night sky, wishing to see the moon and stars, but she only saw black clouds. And then a single snowflake. And then another. And then another. She closed her eyes as the first cold flurry hit her face and melt in the tear tracks that slid silently down her eyes. As she trudged back to the carriage house on the Skinners’ farm, the snow had grown heavier and had begun sticking to the ground. By the time she arrived back at the carriage house and lumbered up the stairs, she saw Mulder lounging on their bed, reading a book in the candlelight while a warm fire crackled across the room. He heard the door close and he dropped the book and sat up in bed.

When he saw the tears streak down Scully’s red cheeks, he knew. She picked him over her family, duty, and honor. She had chosen him, the deserter and loner from a conflicted past. “Scully,” he managed, unable to utter anything else.

She took off her cloak and gloves, let lose her dress and stockings and pillaged one of her nightshirts. Wordless, he opened the covers beside him and got ready for bed himself. One of the things he admired between them was their ability to excel at wordless communication. Once beneath their heavy blankets, she coiled around him for dear life and let the tears come. He held her tightly, kissing her unruly red hair, silently vowing to take care of the only family he had left.

. . . .

FBI Field Office Norfolk, Virginia December 19, 1998

Everyone else had gone home for the night except the graveyard shift who continuously monitored for the activity for Buckley. In a small conference room, over cold coffee and candy bars stolen from the vending machine down the hall, the partners sat across from each other in silence. Mulder flipped through Scully’s autopsy findings, taking particular care to read over her descriptions of the mutilations to the poor victim’s body. He felt his stomach flip sickeningly as he looked at the multiple stab wounds and carving Buckley had done to her body.

 “Was she alive during all this?” he asked quietly.

Scully pursued her lips and shook her head. “She bleed out through her femoral artery. One of the first strikes he did. Sadly and as cold as this sounds, she died quickly before she could suffer anymore.”

“Your opinion, Scully, does Buckley know what he is doing?”

“Yes and no.”

“What does that mean?”

“He knows how to inflict pain,” she whispered, “make people suffer. I’ve seen similar cases of mob deaths when I was working on my residency in pathology. But he does not have the finesse knowledge. I believe he knicked the femoral artery accidentally while trying to...uh, mark her thigh. The most I can speculate is that the blade is a standard chef’s knife, nothing special, and likely impossible to trace.”

“And this has to do with another past life as Frankie Luciano?”

She shrugged. “Fowley seemed convinced.”

“She came to me, right before I left, offering information.” He tented his fingers in front of his face. “I refused her of course. But it didn’t stop me from doing my research.”

“You refuse her? Why?”

He just gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Well, I went back and looked at his journal. He mentions a name: Frankie Luciano. There was a small time, very violent man, attached to to the Big Seven Group during 1929 prohibition up in New Jersey.” He passed her an old copy of a xeroxed book sheet with an ugly man with a face of a bulldog. She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“It looks nothing like him, Franklin or Buckley, except maybe...his eyes. He has the same eyes.”

Mulder nodded. “His journal mentions strange dreams that later become memories. Ring a bell, Scully?” Her eyes rose and met his and he nodded, answering her wordless question. “Just like us. What I don’t get is how come we have our same names instead of different ones? Were we always ourselves?”

Scully dug into her briefcase and passed him the picture she had found earlier at the museum in Newport News. He took it reluctantly and broke out into a smile when he saw it. “It is real, Mulder. We lived in the 1860s. That picture could have been taken yesterday as far as I am concerned. It is us.”

Mulder examined the picture with some fondness. Taken in the style of the times, it showed an 1863 Scully sitting formally in a chair with him, with short hair and a beard, resting his hand on her shoulder with her hand resting on top of his. Neither one of them smiled but it was them. “What else doesn’t make sense is how we look the same,” he continued. “Don’t you think?”

“It’s like looking in a mirror.” Scully shifted uneasily in her seat. “Even though we’re an adorable couple.” They both chuckled. “What started as dreams are as clear, crystal clear, as a memory to me, Mulder and I can recall them as easily as my own. And I know they are mine but I’m still me. I’m still Dana Katherine Scully, medical doctor and FBI agent.” She looked down at the picture of the 1920s criminal and then back to Mulder. “Does that make sense or am I just crazy?”

“Must be because you’re making perfect sense to me,” he teased lightly coaxing out a small smile out of her. “But this, Scully we can’t ignore. We have to bring to the attention of the ASAC and the rest of the task force.”

“How do we do that without making us sound crazy or bringing up past lives?”

“We may have to bring up past lives,” Mulder said, “just not ours.”

“Diana suspects something.”

“I know she does,” he sighed. “You remember from the Apison case, you suggested multiple personality disorder? I think we might be able to suggest something similar: schizophrenia. He’d already been diagnosed before we caught him. Buckley does not claim to be any of these past lives actively but he has the knowledge. One of the symptoms is believing thoughts are being inserted into one’s mind and, depending on how you read the journal, we could argue that. Hopefully, we can remember enough to catch him in the meantime.”

“What about the victims? It doesn’t take a genius to make the connection to me. The last victim looked just like me.” She shuddered at the thought. “Somebody was going to suspect something. We were the ones who originally caught him.”

“Not everyone knows about our past. “He held out a hand coolly. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, Scully. In the meantime, we can tie all this together and present it to the ASAC in the morning. I’m exhausted. You ready to head back?”

“I’ll drive us back to the hotel,” she volunteered softly, gathering their files.

. . . .

Holiday Inn at the Airport Norfolk, Virginia December 19, 1998

Scully did not know if it was her memories or the new thrill of being held by Mulder while she slept, but it felt right. It just felt right. It happened without discussion, almost automatically assumed as if they had been doing it for years. But deep down, Scully was glad she was not sleeping alone tonight. The autopsy from earlier that day still plagued the back of her mind, made her feel uneasy, and she knew, deep down, Buckley was hunting her again. Waiting. She felt Mulder unconsciously tighten his arms around her and snore slightly in his sleep. They would be all right. They had to be.

. . . .

You knew it was about revenge. I told you about it in the beginning.

It was transparently obvious. Blatantly so.

Mulder took my wife and he will pay. Again.

But there something thrilling about the hunt. It would be nothing to just shoot the man in the head and be done with it, but it takes real skill to lure your prey before making the final kill. I killed someone right away at the Oceanfront only because she knew who I was. She didn't count. The first woman was just meant to be a warning, but the second woman, mmm...it was just a matter of how creative I could get. And the crazy thing, I just loved it. The end is coming soon, don’t worry. But everything comes in threes before the big finale. This isn’t over yet. I will still have my day.

#false flags redux #xfiles #xf fic #case fic #msr #msr fic #txf #txf fic #mulder #scully #mulder and scully #historic au #fanfic #fanfiction