"Kids Today, Huh?"
(Fictober, Day 12)
Thanks to @stephy-gold and @wexleresque for their prompts! ("Die first by nessa barrett/Is an MSR song/they will die without the other" and "Stopping to look up at the night sky", respectively.)
*****
Mulder had been quiet since this morning.
They’d both made plans to stay in; and, while she was shuffled to the bedroom for regular clothes and he shuffled around Spotify for a "dish duty" song, Scully wondered curiously-- well, half curiously-- what he’d choose. Mulder’s taste in music was usually dictated by whatever current rash the local radios or various social media apps instigated, Elvis excepted. (He'd explained once that Presley fit his stringent criteria because "the King" was always topical; and Scully had conceded the point, if begrudgingly.)
By the time her shower was done, the house was permeated with silence. Upon reentry, Scully noticed Mulder’s shoulders were tense, his hands tightly clenching the counter; and both his ears had little Bluetooth buds-- hers, sinking into the bottomless pit of his ear canal-- blasting muffled noises straight into his ear drums. He spent the rest of the day pretending to be normal while absently squeezing or strangling anything nonperishable she handed him.
Scully tried to invent distractions for him, which Mulder meekly-- no, not meekly: without comment-- completed. When that didn't work, she then tried to engage him in a conversation that required responses other than “yes”, “no”, or “sure”. Noticing that his arm muscles would twitch through every attempt-- practically itching to turn up the volume-- she gave that up, too. Finally, she let him soak in his Byronic mood, and spent the rest of the afternoon riveted by a surprisingly good library book.
She was halfway through her light read when Mulder’s shadow forebodingly covered the next paragraph. “Scully, I have it on good authority that there’s something happening in that big ol’ sky of ours tonight.” Their own peculiar way of wanting to communicate without communicating.
“Mmm.” She waited a beat, watched his shadow and feet shift in sync. “Let’s check it out.”
*****
Scully’s earbuds were back in her possession, but only to warble depressing lyrics, stanza after stanza, into her ear. “Mulder, you listened to this all day?”
He only nodded, eyes fixed dully on the horizon. Well, no wonder: he probably saw the name Nessa Barrett, connected it to the soft spot he held for all Nessie lore, and was siren called to a day of misery and self-recrimination.
“Yeah.” His cheek bubbled out, tongue habitually searching for a sunflower seed that wasn’t there. “It’s not that crazy, Scully. You had an epiphany of your own while ruminating on the essence of Moby.”
“That was self-discovery not self-flagellation, Mulder.”
“But it made you realize things about yourself you hadn't. Put them into perspective. Made you question your choices and the… sacrifices you had to make along the way.”
Scully stared at him, wondering how best to delicately attack this sudden infection. Mulder gazed unflinchingly at the stars, likely searching for the same solace he’d given her years before-- a keychain and teamwork and hope to ease an ascension and Duane Barry and consequences. She wondered if they were failing him tonight; but chased the thought away. As long as he believed Samantha’s soul was stardust, there was hope.
It dawned on her. There was hope.
“Mulder, you told me once that--” she left out you believed for another time, “--that our souls were bound together through time, always finding each other.” Scully also left out Melissa Ephesian (an unnecessary complication.) “And it brought you great comfort then because it meant that the suffering we had and did endure was an opportunity for us to get it right.”
He was riveted on her face. Thirty years of knowing him told her that. “It’s a nice thought, Mulder. That we were created-- or,” she added for his sake, “came about organically with a destiny that ties us forever to each other. But I couldn’t… I can’t believe it.” He chuffed; and she didn’t need thirty years to know he had a crack comment ready to go. “It would seem too….”
“Too what?”
Scully smiled ruefully. “Flippant.”
“Flippant?” His voice was halfway between aghast and amused.
“Like I was taking what we have for granted. When I walked into your office that first day--”
“Our office, Scully.”
“I claimed it as my own during the Tooms case, Mulder-- although it took a bit longer than that to sort your piles into habitable places. The point is, we didn’t have that soul connection then: we had intrigue and respect. It was later that you gave me something I'd never dared to dream of, something I'd unconsciously been searching for."
“Teamwork?” he teased, parroting words from a former conversation beneath the stars.
Who’s flippant now? But flippant was good-- flippant was part of the stages of recovery for Mulder. She needed to take him a little further than that, help him fortify his walls against future “I hope I die first” dark romanticism.
Scully turned, showing Mulder the starlight reflected in her eyes. “You gave me wonder." Watched his own twinkle slowly return.
“That word has a couple different uses, Scully," he said with a smile, with a little forward tilt. He was almost okay.
“Well, I wondered at you at first.” Mulder nodded, taking the ribbing on the chin with a wry smile. “But I wondered with you not long after.” She let him bask in the soft glow of reassurance before claiming her victory. “And that proves me right. If it had just been fate, or destiny--”
“--It would be the other way round.” Smart man, her Mulder.
Leaning in theatrically, Scully deftly put everything else behind them. “Mulder, I was promised a good time. So, are you gonna point out some mystery of the universe to me or are we going to stand here fretting over the past?”
He grinned, himself again; and wound her in and spun her theories while pointing at the stars.
******
Thank you for reading~
Enjoy!
Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event
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