#also scully telling mulder to go to therapy

[cutemothman]

but can i also say ghost in the machine going hard in terms of

mulder looking at this guy who stole his profile, who came down to give him such a bullshit non-apology and mulder very gently saying "all you had to do was ask. i would have helped you with the profile" scully turning to him during that meeting, claws already out like "??? isn't that your profile?" and mulder telling her to let it go. he's so so trusting because he wants to believe that people are good even when they hurt him over and over.

and you can tell that scully knows IMMEDIATELY that this guy is a Fucker. from the first moment that jerry shows up and hugs mulder, she can see how uncomfortable he is. the way her body language changes whenever jerry shows up after that. she watches mulder to make sure he's okay. ready to pounce. ready to step in if she needs to. even before he stole the profile, she knew that he was shady and after he showed his true colors all bets were off. just another person that takes advantage of mulder's trusting nature. but still!! she saw how upset mulder was that jerry died and the first thing she does is find him and try to comfort him. a few episode ago she was holding a man at gunpoint demanding that he take her to mulder, her touch is lighter in the episode but she still has his back.

#also scully telling mulder to go to therapy #yes queen #of course he didn't but it was worth a shot #i think this episode might have just entered my top ten #txf #the x files #ghost in the machine #msr #fox mulder #dana scully

[deathsbestgirl]

Wish the the X files could be little bit more ABOUT Scully's trauma instead of constantly subjecting her to more of it and then never letting her process it (yes this is a problem with both characters but I do think it's undeniable that it's much worse with Scully, we spend seasons exploring Mulder's Samantha trauma and then they give Melissa and Emily an episode each) (also why the fuck doesn't she even have her name on the door, nevermind a fuckin desk, fuck you Chris Carter)

i think this is something that happens across tv shows in general. i do get bothered sometimes, too, about how muted it is with scully. but also...at least we see her go to therapy a few times lol but like. i would argue scully gets more than we think. with her dad, there's beyond the sea & one breath. with melissa, there's paper clip & piper maru & christmas carol. with emily, we have christmas carol + emily + all souls, and i think people have rightfully connected how the ghosts stole christmas to emily too.

i actually think they're fairly even, it's just that mulder's trauma with samantha is built into the foundation. scully's trauma becomes how they tell a lot of the story. firewalker & irresistible & our town are in the wake of her abduction. she's trying to get back into work, be strong and be there for mulder. what happened to scully in her abduction trails after them for the rest of their lives. her cancer, emily, william...the cancer arc is so much about both of their traumas.

his father's death is barely acknowledged in his life, but he does get an experience similar to scully's in one breath in the blessing way. his mother's is more significant, and connected to samantha. his grief is so painful & heavy in sein und zeit, but it leads to scully helping him find answers about samantha, and gaining some closure. mulder has no real reaction to diana's death, but that relationship is different than family (and with jack for scully, we only get that scene at the end of lazarus. so those line up) and scully is the one who matters. we get so much with samantha because she's the heart of the show, and in the end samantha & scully are connected and not just through mulder.

and as much as i want scully to have a desk & her name on the door...i feel like there's something to be said for why it doesn't happen. one day i'll write about it, if it ever becomes coherent & cohesive.

#the x files #dana scully #fox mulder #samantha mulder #mulder and scully #also guys. like #hate cc all you want #but i simply don't lol #asks

[jemgirl86]

So, in the past 2 days, with 2 different friends, I’ve discussed actors being asked questions about shipping. And I’ve come to the conclusion, probably because I’m an elder millennial lol, and can remember before the words “shipping” and “fandom” were tossed around in casual conversation, and also because I’ve watched a shit ton of tv, that I might have a fairly unpopular, or at least different, opinion about the whole thing.

Quick note: I’m not picking on anything or anybody. This is just my two cents…

Okay, so, I think my main problem with this whole thing is twofold:

1. I’m sick of how these questions are being asked.

2. I’m sick of all parties involved acting brand new.

When I say I’m sick of the framing what I mean is, I’m tired of “fandom” and or fandom shit being brought up by interviewers and being used as a scapegoat/reason for them to ask questions they were always going to ask anyway, and have been asking about couples on various shows since FOREVER lol.

What do I mean? Well, at its core, the Syd/Carmy dynamic - the way it is presented and written, whether anyone wants to admit it or not - is a “will they/won’t they” relationship, in the most classic sense. Now, “will they, won’t they” might not have have been the original plan when the show was developed, which is often the case. They might’ve gotten to set and the actors just had natural chemistry together. However, at this point, the writing and direction has fed into it, also whether they intended to or not, at least to a certain degree, and no this isn’t a “men and women can’t be friends” thing, lol, they’re already friends on the show, and that doesn’t have to change, but their friendship isn’t stopping the other tension from bleeding through.

It’s a tale as old as time… Sam & Diane… David & Madelyn… Fran & Maxwell… Kyle & Maxine… Jim & Pam… Mulder & Scully… Janine & Gregory… etc etc, I could literally go on forever, especially if I started counting soap opera couples lol. These “we work together, or spend a lot of time together, it’s kind of antagonist, but in a fun way, we could be friends, or even enemies, sometimes we might legitimately fight, but also, sometimes it looks like we might kiss” relationships between the male and female leads have always existed, and interviewers have always discussed them, and questioned the actors about them, and it ain’t got shit to do with anything fandom posts online.

Which is why the following excerpt annoyed tf out of me:

She’s also been made aware of the (seemingly) sizable group of Carmy-Sydney shippers that have appeared, rising from the Twitter mist to declare their allegiances to an imaginary romance. These fan theories are something of a pain point for Edebiri, who says she is grateful that people are so engaged with the show, but that it’s “frustrating.” She adds: “It’s really not our thought process when we’re making the show, and I understand it can be part of a show’s culture — but I don’t think they’re going to get what they want.” Gordon told THR that while she also doesn’t subscribe to the shipper theories, she believes it’s a testament to the work of Storer, White, and Edebiri that they’re able to create something so passionate. “I think it’s incredibly cool to have this dynamic onscreen that isn’t romantic, but that feels charged and sexy,” she said.

Narratively speaking, Edebiri isn’t actually sure that Carmy should be in a relationship with anyone (“It’s TV, do you want to see Walter White go to therapy and then reunite with his family?” she asks with a laugh), but admits that she can’t resist falling — platonically! — for the character’s complicated charms. “I love this little fucked up guy in the kitchen,” she says before quickly self-editing. “Or wait, this messed-up guy.” (The more she reads her own interviews, the more she sees her own explicit language: “I think I do it when I’m telling a joke, like I’m putting a swear in there to let you know I’m saying a joke — it’s something for me to reflect on.”)

At this point, I remember — and bring up — a tweet I saw recently, that drew a line between the many years that Succession fans spent caring (deeply) about the show’s (deeply) damaged men and the way they were able to quickly jump to the stage of “babygirlifying” the men of The Bear. She looks aghast, the parasocial implications a step too far even for someone from her inherently online cohort. “That is so Internet,” she manages, her expression a flash of the face-acting that has become a hallmark of her Emmy-nominated performance.

That entire passage was weird and not because of “fandom,” or because a fan got out of pocket, but because a journalist working in the entertainment industry forgot how to do their job, and it made an actress not give the answer (I’d like to think) she’d give if she’d been asked the standard question.

Whoever the hell worked at Entertainment Tonight back in the day: “So are David & Maddie finally going to get together this season?”

Bruce Willis, in 1986 probably: “Well, ET anchor, you’ll just have to watch and see” *winks at camera*

Is that a real quote? No. Is that exactly like something I’ve heard before. Yes. Like… this is not rocket science lol. I have seen a version of that question asked (and answered) hundreds of times throughout my entire life about various tv couples without making it a big weird thing, whether they bring up fans or not. Hell, the journalist could’ve said: “Will Syd & Carmy ever get together? Viewers are dying to know.” And it would’ve been fine, totally normal, but instead they wrote all that and made it as weird as possible, to what? Throw fandom culture and shipping under the bus I guess…

But, see, my beef with this, and situations like this one in particular is, this isn’t a shipping issue. This isn’t an interviewer springing a question on an actor about a fanon relationship that no person with a functioning brain or any sense of reality could ever think would go canon. This isn’t someone asking about something impossible, some MCU fanon ship that only the most delusional 12 year old in the world would think they were ever going to see date anywhere other than their own Google Doc.

Whether you like Syd/Carmy or think they have all the chemistry of a wet paper towel, realistically, you still know that them getting together isn’t something TPTB at their particular studio will never allow… they’re just something that hasn’t happened yet, that might never happened, but still, at this point, just hasn’t happened yet. Something that one of the leads refers to as a “charged and sexy” dynamic.

I don’t know how to break it to the interviewer or the segment of society that seems to have gotten amnesia, and forgotten one of the oldest tv tropes around, but a “charged and sexy dynamic” between two leads on a show that hasn’t yet ended is a… ding ding ding, you guessed it folks, a “will they, won’t they” dynamic.

And here’s the thing, most of The Bear’s viewers and probably most of the people who think Syd & Carmy would be cute together NEVER stick a toe in fandom, will never ever read a fanfic, might not even know what all fandom entails, they’re just like the boomer guy I see at the coffee machine sometimes, they enjoyed the show and think “Carmy & Syd would be good for each other” lmaooo. They watch it the way I watch The Good Wife lol. They don’t ship Carmy/Syd - they’ve literally never heard that word used like that before. And they’re definitely not about to engage with other fans online in any significant way, it’s a water cooler show for them… much like Cheers actually.

Soooo leave fandom and fans, and the tweets you saw on Twitter, and the fics that got posted on ao3 out of your questions… and out of your answers too, tbh. Because at the end of the day, if everyone was honest with themselves for five fucking seconds, Syd & Carmy don’t fall into the “will they, won’t they” category because some people involved in online fandom, in any capacity, posted anything on ao3, Tumblr, Twitter, or anywhere else. Fandom as we know it could have never existed, and an entertainment journalist would still be asking Ayo & Jeremy something related to the potential of their characters’ having a romantic relationship, and anyone who’s ever watched a television show before damn well knows it. So, stop framing it as questions you’re bringing up because of shipping nonsense from a crazy fandom, frame it the same way you would’ve in 1986, before Twitter, and leave fandom out of it. If people want to be pissy they need to save it for the fans @‘ing actors with nonsense, and the fans ready to riot over fanon ships they knew were never going to happen. But being mad at someone who sees the possibility of a Syd/Carmy pairing at this point would be like being mad at someone in 1993 for thinking Maxwell Sheffield and Nanny Fine might end up together…

Ijs… if you wouldn’t frame that person as crazy because they saw an “imaginary romance,” then maybe look deeper lol.

It seems like I’m picking on The Bear in this rambling mess lol, but they’re just a recent example, so I used them because I’m tired of people conflating two issues. Yes, asking actors shipping questions is weird… when you’re doing it about two characters, you, me, the milk man, the lady down the street and the man on the moon, all know will never get together. But… ummm no, a reporter asking Cybil Shepherd in 1985 if her & Bruce Willis’ characters would eventually be together actually wouldn’t have been weird, and I think everyone knew that back then, so I’m trying to figure out why people are pretending not to know it now.

Yes, some people in fandom are unhinged: acting nutsy bobos because their ship that truly was just a ship didn’t go canon, even though even the Scarecrow could’ve told them it wasn’t going to happen; seeing queerbait where there was never queerbait; contacting writers/actors/etc. directly with their thoughts, opinions, and fantasies 🤢, instead of DM’ing that mess to their cousin/sister/friend or sharing it on their blog (lol) like a normal person. However, sometimes, really, a lot of time, it’s not the fandom at all. In fact, the fandom be minding their own fucking business, and the journalists (and actors) wouldn’t even know about fandom stuff if they didn’t go poking around.

And other times, times like this one, stuff gets framed as being nutty shipper shit, when it’s just regular viewer shit. Because, again, no reporter ever waited until Niles and Daphne kissed on screen to ask either actor if their characters would ever get together, so I need this journalist and others like them to please spare me the bullshit of acting like the only reason they fixed their mouth to ask Ayo about the possibility of Syd/Carmy was because of some “shippers” and “their allegiances to an imaginary romance.”

There is only one reason I could see any entertainment journalist back in the day, pre-internet, not asking about the possibility of a romance between these two characters in particular, and it ain’t got shit to do with their dynamic.

But that’s another long ass rambling post for another slow work day lol.

Idk how to wrap this up other than to say, fans and fandoms as a whole are more visible now than ever before. And lately the behavior of some fans has been off the hook lol (though realistically I’d argue that some of that behavior is sometimes encouraged, in one way or another, by TPTB), but that doesn’t mean we have to overcorrect by blaming fandoms for things that they aren’t responsible for, and it really doesn’t mean that we have to start acting like online fan communities created things that have existed, long before the online fan community in question. Folks are so mad at all fandoms and all fans, they can’t even tell the difference between the musings of an obsessed stan & the general curiosities of a casual viewer, and it’s got honest to god journalists conflating rabid shipping discourse with “oh I think they’d be cute together,” and forgetting that casual viewers even exist and still have opinions, and it’s very very weird.

Bring Back Normal Interviews 2024 lol

ETA: You want to know what’s funny? As I’ve said before, I don’t even want them together lol. Syd is my fave, and I think Carmy is about to (unintentionally) ruin her life. But, still, I couldn’t bite my tongue, so to speak, because it really grinds my gears when a bunch of people expect me to sit back and pretend I don’t see the same themes and dynamics I’ve seen countless times, and pretend that I’m only seeing certain questions being asked because of fans on Twitter… even though we all know that’s not true 🙃

ETA Again: Since I referenced it more than once, I feel like it’s only fair to mention that Moonlighting is actually infamous for being the reason that a lot of times even when the chemistry is off the charts between two leads on a popular show, TPTB will refuse to put them together. The episode of Moonlighting where the two main characters finally got together was the most watched episode… but it was all downhill from there. It ruined the show according to everyone and their mamas lol (though that’s not entirely fair). Anyway, the tension and chemistry and buildup was suddenly gone, and the show was no longer fun. The story goes that viewers gave up on it, and it became a cautionary tale about how you should always make the “will they, won’t they” of it all last as long as possible, or your show might die lol

#the bear #sydcarmy #syd x carmy #i will probably delete this later #of course shipping questions are weird #but this was only a shipping question because of the interviewer #in general asking an actor about the romantic future of their character on a tv show isn’t weird… and it’s not a question of shipping #TYPICALLY #it only gets weird if the interviewer makes it weird

[mollybecameanengineer]

And How Does That Make You Feel?

Summary: Mulder and Scully do couples therapy with Karen Kosseff

word count: 2166 | General | MSR | @today-in-fic

Read on AO3 or check out the beginning below the break

This is part of an episodic series called A Second Chance. All the episodes are collected, in order, using AO3’s series feature. The concept of the series is to rewrite seasons 8 and 9. It deals with Mulder’s return from the dead, the birth of William, and Mulder and Scully trying to juggle family life with impending doom.

If you don’t want to read the whole thing, but want to read this story, here is what you need to know…

Previously on A Second Chance: After returning from the dead, Mulder and Scully moved in together and are planning to raise their baby. In their last case (see: Incubo) they have recently been confronted by their worst nightmares. (She: Mulder goes missing. Him: Scully’s baby isn’t human.) This experience left them both troubled.

When Dr. Karen Kosseff saw the appointment on her calendar, she wasn’t surprised. She’d seen Fox Mulder and Dana Scully separately, a number of times. She pulled both of their files, wanting to go over her notes from their previous sessions.

1994. The first session. When one's partner goes missing or is killed, it’s mandatory to attend a minimum of three counseling sessions. Fox had come to her to fulfill the requirement. His partner had been missing for two months. He didn’t believe she was dead. He was using all his free time to search for her. 

In her notes, Karen noted that he had a possibly unhealthy attachment to his partner. If nothing else, he blamed himself for everything that happened – rather than Duane Barry, the man who had abducted her. 

“You and your partner, you were close?” Karen asked.

Fox bit his lip. “No more so than anyone is with their partner.”

She scribbled down that they may have been in a romantic relationship and were hiding it. This would explain his guilt, and why he was having such trouble letting go.

“You know that everything you say in here is confidential. I’m only bound to report if you are planning to harm yourself or others.”

Fox laughed. It wasn’t a kind sound. “We weren’t fucking, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Karen noted that he was defensive that she had presumed. “I’m sorry. I just–”

“Can we move on?” Fox wasn’t looking at her, but at his hands, which were folded in his lap. 

Karen wrote down that Fox was likely in love with his partner, though it may have been unrequited. “Yes,” she said, “let’s move on.”

That was the only time Fox had come to her office. She’d seen Dana on many more occasions. And after their first session, she knew Fox’s feelings weren’t unrequited, only unconsummated.  

Shuffling through her notes, Karen came upon her most recent sessions with Dana. After Fox went missing, Dana had done her three sessions, and much like Fox, seven years prior, was refusing to give up. She was sure she’d find him, just as he’d found her.

Karen would find it romantic if it weren’t so delusional. 

A few months after the end of her mandatory sessions, Dana appeared again in her office. 

“He’s dead.”

That’s how the session began. Dana told Karen how they found his body. His funeral was a week ago. The tears that Dana hadn’t shed in those first sessions flooded her eyes now. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.” 

Karen handed her a box of tissues. “How does it make you feel? Now that he’s gone, rather than missing?”

Dana laughed. It was a terrible sound. “Sad. Really fucking sad. I had hope. Now…” She shook her head, dismissing something she was about to say.

“Tell me, Dana.”

She let out a sob. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. We were together, Mulder and I.”

If the moment weren’t so serious, Karen would have cheered. One of them was finally honest with her. “That’s a very hard thing, Dana. You lost not only your partner, but also your significant other.”

Dana nodded. “And… I’m pregnant. But I never got to tell him.”

Dana had come weekly after that. Karen worked with her through her grief. Tried to help her see a future, where she had her child and was happy. They’d made good progress, then one day she got an email from Dana, canceling her remaining appointments. The email had been brief, only communicating that Fox was alive.

Karen didn’t understand how it could be, but she also didn’t understand a lot of what Fox and Dana told her. She’d wished that Dana hadn’t quit therapy as soon as Fox was back. She’d done the same thing after her cancer went into remission. And while these were both happy times, the trauma of the sad ones can linger. Karen saw PTSD in Scully, and could only assume Mulder suffered similarly. 

So, on that May morning when she opened her schedule to see that she had a joint appointment with Fox and Dana, Karen was happy. Not for herself, but for them. 

Continue on AO3

#x files fanfic #msr

[siena-cawrse]

Analytical Application 4

Collective Catharsis:

In Fanon’s work, “The Negro and Psychopathology,” he describes collective catharsis as “an outlet through which the forces accumulated in the form of aggression can be released.”[1] What is truly incredible is that catharsis can be achieved through multiple means: games, therapy, even watching film and television.

In the X-Files episode “Squeeze,” there is a fairly straightforward example of such a catharsis. When the old sheriff picks up his newspaper and reads the story about Toomes being arrested and sentenced, it brings about a look of incredible relief and joy on his face (Longstreet, 1993, 39:45). For so long, he had been obsessed with catching Toomes that he nearly ruined his career by continuing to pursue the case. This moment of realization that he can rest easy knowing that what he set out to do was accomplished has a cathartic aspect to it because it was set up earlier in the episode (Longstreet, 1993, 26:57). Without the context for his continued chase of Toomes, the relief he feels having seen his arrest wouldn’t have been nearly as impactful for the viewer. This setup and payoff is required to effectively tell the story because it wouldn’t be as cathartic if the viewer wasn’t as invested in experiencing that catharsis as well.

Unheimlich:

The unheimlich is the opposite of the heimlich, which is the German word for ‘familiar.’[2] It also describes the hidden or unknown state of things. Freud describes heimlich as a word that develops an ambivalence, until it coincides with the unheimlich, which is not entirely understood.[3] For this reason, the unheimlich is an important part of what makes something uncanny.

The unheimlich in the scene where a man is murdered around halfway through the episode (Longstreet, 1993, 20:27) shows itself in the way the scene resembles the opening scene. There, the murder of the man is played like a straight up serial murder, but with the added context of the investigation from the part of the episode that has happened already, the heimlich or ‘familiar’ parts of the murder start veering closer and closer to intersecting with the unheimlich. These elements appear specifically with the showing of Toomes’ supernatural abilities—think the way he squeezes himself down the chimney (Longstreet, 1993, 22:01). Though we have already seen this before—it was even the same sort of older business man getting murdered—there are subtle differences that push our understanding of it to unfamiliar territory. Also, the familiar parts of the setting are made unfamiliar by way of the audience knowing that Toomes will appear at some point to murder the man. Each corner could hide a murderous man, and the fireplace, once a place of warmth and comfort, could hide Toomes’ glowing eyes in its shadows. This aspect of unheimlich transforms this scene in a way that doesn’t make it feel repetitive, as it is essentially the same as the opening murder scene.

Uncanny:

In his work “The Uncanny,” Freud puts forth a few ways to define the word ‘uncanny.’ He describes it as “that class of the terrifying which leads back to something long known to us, once very familiar,” which arises out of our repressed memories.[4] This is where the unheimlich, or ‘unfamiliar’ comes in; that which is unfamiliar but is now being brought to the surface of our minds is what makes something feel uncanny.

During the X-Files episode “Squeeze,” the unheimlich appears during the part of the episode where Scully (Gillian Anderson) and Mulder (David Duchovny) go to investigate the old apartment where Toomes supposedly lived in the early 20th century (Longstreet, 1993, 30:16). The main room of the apartment definitely has a creepy vibe—in the way that abandoned rooms in abandoned buildings usually do—but it’s not quite uncanny. This lack of uncanny vibe is remedied when the characters travel underneath the building into what can only be described as a lair. The surroundings underground are covered in newspaper clippings that have been spit-balled onto the walls, and the artifacts and personal effects that Toomes takes from his victims are enshrined in the center (Longstreet, 1993, 32:06). It is these household and personal items that truly add to the uncanny feeling of Toomes’ lair. Surrounded by all this grime and grossness, coupled with the horrific fact that the two main characters are in the belly of the beast, so to speak, the personal items lend that familiarity, that “once very familiar” aspect that Freud mentioned.[5] These items tie the creepy supernatural setting and story back to a grounded place in reality, which is what elevates the creepy vibe into an uncanny one.

Mirror stage:

The mirror stage was theorized by Lacan in his work, “The Mirror Stage as a Formative Function of the I.” In the text, Lacan describes how an infant, before being able to walk or talk, can recognize itself in the mirror and can understand that the image it is seeing is indeed itself.[6] This is the first instance of the I that humans can understand, and it is the purest form of the I since it cannot be diluted with words since the infant has no grasp of language.

One of the scenes towards the end of the episode exemplifies the mirror stage quite well. Once Toomes has been imprisoned, a guard comes to give him food, sliding it through a little opening in the door. Toomes immediately latches onto this opening as a sign of hope, with the POV shot showing the opening as a bright white light, almost like an escape into a different world (Longstreet, 1993, 41:04). With Toomes’ supernatural powers, that opening very well could be the way he escapes. However, I relate this to the mirror stage because, despite the lack of a mirror, seeing the opening awakens a primordial realization in Toomes, one that resembles that of an infant seeing itself in the mirror for the first time and realizing the reflection is itself. Toomes’ supernatural powers are certainly a core tenet of his being, and so seeing an opening where he can use those powers in an otherwise baren room might feel like the pure I that Lacan mentions when an infant sees its reflection.

Disalienation:

Fanon proposes the method of disalienation as an opposition to the common practice of alienation. In disalienation, race relations might cease to exist, and people will look at each other and focus on understanding one another.[7] Disalienation begins with a blank slate where two races can interact with each other, this blank slate being a product of the histories of the two groups.

Though there are no characters of color in the episode of the X-Files, the concept of disalienation could potentially be applied to the different branches of the FBI. There is the branch that handles most crimes, and the branch that Mulder and Scully are a part of, the supernatural branch. Throughout the episode, the disdain that other investigators hold towards the supernatural branch is made clear—they think Mulder in particular is “spooky” (Longstreet, 1993, 7:00)—and it complicates the way the case gets solved. Fellow FBI agent Tom Colton with the “normal” branch even goes so far as interfering with Mulder’s stakeout because he doesn’t believe that he should get the credit. However, in the scene where Colton tells Scully that he recalled the men on the stakeout, she stands up for Mulder and reasserts herself as a prominent member of the supernatural branch (Longstreet, 1993, 34:54). I would say this moment where Scully, who was drifting away from Mulder and the supernatural branch at the beginning of the episode, comes into her own and rebuffs her identity as part of the supernatural branch is the starting point to create the blank slate where the two groups may be able to interact.

[1] Fanon

[2] Freud

[3] Freud

[4] Freud

[5] Freud

[6] Lacan

[7] Fanon

Bibliography:

Fanon, Frantz. 2008. Black Skin, White Masks. London: Pluto Press.

Freud, Sigmund. 1925. The Uncanny. Toronto: Oxford University Press.

Lacan, Jacques. 2006. The Mirror Stage as Formative of the I Function. New York: W. W. Norton & Company.

@theuncannyprofessoro

#oxyvisualanalysis #psychoanalysis #subjectivity

[misslilli]

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 34 - It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like A Christmas Miracle

[ FM ]

We rise from the table and go to retrieve our coats from their hooks by the door. I hold out her parka with a faux-fur trimmed hood out to her to slip into, draping it around her shoulders. She zips it and pulls her hat onto her head, it also has a red pompom wobbling on it, only slightly bigger than the one on her sweater. I reach up to give it a squeeze, but think better of it at the last minute, straightening out her inside-out hood before we step outside into the cold winter night, my hand finding its way to the small of her back.

The anticipation of what will happen on our walk makes my heart beat faster, maybe by some Christmas miracle, we'll find ourselves underneath a mistletoe.

Turning onto Main Street, we stroll along the harbor, the waves lapping quietly against the stone walls. “I can’t believe you remembered that lame line from the Halloween fair.,” I blurt out into the silence.

“I remember. It didn’t start out that way, but it was a good night!”

“We had our share of good shots, huh?” It was meant as a joke, but she doesn’t react. Crap, I just reminded her of those moments in the gym that had sent a whole nightmare of hurt and confusion on its way.

“I uhm… I think I owe you an explanation.” The night is quiet, but I still have to strain my ears to hear her. I wait for her to continue, holding my breath.

“God, this is hard. That afternoon, in the gym… I had a really good time at first, but it was all too much, too soon and I freaked out.”

“I’m sorry, Scully, I really didn’t mean to freak you out!”

"I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad and it wasn’t something that you did, because it actually was a really perfect moment. I just…” She looks out over the seemingly endless ocean, the twinkling Christmas lights of the city dancing across the waves like little colorful stars.

“I had some pretty bad experiences in the last couple of years. I won’t go into detail but let’s just say that I don’t have the best of luck when it comes to men. I don’t always pick the good ones.”

“Okay… so… in which category do I fall, then? Good ones? Or bad ones?” I’m really not sure at the moment, where she’s going with all this, until I look over at her and see her lips curve into a small smile.

“Jury’s still out on this one.” The teasing tone in her voice gives me a tiny spark of hope.

“Anyway, that’s why I needed some space. To go to therapy, to wrestle with the demons of the past, be by myself for a while until I’ve figured some things out.” While we walk, our hands brush against each other over and over accidentally and when I can feel her fingertips grasp my hand lightly, the familiar current runs up my arm in warm tingles.

“Things like…?” The distant sound of Christmas carolers drifts over the harbor and I couldn’t wish for a more perfect backdrop for what’s about to happen. A light snow has started to fall, thick snowflakes landing all around us and it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, and the prettiest sight to see is walking right next to me.

We stop at the end of the pier, turning towards each other, the misty clouds of our breaths mingling between us. She looks up at me shyly and the way the twinkling city lights illuminate the fine features of her face takes my breath away.

“I really like you, Mulder. A lot.” A tiny snowflake has landed on the tip of her nose and I can’t take my eyes off her face even if I tried. She takes a deep breath, as if to gather up courage. “So I’d like to give this, us, a shot, go out on a date. If you’re… still interested?” The innocent way she phrases her question is so adorable and it’s the same one I’ve been dying to ask her ever since I first saw her in that Rainbow skirt on the first day of school.

“Yeah, I’d love that.” The relieved breath she huffs out vaporizes in the cold night’s air.

“Okay… that’s … good. I just – You probably gathered that I have a hard time trusting men. So maybe … we can take things slow at first?” Anything. I’d literally do anything for her when she asks me like that. I nod slowly.

“Sure, we can do that. So … you’ll tell me when you’re feeling… freaked out again?” She nods and I step closer, my heart in my throat, and place my hands on her waist, pulling her into my space.

“Like, is this okay?” When she doesn’t pull away I start to believe in my Christmas miracle.

I pull her hat off by its pompom and stuff it into my pocket, replacing its warmth over her ears with my hands, cupping her face gently. “This too?” Between my hands, she nods again and her lips curve into a smile.

I wipe a snowflake off her cheek with my thumb and I almost see the sparks that pass between us, as we stand on the pier, the darkness of the ocean behind us, the twinkling lights of the city ahead. Finally, finally, I lean in, pressing my lips to hers tentatively.

When she wraps her arms around my waist and deepens the kiss, the warmth that spreads through my body from her lips makes everything disappear. The ocean. The city. The hurt. The hesitation. The longing. The ache in my heart. The nervousness. The uncertainty.

In its place steps the inkling of something else.

The start of something big.

—————

[ DS ]

The world fades away when he cradles my face in his hands and this moment, under the stars, with the anticipation of his lips finally finally on mine is so intense, I feel slightly faint.

When the kiss ends, it all feels so perfectly right, the pier, the Christmas lights, his hands on my waist and his lips on mine, him. It dawns on me right this moment, this is only just the beginning. Of something right.

Chasing the feeling, we both lean in again, kissing, kissing, cold noses pressed into warm cheeks until our hands and faces turn to ice on this magical Christmas night.

Reluctantly, we pull apart, but it’s not enough, it’ll never, never be enough so I lean up on my tiptoes and just before our lips touch I whisper against them: “I got you, babe!” We both smile into the kiss, but the cold crawling inside our jackets, our bones, forces us to part.

“We should head back inside!, he suggests but at the thought of having to share him with other people, I shake my head. He’s mine tonight. All mine.

We look at each other for a few moments, silently communicating.

“No. You’re all the company I need tonight. Will you walk me home?”

“Yeah, I can do that!”

“Wait! Before we go-“ I take out my phone with stiff fingers, unlock it and hand it to him. “I need photographic proof so I can convince myself tomorrow that it wasn’t just a dream!” He takes the phone from me and puts an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side, snapping the picture. It takes a while to find the right angle because without my heels my head barely reaches his shoulder.

When he presses a kiss to my cheek and takes another shot, my grin could light up New York City after dark.

It doesn’t last long though, because he devilishly slips an icy hand into my collar and the chill against my neck makes me jump and twist towards him with a high-pitched squeal. “Aaaah God I HATE you!”

At his shit eating smirk, I burst out laughing, hard, and he joins in until we have to dab at our watering eyes, gasping for air.

I loop my arm through his as we walk towards the beach house in comfortable silence. This evening feels like a dream come true, something out of a romantic comedy, not something that happens in real life, to real people. And certainly not something I ever dreamed of happening to me.

“Take your shoes with you through the house, we’ll just warm up while we make some tea and dry our coats, then we can go down to the beach for a while.” He nods, silently taking in the only barely illuminated house.

Once inside, I drape our coats across the radiator to dry and we move into the kitchen. “Can you grab the picnic blanket from the closet in the hall, under the staircase?”

I busy myself making tea and when he doesn’t return for a while, I step out into the front hall to find him gazing at the pictures on the wall of my friends and I, smiling to himself.

“See anything you like?”

He turns and steps up to me, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear gently. “Yes.”

I blush furiously and giggle, looking down bashfully. He’s so incredibly charming and the butterflies in my stomach tumble over each other at his compliment.

“Oh you… Come on, tea’s ready, let’s go outside.”

We put our warmed and dried coats back on, grab the blanket, thermos and two cups and step out the porch doors, back into the night. He spreads the picnic blanket onto the sand and I loop my arm through his again, leaning my head against his shoulder, the teacups warming our cold hands.

“What are you going to tell Felix?,” I ask the question that’s been nagging at the back of my mind into the night quietly. He’s silent for a while, contemplating his answer.

“Nothing. For now, at least. Gives us a little space to explore the Us before we add him to the mix. I hate lying to him but I think it’s best if he stays out of the loop, for now. Is that okay with you?” ‘In case it doesn’t work out, after all.’ He doesn’t need to say it, and the thought makes me a little sad for a brief moment.

No, it’ll work out, it has to! Rudolph's nose never fails to bring me luck!

“Yeah… but he might know that something’s up anyway, he’s too smart for his own good.” At that, he smiles, he knows his son well enough to know that to be true.

“Although if he’s not supposed to know, the rest of the town should probably not know either, word travels fast in our town.” Resting his cheek on top of my head, he hums his agreement.

“So, what are your plans for Christmas break?” I sigh heavily, I’ve been looking forward to my plans for a while, before tonight. Before the kiss on the pier. Before all I wanted for Christmas was him.

“I’m leaving for Boston tomorrow morning, to spend the holidays with my family. I’ll be gone the whole week, until Monday 31st, in time for the New Year’s Party at the Cabby Shack.”

“A whole week? Wow… that’s … a lot of … days…” he trails off and he sounds as disappointed as I feel about this being our first and last night for a whole week.

“I know, seems like forever… but if you hand me your phone, I’ll give you my number so we can at least text and call – and when I get back, we’ll pick up where we left off.” With stiff fingers, I save my number into his phone and hand it back to him. “There. Now we can pine some more over the phone!”

We sit and watch the ocean for a while, lost in our own thoughts, until we get chills and have to reluctantly end our evening. I wrap my arms around his neck while his go around my waist and I rise up onto my toes to kiss him goodbye. I’m a little unsteady on the soft sand, so his arms lock behind my back, crushing me into him. It’s Heaven on Earth until we run out of breath and have to pull back. I peck his lips once more “For good luck!” before we make our way back, parting ways in front of the stairs to the porch.

As I watch him walk round the house towards the street, he turns and throws back over his shoulder with a sly grin “Tell Rudolph thanks for all his luck tonight!” Oh boy… if his lips won’t kill me, the words he says with them certainly will do the job. With a small wave, he disappears into the night.

I put away the cups and thermos, leaving the blanket outside and head upstairs to get ready for bed. Too wired to sleep, I slip underneath the covers and reach for my phone, pulling up the pictures that we took earlier tonight. I smile as I scroll through them, then gasp in surprise as I find out that he took one last shot of us laughing like crazy.

The unadulterated joy in this picture is so pure and real, I can feel tears prick at the corner of my eyes.

It’s going to be a long, long week.

~~~~~~

# inspirationpic #bc I love it so much 🥰

#xf #the x files #xf fanfic #msr #felix felicis

[cultureisdarkbeer]

In Season 8, Mulder returned to a world turned upside down. This is the story of how he worked his way back into Scully's arms.

*NEW* Chapter 4 - Does Scully want to be more than friends with Mulder? Does Mulder have the courage to ask? *Reader Discretion Advised* 

Read Full Chapter Here

“Thank you for driving me home,” Scully said, as they pulled onto the street and towards her apartment.

Mulder twisted his hand around the faux leather of the steering wheel. “Thank you for attending my therapy session. What did you two talk about in there?” He tried to sound cool, but his eagerness was not lost on Scully.  

“Reviewed different techniques, how I could be more supportive.”

Mulder tilted his head. “Sometimes, the flashbacks, nightmares, and anxiety attacks seemed to be subsiding. Almost as if my mental trauma is healing with my physical wounds. Then others, it is like I just got off the ship.” 

“No one should expect you to heal at any pace, Mulder. He said it should take at least three months before you might begin to feel progress..  but Mulder, however long it takes, or even if you always have certain anxieties, depression, that’s okay. There is no right and wrong.”

Mulder didn’t know how to respond so he simply nodded. If only it was as simple as time passing or even the acceptance that time couldn’t be rewound, but there was more. A lot more.

The rest of the drive was met with a comfortable silence. It was so quiet he wondered if she’d fallen asleep. A quick glance in her direction revealed her eyes were closed, then, as if feeling his gaze, she opened them and a small smile curved her lips. She reached out and grasped his hand before once again closing her eyes. Did he just hear her sigh? Mulder considered how Scully seemed more willing than ever to follow him. Now, she seemed invested, even with her interest in helping him work through his trauma. It couldn’t be that her interest in helping him was only in relation to their shared past, their friendship. So many weeks had passed for her and so much of her life he had missed. Did he have a right to demand she make a choice? Did he have it in him to take that leap of faith and put himself out there? Was he just going to sit there and let another night go by without even asking? Just let her walk into that apartment without saying anything? 

When they pulled up to Scully’s apartment, Mulder gathered up some courage and asked, “Do you still have my files on your laptop? When I was searching through the archives today I didn’t see them and I had some on my hard drive that left with my computer.”

“Actually, they took my laptop as well… buuuuut, I did have a backup hard drive and I was able to reload it into my new laptop.” Scully gave him a smile that sent a cascading warmth through his insides. “Come on up and get what you need.”

Don’t tempt me Scully.

Once inside, Scully took off her coat and headed to the bathroom. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a shower. Feel free to use my laptop. You already know the password.”

Pushing the image of Scully standing under a hot steaming shower naked and wet out of his mind, Mulder headed straight to her desk and sat down on the hard backed wood chair. A couple swipes at the keyboard and a quick search and Mulder was faced with two folders with his name on it. He considered doing a round of eenie meenie, but in the end just clicked on the top folder. The file names were all dates. In fact there was a file for every day going as far back as a week after his abduction. It had his name on it, so he picked one at random and opened it. 

 Mulder, 

I have to believe you’re out there, alive. That belief is what keeps me moving, keeps me taking those leaps to solve the next X-File. I miss you with every breath, and I refuse to give up hope. We will be together. 

Today’s case led us to Indiana, you’re going to laugh when you hear what I told Doggett….   

 He closed that file and opened another. He didn’t want to know about her and Doggett. There were more, lots more, covering cases, days off, shopping, hospital visits. Mulder couldn’t read fast enough and couldn’t stop either. He opened one dated during the time he was buried in the ground. It read:

 Mulder,

Some days I question why I continue writing to you. In the beginning I believe it was because I didn’t want to let go. Other days it felt like you were closer when I did, like  somehow, you could still hear me. Now maybe I write them so my baby may one day read them and know what you meant to me, what our relationship was like so one day they might be blessed to find the same. I prayed daily for your return and lately, I pray even harder.

I was going through my old answering machine tapes, my voicemails from my cell. I decided to take all the ones I have and put them on a cassette tape so the baby can hear your voice, know what you sounded like when I tell them about you. Tell them of the love of my life, my perfect other, and how I found him and how he gave his life for us, so that we may live. 

I spoke in the past about driving in our endless straight line and now that I can look back on it with a clear mind, I understand that night in Oregon when you said it had to end sometime, in essence, you were throwing me out of the car. 

I became pregnant with the full intent to raise this child on my own, to take on the full responsibility. Marriage was nothing I ever strived for even if the possibility of being married never strayed. I put myself, my career, the work, before those things. It was something that might or could, but nothing I truly needed. Now, when I look in the mirror, I know, you were the only one I would have ever considered that kind of commitment with. Now, that chapter of my life is forever closed without ever being written. You were my partner Mulder, in work, in love, in life.

 “Did you find what you were searching for?” Scully said, and Mulder practically jumped right out of his skin. He spun in the chair and stood to face her. His fears turned to joy. She was beautiful, radiant, standing there in her robe, casually drying her crimson locks with a towel. And those legs, those little legs, and how they felt wrapped around him… Scully in love.. with him . His heart swelled, lighting him from head to toe, spreading warmth in its wake. A kaleidoscope of emotions ran over every part of him like a raging river, healing the cracks, filling and overflowing the voids.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice low as he barely got the sound out. He had found exactly what he was searching for. He cupped her face as she searched his eyes. He watched the desire that raged in him ignite inside her. Losing that last thread of restraint, he tilted her head up towards him and his lips crashed on top of hers, his tongue plunging into her mouth, his jaw rocking in time with hers, their kisses desperate, almost frantic.

Despite the insatiable hunger he felt, he pulled back to judge her reaction. Her eyes were soft in their gaze, but then her lids lowered and her eyes transformed to blue steel. Before he was able to speak, her fingers were in his hair, pulling him back down, kissing him hard, deep, unleashing unrestrained need and a passion that sent the crown of his cock swelling and brushing the seam of his boxers. 

Mulder groaned and gently pushed her away before it went any further. “Is it safe to..”

“The doctor has me on no restrictions,” she answered back hastily. “I just don’t want to move too fast for you. I want you to be ready.”

Mulder laced his hands through her amber locks, knocking her towel to the floor, kissing her again as his pent up feelings burst inside his chest, exploring her mouth, entwining their tongues, caressing her face.

He felt her fingers at his waistband, undoing his button and fly..

“Scully,” he whispered against her mouth and her hand cupped his bare erection. Skin on skin. Pleasure surged in his nerve endings and throbbed in his veins. “There’s not a part of me that didn’t miss this.”

Fuck . Scully closed her grip around his cock and stroked the sleek hot steel up and down. Mulder breathed hard and Scully moaned.

“Let’s go to bed,” she said in a heady rush of impatience. 

They kissed their way down the hall, Mulder almost tripping as he had to slouch as they walked to keep them from separating, Pulling off his shirt, hopping on one leg as he stripped off his pants. 

The way Scully’s eyes widened when he took off his boxers and freed his cock made him feel ten feet tall. She gave out a warning when he removed her robe that “her body had changed,” and he replied as honestly as he could. “Scully, I’m harder than a male porn star on his first day of work. Yes, it’s because it’s you, but it’s also because you’re more beautiful than the last time I laid eyes on you.”

Scully’s cheeks blushed and her pupils dilated. He matched her smile, both of them recognizing how much was at stake, and how much they both needed this. She turned away from him and he helped her remove her robe. He combed the soft strands of her hair to expose her exquisite neck, trailing soft kisses up the sensitive skin, leaving a wake of raised flesh.  

His hands traveled down her body, reacquainting with her new curves: her breasts, her waist, her ass. Soft noises released from the back of Scully’s throat as his fingers brushed over the inside of her thighs. Lust surged through him at the sound, and his length nuzzled the small of her back. Scully gripped the footboard of the bed. 

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “Mulder, please, I want you inside me.”

Her insistence only made him grow harder, but he knew it wasn’t a sprint. “H-how.. What would be most comfortable for you?”

“I think on the bed, on my knees. I can hold onto the footboard, the headboard is a little too high, and if I lean forward… What?”

“Nothing,” Mulder said, but he couldn’t prevent the upturn of his lips. “It’s.. well, you’ve given this some thought.”

Scully lifted a brow. “During that second trimester, you have no idea.”

He helped her onto the bed and followed close behind, holding his hands at her waist. Scully spread her legs and his tip grazed her. Scully looked back at him. “Easy, Mulder.” 

On her knees, and hunched forward, her ass in full glorious view, Mulder gripped his length, lined them up, and hesitantly pushed in. 

“Oh God, Mulder,” he heard Scully moan. 

Sharp pleasure bolted through him. “I know. You’re incredible.”

Easing back, slowly he pushed in again, a couple more inches before easing back again. 

“More, Mulder,” Scully gasped, reaching back, her fingers finding his hair, tugging and twisting. “Faster.”  

He was so worried about hurting her, but his excitement built and her tight, wet warmth around him only hastened it. He groaned and flexed his hips as another wave of pleasure hit him. She felt so good. The sight of them joining almost too much. This was Scully. They were finally together. 

Soon they found a languid pace, her hips doing most of the work, him aiding her movement, pulling it out and letting her push back on him to the depth she craved.  Until her knuckles whitened against the footboard. “God, Mulder. I really missed you.” Her walls pulsed and squeezed him tight and he groaned. 

With a few light thrusts her body heated and swelled snug around his cock. It made them slide easier, faster. Scully’s jaw went slack as her eyes closed, tightening as she pushed back against him. Her breath was ragged and he could see her concentrating on her movements. It was intense and exquisite and the feelings produced inside him made Mulder moan louder.

He closed his eyes and tightened his fingers on her hips, losing himself in the feeling. Again and again, more and more. He missed everything about this. Her legs tensed and he felt her sucking him further inside. He remembered that feeling. She was close. A few determined thrusts and she cried out, her muscles pulsing hard and rhythmically around him. Mulder’s forehead leaned into her shoulder and he reached for the footboard, covering her hand with his as he shouted, pouring his soul, his love, into her. 

“Scully, Scully.” He kept coming, for what seemed like an eternity. It left him spent and shaky. He had to catch himself for a moment, relishing in the feel, and calming his heart.  “Everything okay?” As he asked her he could hear the deep octaves in his own voice.

“Mulder,” she breathed out and her blue eyes sparkled at him. 

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sated look on her face as she made her way to the bathroom. When she returned, he helped her back onto the bed. 

They stared into each other’s eyes as they laid on their sides face to face. Scully softly caressed his cheek and he mellowed into the feeling of her fingertips across his stubble. He pressed his face into her touch, drowning in it. Mulder leaned over, his lips a breath away from hers, and he stopped to feel their familiar pull. An attraction like no other. Scully raised her face to his, brushing his lips lightly, coaxing him. He kissed her even softer in return, teasing her like she did him until her mouth opened and he could taste her. Scully moaned quietly at the contact. Not knowing exactly what to do with his hand, he used it to prop up his head, the other he ran gently into her hair, stroking it softly.  

Without words she tucked her head under his chin, her nose nuzzling his Adam's apple. Scully curled into his torso while he rubbed her back, pulling her carefully towards him until the bump of her belly rested against his tight rippled abs. From through the window he could see the last vestiges of light, painting the sky in orange and reds. White contrails highlighting the color in soft wisps. 

He was the only one she would ever consider marrying. 

Elation washed over his body. I would marry you, Scully. And raise that baby as mine, no matter how it started its life. 

As if he had said it aloud she stirred and opened her eyes. He kissed her forehead once more and returned her drowsy smile. Tugging the comforter over her, they snuggled into their cocoon. Scully’s eyes closed and she mumbled right before her breathing evened out, “Don’t go, Mulder.”

I don’t plan on it, Scully. Not ever.

Continue Reading

Thank you @ms31x129​ for all the beautiful fanart and your beta work

Thank you @today-in-fic​ for everything you do for us and the fandom

Tagging friends @babygirlmulder1018 @kyouryokusenshi @bbbway  @kblackm @borogirl @dontunderestimateawoman @mulderandscullylover2016 @karinanic @motedeweatherly128 @didhehavealightsaber @scullllaaaay @radioactivefish @whyle23 @aquilla27 @justbeachy42 @jaina01 @muldermakesmehorny @season4mulder @tinydi0sa @ombradellaluna @agertiegirl @improlificinsarcasm @xfimnotdone @its-for-you-have-a-cigar @xfilesobsessed22 @edierone @sculderfan @meg4nnn @spooky-fox-1996 @wolfishlyintimate @yaraswhy @scullyfan43 @chippedcup @kiwiphroot @enigmaticxbee @ombradellaluna @furiouskidcollectorlove @catherine-08 @ednitag @pacyt @scully-yeah-run @danaedaniels @secretstarfishgalaxy @amyg2430 @rosedyl @postmodernpromartheus @borogirl @bakerstreetlady @rebecca @haya661 @themarybfiles @masha2341 @impulsive-astrophile @iwanttorememberhowitallwas @knowleitall-super-soldier @gchick1013 @gillywitch @baly87 @veromar23 @alienbaby-babymama @i-turn-to-stare @jaina01 @sandymans-world​ 

#xf #xf fic #Road to All Things #txf fanfic #txf fanart #txf #xfiles #x files #mulder and scully #msr #xfiles fanfic #todayinfic

[enigmaticxbee]

✖️✖️✖️✖️ 6x08 The Rain King

The one where... a Kansas weatherman’s emotions affect the weather and after a flying cow destroys Mulder’s room there’s only ONE ROOM at the motel.

Best: Scully: Well, it seems to me that the best relationships - the ones that last - are frequently the ones that are rooted in friendship. You know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is... suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with. Love this speech coming from Scully - we know talking about her emotions is difficult for her, so to open up even in a slightly detached second person way (thinking back to her therapy session in 2x13 Irresistible) and even to a third party is big. I tend to think it was not just one “switch flicked” moment, but a series of moments where she acknowledges - to herself if no one else yet - what he means to her. The ones that always come to me are when she smiles up at Mulder in his hallway and tells him she just knew he wasn’t dead in 3x02 Paperclip; and in 4x14 Momento Mori when she writes in her journal to Mulder and decides that she wants to spend her remaining time with him. There are probably countless others along the way.

Worst: I just added up all the evidence - this takes place 6 months after Valentine’s Day, and it’s the 20th reunion for the class of ‘79, which puts us around August 1999... So chronologically speaking somewhere at the end of season 6 or the beginning of season 7. I’d prefer they didn’t mess with the timeline like this because it makes it difficult to place in the arc of the season and emotionally speaking this makes more sense to me early on in season 6 (if they’re still fronting so hard about not being interested in each other that way in early season 7 ugh, no they’re not). But the show clearly doesn’t intend for this episode to have any forward momentum or real emotional significance.

❌ Flashlights

❌ Woods/Desert

❌ Slideshow

❌ Autopsy

❌ Evidence Disappears

❌ Scully Misses It

❌ Mulder Ditch

✔️ Sunflower Seeds

❌ Voiceover

❌ Catch Phrase

❌ Scully is a Medical Doctor

❌ Mulder is Spooky

❌ Scuuullllaaaaayy! Muullllderrrr!

❌ Fox/Dana

✔️ Inappropriate Touching (that I am here for)

❌ Casual Scully

✔️ Casual Mulder

❌ Trench Coats

❌ Bad Tie Watch

❌ Glasses Watch

50 States: Kansas (38/50)

Investigate: Together & Apart

Solve Rate: 58%

❌ Bechdel Test: All of the conversation between women is about men.

MSR: 🐝🐝🐝🐝

Goriness: 👽

Creepiness: 👽

Humor: 👽👽👽👽

Rewatch Thoughts:

It was all a dream: Not technically, but we’re back to the Wizard of Oz references and something about this episode feels very out of time (see above re: timeline shenanigans).

If this episode was a fic it would be tagged FLUFF. Look, I see the MSR baiting the show’s doing - and I’m HERE for it.

The “mistaken” for a couple quotient is already high this season but this is the peak: (1) Mayor when they get off the plane; (2) Sheila at the tv studio; (3) Motel manager when there’s only one room available; Holman and Sheila also both assume there’s something going on between them (Holman: I’ve seen how you two gaze at one another. Sheila thinking Scully’s trying to push her onto Holman because she’s jealous.)

Mulder: I do not - gaze - at Scully. Cue ALL the gifs of Mulder gazing so, so lovingly at Scully.

“Checking for head trauma” - uh huh Medical Doctor Scully.

Mulder: He wants advice. Dating advice. Scully: Dating advice? From whom? Mulder: Yours truly. (Long pause) Hello? Hey, Scully. Scully, you there? Scully: I heard you. Mulder, when was the last time you went on a date? Mulder: I will talk to you later. Scully: The blind leading the blind. Peak comedy. The delivery from DD and GA is - chef’s kiss!

Sheila when Daryl is attacking Mulder: Not the face! 😂 Sheila is all of us.

Don’t love a surprise kiss Sheila! Scully is surprised but not really jealous or upset about walking in on Sheila kissing Mulder because it’s so clearly one-sided. They both just blow past it without comment, awkwardly ignoring the lipstick all over his face 😂. Ok, maybe she’s a little bit jealous, but it’s an irrational jealousy.

The swaying! Love how out of place Mulder and Scully look all episode, especially at the reunion at the end. Despite Scully’s occasional musings about getting out of the car, put the two of them in a room full of normies and you see how weird and out of synch they are - except with each other.

Episode-Related Fanfic Recs:

One bed, one bed, ONE BED

Fraternize Chapter 4 by @admiralty-xfd and @gaycrouton - post-ep strip poker in their motel room with a very surprising (but episode-appropriate) ending.

Free Merlot at the Cool View Motor Court by @sarie-fairy - one bed post-ep, NSFW with great build up where they goad each other into kissing without thinking through what comes next.

Dating Kings and Queens by @baronessblixen - fun, fluffy reinvisioning of the second half of the episode when Mulder finds out Scully’s been on a date recently.

Turn That Damn Thing Off by @sunflowerseedsandscience - one bed post-ep, but this isn’t their first time. Love the backstory, I completely buy this version of events.

Time Enough at Last by bayloriffic - one bed post-ep. Scully’s stand-offish at first but they watch The Twilight Zone and it’s very sweet.

Conversation in the Dark by Cass - one bed post-ep. Mulder and Scully stay up talking and get deep on denial, fate and regret.

Pillow Talk by Alelou - one bed post-ep. Mulder gets chatty. Short and sweet.

Static by LoneGunChick - one bed post-ep. UST, with a disappointing (for all involved) ending.

Heads or Tails by Suzanne Fed - one bed missing scene. Classic one bed cuddling fic. (On Gossamer so if link doesn’t work you can search for it there.)

Stop Me by Gina Rain - one bed post-ep. NSFW. It’s real sexy guys. (On Gossamer so if link doesn’t work you can search for it there.)

Pinky-Promise by ATTHS TWICE - post-ep Mulder and Scully go on a “fake” date to prove that they know how. Fluff, fluff, fluff, it’s very cute.

The Things We Do For Love by @admiralty-xfd - post-ep but they stay and dance and almost talk about their relationship.

#xf rewatch #xf fanart #the x files #the xfiles #thexfiles #xf #txf #xf motw #i want to believe #truth is out there #xf review #msr #one bed #fic recs #6x08 #the rain king

[masterthespianduchovny]

Tragedies often fracture families and, at worst, tear them apart completely.

A comment a few days ago made me reflect on Mulder’s family tragedy and just how deeply it traumatized him.

I have a three year old nephew and me and my twin, his mother, constantly talk about support systems and how parents are their children’s first support system. How they should feel comfortable and safe to go to their parents. 

‘Should’ is the key word here.

We don’t have the full story of what happened after Samantha went missing, but it’s heavily implied that Mulder was left to deal with the tragedy on his own, his parents split up, and even if they didn’t verbally say it, they blamed him. To top it all off, Mulder repressed the event.

Imagine growing up with a sibling, it’s just the two of you, then one day, they’re missing. You were there the night they were abducted, but you don’t remember shit and you know your parents blame you. And, instead of being there for you, you have to deal with a missing sibling alone and are literally alone. Your mother is drugged up and your father is gone or just not around.

Mulder experienced emotional abandonment and, most likely, didn’t get any professional help in addition to not getting any emotionally support from his parents.

And before anyone assumes I’m being unfair to Teena and Bill, I believe the series does briefly mention she took drugs around this time, presumably due to her distress (and she admits this time is hazy/she doesn’t remember). And Bill was bound to have erratic, insistent hours due to working with the Consortium. But, most importantly, Mulder’s reaction about when he “lost” Samantha in exchange for Scully and how his father spoke to him indicates that, in some way, they held Mulder responsible for what happened to his sister. Mulder had to comfort his mother and father and neither thought to see how he was doing or comfort him.

Does that spell parents who supported their child the best way they could when the other sibling went missing?

I’ll admit, that had to be devastating for them, but they still had a remaining child to tend to and help cope with his sister’s disappearance. And yet, they didn’t.

This explains why Mulder both craves attention and validation AND doesn’t mind being alone. He craves attention and validation for those who are genuinely interested in him whether it being romantically, platonically, or professionally. If it’s not genuine, Mulder could do without and is content being left to his own devices.

...because that’s what happened when he was a kid.

Mulder doesn’t care about taunts and ridicule because he most likely experienced that as a child as well. A missing sister under mysterious circumstances and Mulder was there??? He was definitely teased and bullied in some capacity. (Hell, I personally remember two brothers trying to tease me because my grandmother died and me looking at them like ‘what the fuck is wrong with you???’)

Mulder being forced to emotionally support and fend for himself molded him and, subsequently were behaviors he carried into adulthood.

It is said that families with missing relatives can’t move on and are “living in limbo.”

In the first season, Mulder essentially described this feeling when we hear his regression therapy tapes. Him walking into rooms and expecting to find Samantha there. When we first meet him, he cannot move on and live a complete life because he doesn’t know if she’s dead or alive and what happened.

IMHO, Mulder was going through the motions before this life changing session. He was the golden boy and challenged authority a little bit, but a Boy Scout. And then, he had a flash of a memory of that night and, suddenly, he woke up as if he'd been asleep since he was 12. That session changed him. And little by little, he found his way to the X-Files. Once he stumbled cross those files, he found his life’s mission: the search for the truth.

What’s interesting is that Mulder’s obsessive behavior isn’t that abnormal in context. Look up Sarah Turney and how she obsessively investigated her sister’s disappearance until her father was finally charged. She spent years of her life searching for answers and trying to prove he murdered her sisters. Made a podcast, I believe, made a Tiki's Tok, gave interviews, tried to catch her father up in lies, etc.

Mulder didn’t feel helpless anymore after realizing his sister was abducted by aliens. He felt empowered and as if he could get answers now. He wasn’t at fault anymore, but he still felt guilty (he still felt responsible because he was the big brother).

So much of Mulder was shaped not just by his sister being taken, but also his parents totally failing him by not being there for him when he needed him most, By essentially blaming him for something that was completely out of his hands, which Bill knew. By having him completely rely on himself, and then use him as a source of comfort.

It explains why Mulder can be totally empathetic and gullible in certain areas and assholish and selfish in others. Many of the people he cared about either abandoned or exploited his emotional needs and, at times, flat out abandoned him.

Interestingly enough, Mulder is finally able to move forward in his life after he gets his answers about Samantha.

So, I often think about this when people are critical of Mulder. Not to say that he is above criticism, but he has a lot of unaddressed trauma that fueled him for years. Some of his behaviors are defense mechanisms and what he did to survive.

All kid Mulder wanted was someone to tell him that everything was going to be alright and, in the end, he had to reassure himself that as he waited years for a clue to his biggest questions.

#The X-Files #mulder #fox mulder

[aloysiavirgata]

Henry Compilation

@perplexistan is an outstanding human who compiled all my little Henry ficlets into one document for me. So here it is, for your perusal. It all began with this:

Anonymous asked: Would scully consider remarrying if she wouldn't work it out with mulder in season 11? ;)

@kateyes224

As long as Mulder is around, I don’t know that she’d be willing to start from scratch. But that makes me very sad for Scully. If she and Mulder did decide that they couldn’t be together, I would want for her to find someone who loved and appreciated her and made her feel completed, even if that person wasn’t Mulder. I just think the ways that she and Mulder have been rent apart by this life mean that their torn edges fit together in a way that makes them as whole as they can possibly be.

AV: 

She gets the younger two out the door in time for the bus, backpacks bouncing as they run down the block. Their sister had left well over an hour ago, driving herself to school for early lacrosse practice. Scully shuts the door once Alice and Simon join the cluster of children trooping along the sidewalk. Everyone knows there is safety in numbers.

The dog, a half-grown keeshond, trots over in response to the breakfast noises. “Here, Wicket,” Scully says. “It’ll make your coat shiny.” She scrapes leftover eggs into his dish before fitting the greasy plates into the dishwasher.

Footsteps on the stairs, and Scully smooths her hair back.

“Morning,” Henry says, grabbing a nectarine from the bowl. He wears only striped pajama pants. “Thanks for getting them out the door.”

“Mmm, not a problem. You almost never get to sleep in.” She smiles, tips her face up to his.

He kisses her, and Scully tastes toothpaste and Listerine. “You’re an angel,” Henry claims.

Not me, she thinks. But Joan is. Henry’s first wife, the mother of his children, the lover of keeshonds, the gardener of exotic bulbs, is dead and beyond reproach. Scully finds her harmless, though occasionally irritating. The children find her flawless.

Henry pours them each a cup of coffee, fixes hers exactly how she likes. Scully settles onto a bar stool to savor it.

“Good?” he asks.

“Perfect.”

Henry beams.

She watches her husband as he putters around the kitchen, dumping coffee grounds into the composter, putting frozen fruit into the Vitamix. His back is broad and muscular in the buttery morning light, his silver-flecked hair gleaming.

“You eat?” he asks, after his smoothie has been whirred to perfection.

“Eggs with the kids.”

“They love you,” he says happily, if not accurately. “Can you believe we’re coming up on a year, Dana?”

She cannot. The wedding had been small. Quiet. Family attended, some of their friends from work. Joan’s parents, uncomfortably.

Mulder had sent flowers for her, gifts for the children.

Scully takes another swallow of coffee. “Paper anniversary, Henry. Hot date at Barnes and Noble?”

He walks over, wraps his arms around her from behind. Scully leans into the heat of his chest, her head on his bicep. She sighs with contentment as he noses her hair.

“I was thinking plane tickets,” Henry murmurs, nuzzling her neck. “Paris. Rome. Somewhere decadent. Between work and the kids you’re running yourself absolutely ragged, Dana. Joan’s parents can take the younger two, and Vivian can stay home by herself if she wants.”

Paris. All she has seen of Paris is the airport, eating overpriced pain au chocolat while Mulder argued with the ticket agent in his lousy French. They barely made their flight.

“Paris,” Scully muses. “I could do Paris.”

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?” Henry asks, purring in her ear.

She rolls her eyes. “So predictable.”

“I’m a tax attorney, Dana. I’m supposed to be predictable.”

She laughs a little. Predictable. Solid, predictable Henry with his beautiful children and his beautiful house and his beautiful wives. She has never heard him say a truly unkind thing about anyone. He is a charter Rotarian and a sucker for the wounded animals Simon brings home. He’s been unfailingly gracious to Mulder on the few occasions they’ve met. He’s a wonderful dancer.

“Predictable is good,” she assures him. Henry would never ditch her in strange motels or mix her up in a global conspiracy. Henry calls when he’s running late.

“You have time for a run before work?” he asks.

“I wish I did. I’ve got a consult with a family in about an hour.” Scully turns the bar stool, looking up at Henry’s green eyes. She takes his face in her hands, thumbing his jaw. “Paris sounds lovely. I’ll talk to Gwen about my schedule today.”

He kisses her palm. “You deserve Paris.”

Scully holds him close and doesn’t tell him how rarely anyone gets what they deserve.

***

From @mangokiwitropicalswirl

[I could NOT stop thinking about your short brilliant painful take on Scully’s marriage to Henry, and I woke up needing to write this. If you think it fits your vision of things in that universe, feel free to share!]

***

Note from AV: There are not WORDS to describe what a compliment this is, my goodness.  <3 Thank you, @mangokiwitropicalswirl

***

On the morning Scully marries him, she takes a long look in the mirror as she smooths her hair and touches up her makeup. It goes without saying, without thinking, that she wishes her mother were here. Maggie would have cried to see her in the ivory dress, would have coddled the step-grandchildren, would have joined her elbows-deep in topsoil in his garden.

Everyone believes the day that you get married you’ll feel uniquely whole, blissfully free from uncertainties. Happy.

And she is. She catches her own gaze in the mirror and knows that she’s the only one who’d see the wistful mote of resignation in her eyes. But not a resignation of defeat, it’s one of understanding. She better understands at fifty now than she did at thirty that there are choices. Always choices.

Someone told her once that love flows through us like water, softening our edges the way water wears down sandstone, or even granite. It carves out space for itself inside of us, making us larger, widening the heart.

Mulder’s love had been a tumult, a raging river, a flood. It had opened her like a canyon, revealed a grandscape of dizzying heights and crevices inside her. It had split over into corners she herself had not explored. Together, their love had flowed and thrashed and roiled, until she was hollowed out like a deepend cavern, like a riverbank destroyed by sudden flood.

And then it had receded, slowly, like the bitter end of a geologic age.

The thin ribbon that still trickles through her even now was not enough to fill the newly-barren spaces. As years went on, the heart crumbled like loose rock, eroding like a monument to a long forgotten era.

Contrary to popular belief, love is not all you need. Sometimes you need therapy. And meds. And sometimes you need to let it go.

On the little card that came along with flowers there was just one word, “Always.– M”.

There were years she would have bristled at the word, hearing in it all the codependency and desperate possession that were the hallmarks of their bond. But she hears it now the way she knows he means it, with the openness of someone who will always be her friend. Before all of it, at the very heart of it, he had been her dearest friend.

When Henry came into her life, it crept up on her like the warm waters of a bending river. His love curled and soothed and nourished until she felt green and young.

In the mirror, she smiles the half-smile of a woman blessed to find there’s more of her to give. And more to know. She dabs perfume on each wrist and behind her ears, between the shadowed valley of her breasts. Beneath them in the hollow of her chest, she’s wider now and knowing, surprised and grateful she is able to bloom again.

***

Anonymous asked: So even though Scully and Henry have this perfect life, which I love, what kind of things do they fight about? Is Scully relieved it's not about conspiracy or monsters in the dark? How do they handle arguments and disagreements? Also, I love Mulder dearly but Henry is kind of perfect....which is a little scary but awesome at the same time.

They really don’t fight much. They disagree (Henry’s a bit more liberal than Scully)  they annoy each other on occasion (he constantly fails to put his laundry in the hamper and she moves all the papers he leaves on the kitchen island) but fights? No, no fights.

N.B. Before anyone messages me to say how boring that sounds, let me explain that I have been with my husband for upwards of 17 years. In that time, we have had 2 fights. Like, ugly unpleasant ones. Lots of arguments and disagreements, but two fights. Our relationship isn’t boring, and I refuse to even entertain the validity of the notion that relationships need drama to be exciting.

One of the things I love best about Iolokus is that Rivka and Sally show Mulder and Scully figuring that out, that conflict isn’t necessary for intellectual stimulation.

***

Anonymous asked: So I know Mulder and Henry aren't hanging out playing poker together every Thursday night, but are there any occasions where they do find themselves in the same room? What was that first size-up like from either guy's perspective?

Scully has scheduled the dinner at a restaurant so it isn’t on anyone’s turf. Besides, Mulder’s house would be torture and she finds Henry’s elaborate kitchen somewhat daunting. She agonizes over reviews and menus, trying to eliminate as many variables as possible. Henry had tried to help, but her snippiness drove him off in short order. She is nauseous for a week beforehand, asking Henry if she had lost her mind and should cancel, asking Mulder the same.

“I want to meet him,” Henry says, passing her a glass of wine. “He’s part of you, so he’s important to me.”

“If this is to get my blessing, Scully,” Mulder says over the phone, “you already have it. But yeah, I’d like to meet the guy wonderful enough for you to ignore the fact that his job title contains the words tax and attorney.”

***

She puts on a black sheath dress, then decides it looks too much like the one from their movie premiere. My god, the movie…has Henry seen it? Or Viv? She is afraid to ask, and afraid not to know. She pushes the thought from her mind for now, pushes her and Mulder and that limo away. Scully rummages through her closet with increasing anxiety, finally settling on a burgundy pencil skirt and fitted navy sweater. Her hair is being impossible, and after half an hour with the curling iron, she opts for a French twist. She keeps her makeup light and tosses back a handful of Tums to quell the acid tide in her stomach.

Henry’s in jeans and a blazer, drinking coffee with Viv and her girlfriend. There’s a heated argument about Iron Man taking place. “You look great,” Henry says. “Ready?”

“No. But let’s do it anyway.” She plucks at invisible fuzz on her skirt.

He takes her arm and they head to the garage.

“Have fun at the circus, kids!” Viv calls after them.

***

They are seated at a table for four, Henry and Mulder facing one another, herself between. She holds a multigrain roll from the breadbasket in her lap, using her nails to pull out every tiny piece of millet, extract every last pumpkin seed. She drops them to the floor like daisy petals.

“I read your book,” Henry says. “Really impressive research. I recommended it to some colleagues.”

Mulder stirs his drink. “Thanks. Spend a lot of time on the dark web between billable hours, Henry?”

Scully kicks him lightly under the table, nostrils flared.

Henry chuckles. “No, I’m just a dilettante.”

The silence is thick and heavy as they peruse their menus, and Scully curses herself for this egregious decision. The back of her neck prickles, her face is hot and itchy. Moments stretch like saltwater taffy on a summer day.

“So, uh, Henry,” Mulder says at last, rubbing the side of his face.

Henry looks up. “Yep?”

“My, uh, my finances are pretty complicated due to some trusts and inheritances, plus my pension. The accountant I’ve been using is retiring. You think you could recommend anybody trustworthy?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’ve got a great guy in Alexandria,” Henry says. “He’ll save you a fortune.”

Mulder nods thoughtfully. “”I’ll put it towards my post-apocalyptic underground bunker. To which, of course, you’re all invited when the end times come upon us.”

Henry’s eyes crinkle at the corners, Scully sees, and her chest loosens. “We’ll bring a pie,” Henry says.

Mulder smiles. “Don’t let Scully make it. Great cook, lousy baker.”

The waitress comes for their orders, and they are chatting easily by the time the food arrives.

***

Henry sits outside on the porch, staring up at the sky. He names the constellations to himself as he sips a tumbler of Macallan. Dana perches on the arm of his Adirondack chair, knees drawn up to her chest.

“I like him,” Henry says at length. “Very funny guy.”

Dana nods slowly. “He is.���

Henry crunches an ice cube. “He’s still in love with you.”

“Does it bother you?’

He looks at her, ethereal in the moonlight. He is afraid at times that he will awake to find she has disappeared, burned off like the mist. “I want everyone to love you.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “Henry.”                                                             

“You love him too,” Henry says.

She hunches her shoulders, glances down. “Does that bother you?”

It might, he’s not sure. He felt the ineffable thing between them, but he understands the weight of history. “Love doesn’t have to be a zero sum game. Is there space in you for both of us?”

“It is impossible for more than one object to occupy the same space at the same time,” she says. “There are different spaces for each of you.”

Henry considers this. “Why’d you leave, Dana?”

She cants her face to the sky, eyes wide. “There’s a…a recklessness in me, Henry. A self destructiveness you haven’t seen.”

Is this where his gentle doctor ends and Mulder’s sure-shot partner begins? “Scully,” he says, trying it out.

Her eyes slide closed. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…please keep going.”

“That part of me blooms with him. It thrives. And I knew, I know, I couldn’t live like that. I couldn’t survive it another year. And I…I ripped it away and left it behind. That’s the place in me for you, Henry. That wound. You and Viv and Alice and Simon; you heal me there.”

He hears the thickness in her voice, feels it rising in his own. “Dana,” he says roughly. He knows about wounds and empty spaces. A piece of him went into the dark earth with Joan.

She turns her head to look at him, a slice of her lovely profile. “If that’s too much, I understand. I do. It’s a lot to ask.”

He shakes his head. “I’d rather share you than lose you,” he breathes. “If I….if I can make you feel whole, that’s a privilege.”

She makes a small noise, a hiccup or a sob, and crawls into his lap.

“It’s okay,” he says, arms wrapping around her. He kisses her temples, her eyelids.

She curls tight against his beating heart.

***

They don’t bother with the superfluity of hellos. She calls, he answers, they talk.

“I liked him,” Mulder says, bouncing a basketball. “I didn’t particularly want to, but he seems like the kind of person people just like.” Mulder finds this a kind of character flaw of its own, but does not mention as much.

“Yes,” Scully says, her voice soft. “He is.”

“A tax attorney though, Scully. Ouch.”

“Mulder, please.” The note of actual pleading in her voice startles him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sincere. “I know this isn’t easy.”

“It’s okay.”

He shoots the ball into the hoop at the end of the driveway. “Three-pointer,” he tells Scully.

“The crowd goes wild.”

There’s a long silence, just one another’s breathing.

“Listen, I don’t know if you know this, but I have a bit of a background in psychology and behavioral science.” He makes a foul shot.

“You don’t say.” There’s a smile in her voice.

“Truth. So I want you to know that my impression of Henry is that he, um, he knows the value of what he has. With you.” It hurts to admit this to her. To himself.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Mulder, I didn’t exp-“

“No, I just, let me finish. And he, um. He’s really a good guy. His life is, you know, well. Your life, really, I guess. It’s good. It’s what I wanted for you and I’m just, you know. I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you.” His eyes sting.

Silence.

“Scully?”

“I’m here.”

He hears tears in her voice. “Okay. Okay, good. This is hard, but we, um. We’re always friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course. Always.” She sniffles.

“I feel like Henry, he understands that. He seems like he really wants you to be happy, that he’s not the jealous type.” Shit, shit why did he say that? “Not that he should be jealous, I don’t mean to imp-“

“It’s okay. And you’re right. He knows that I’m…that we…he knows how we are.”

Mulder swallows hard. “How we are,” he repeats.

They never say goodbye, either. The silence grows and drifts, then she finally disconnects the call.

***

Anonymous asked: What would you do if Henry rocked up in season 11 (other than sue)?

Wait for him to die, I guess. That’s Chris’s MO.

***

Anonymous asked: I love Henry. I know it's sad that in this fictional world she's not with Mulder, but as much as they deeply loved each other, I must admit it's lovely to read a world where Scully is appreciated in the day to day. I'm sure that perhaps Mulder did, but we didn't see too much of that. It felt like it was only when she was kidnapped or in hospital with cancer that he realised how much she meant to him. Henry is what she deserves, and it seems to make Mulder step up too. I'm on board for this.

I feel this way too. Listen, I am diehard MSR and was a shipper before fandom had even settled on the term! I am here for Mulder and Scully hobbling across that bridge like everybody else. 94% of what I write is MSR, either set within canon, or trying to give them a happier AU. Even in this story, their love is still palpable. I don’t think it works otherwise.

But the challenge of trying to create this unconventional AU in a way that is relatable to people is really enjoyable to me as a writer. MSR is inherently easy. It exists. It’s fun and satisfying as a fan, but it’s not a hard sell. This is really pushing me to approach the characters in a new way. I’m just immensely surprised it has gone over so well, and endlessly grateful to everyone who has been willing to engage in the narrative. Especially to @kateyes224 for the idea and @mangokiwitropicalswirl and my 10/13 anon for fleshing it out. 

(10/13 anon, got your message. Just developing an answer in my head.)

—

Anonymous asked: How would Henry cope if Scully's cancer returned? And how would Mulder? OR... how would Scully cope if something happened to Mulder, but she isn't free to drop everything and go to him? Would she want to, or would she have closed the door on that reaction? How would Henry deal with that? #TeamHenlly

Henry paces the hallway outside her room, one hand to his forehead, the other holding his phone. “Pick up, pick up,” he mutters.

Mulder does, finally. “Henry?”

“Yes. Yeah. Listen, this isn’t easy, but I’m at the hospital with Dana and I’ve got some, uh, some bad news.” He is proud of his steady voice, his steady hands.

“Is she hurt? Is she sick?” Mulder sounds almost accusatory, as though Henry has been derelict in a simple task.

“She’s sick. They…” he runs his hand through his hair, circles around the vending machine again. “They found a mass in her sinuses, Mulder.”

The silence on the other end goes on too long. “Mulder, are you there?”

“Do you know her medical history?” The words are clipped.

“She told me, told the doctors this isn’t new. But she said something about a chip, about that scar on her neck. What the hell is going on here, Mulder? I’ve never pushed her about her past, but I’m seriously in the dark here.”

There’s a heavy sigh on the other end. “It’s not my story to tell you.”

Henry, his frustration peaking after hours of obfuscation and obliqueness from Dana, slams a fist into the wall. “She’s my wife, goddammit! Whatever you two have, Mulder, whatever it is, I never pried. I trust her and I trust you and I accept it. But you need to tell me, right fucking now, what I don’t know.”

People are staring, but he doesn’t care, he feels righteous and productive.

“Henry, I-”

“You tell me,” he growls, “or I will drive over right now and beat the living shit out of you. I have a lot of impotent rage I’d like to direct somewhere.” He’s not entirely sure he can make good on this, but he thinks adrenaline will give him an advantage.

Nothing.

“Mulder.”

Breathing.

“It’s medicine,” Mulder says slowly. “The chip in her neck is some kind of medicine that stops her cancer.”

Henry is appalled, “That’s it? That’s the secret you couldn’t share? Am I losing my goddamned mind? Call the fucking manufacturer right now and get another one, for Christ’s sake!”

“It’s not that simple,” Mulder says, his voice soft. “It’s, ah, not on the market.”

“You’re telling me you know of a medicine that treats cancer effectively and you can’t get it? Is it foreign? Illegal?”

“It was a sort of custom design,” Mulder says.

“Give me an answer, a real answer. You two and your doublespeak, I swear to god…” He’s gripping his hair by the roots.

“Fine, Henry. Here it is.” There is anger in Mulder’s voice now, and Henry finds it satisfying. “Her cancer was specifically engineered to manifest if she ever took the chip out. The chip is a tracking device. I don’t know why it stopped working, but before you come over and kick my ass, you have a lot of fucking questions to ask your wife.”

Henry’s mind is reeling. He leans against the wall. “A tracking device?” he repeats. “Engineered cancer? How do you engineer cancer? Why do you engineer cancer?” He can’t process this, not this and Dana asleep in the hospital bed with a demon behind her eyes.

“Shit,” Mulder breathes. “Goddammit, Henry. How bad is she?”

“She’s weak, very thin. She kept saying it was the flu, you know how she is. But she had a few nosebleeds and went in. And here we are.”

“Yeah, I know how she is,” Mulder says, and Henry hears the pain in his words.

“There’s a man,” Mulder says. “Who knows about the chip. He might, uh, he might arrange a deal.”

Henry is baffled, but tries to swim with the current. “A deal? Why would an- never mind. Call him. I’ll pay whatever he wants, no questions asked.”

“Oh, I don’t think you can pay what he’ll want,” Mulder says. The words are measured, heavy. “But I can.”

The line goes dead.

***

Anonymous asked: In the Henry universe, how does Scully react when Mulder finds someone else?

She’s sorting lunch components for the twins into plastic bins in the refrigerator; bags of chips and carrot sticks and foil-wrapped triangles of pizza. Her phone rings as she picks up a webbed bag of clementines.

“Hey,” Mulder says, his voice a warm pulse.

Scully lets the oranges slump back onto the counter. “Hey.”

“I’m, uh, I’m headed up to New York to talk to my publisher this afternoon,” he tells her.

She can hear the noisy old dishwasher going in the background, imagines Mulder fidgeting at the kitchen table. There’s a chair with a wobbly leg he likes to rock in. “They still talking about the miniseries?”

“Yep.”

Scully chews her lip, considering. She tucks the phone against her shoulder. “That’s not why you called, though.”

A long pause. “No.”

“Okay.” She shuts the fridge and begins assembling sandwiches on the counter. Teasing information from Mulder can take a quiet, steady patience.

“I met someone,” he says at last.

Scully sets the knife down, knuckling the cool granite. “Did you?”

“I just, you know, I wanted to call you. You were very open about Henry so I thought I should extend you the same courtesy.” In the background, the squeak of the chair leg.

“Mulder, that’s great. I’m happy to hear it.” She is, she is, she doesn’t want him alone.

He coughs. “Thanks. Um, well, I guess that’s it, really. I should go pack.”

“No!” she exclaims. “Mulder, I need some detail.” As a friend. As a concerned friend who is wary of his general taste for women who will betray him.

“Oh, Scully, you don’t have t-“

“Really, I do. Let’s have the 411.” She hopes she sounds casually interested, and begins spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread.

Mulder guffaws. “The 411? Scully, let me tell you about the internet.”

She blushes, waves her hand. “Whatever. Details, something.”

“Ummmm…”

Scully imagines him pacing now, tossing and catching an invisible baseball. “You know, it’s okay, I don’t want to pressure you.”

“No, hey, I’m sorry. Just trying to generate a quick dossier. Uh, well, her name is Elizabeth. She works for the EPA, coastal ecology.”

“Science nerd, huh?” she says, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. She swallows, stabs a spoon into the jam jar.

“Yeah,” Mulder says. “She does something with zebra mussels and ship ballast water that I need to brush up on.”

“Probably invasive species in coastal communities. I’ll give you a crash course if you like.” She picks up the sandwich to tuck into a plastic bag.

‘It’s okay. I’ll Google it; you remember that internet thing I mentioned before. It’s got lots of stuff on it.”

She is stung, and words sticks in her throat like lumpy oatmeal. “Oh,” she manages. “Okay, then.”

Mulder coughs again. “I just figured you’re pretty busy, with work and the kids and everything.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s pretty crazy.” She toys with the jam jar, rolling it in her hands. It is cool against her palms “Well, you know, enjoy your research. Look up copepods too.”

“I will.”

Seconds tick by on the kitchen clock.

“When’s the second book out?” Scully asks. She picks up the sandwich, zipping and unzipping the plastic bag.

“Around Thanksgiving, I think. You want an advance copy? I’ll sign it for you.”

She laughs. “No, don’t give them away. I want to buy it, boost your sales.”

“In that case, stock up and send them out with the Christmas cards. Even mine.”

“I’ll pre-order on the….what did you call it? The in-ter-net?”

Mulder chuckles. “Have them shipped right to your house, or take your velocipede down to the book-seller to fetch them.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

A lengthy pause, but they don’t hang up.

Scully finds that the sandwich in her hand has been wadded into a dense ball, peanut butter and jam squeezed all over the inside of the bag. She hastily shoves it into the trash can. “Mulder, um, when you get back in town, why don’t you give me a call? We’d love to have dinner with you and Elizabeth.” She says it so smoothly she believes it.

“Oh,” he says. “That sounds nice, that sounds really good. Yeah.”

“Okay.” She squeezes her eyes closed, her stomach sour.

Mulder breathes for a long moment. Then he says, “Well, hey. I’ve got to get going, but thanks for listening. I know how busy you are.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Sure.” She holds back this time, doesn’t say she always has time for him.

An empty silence now, the call disconnected.

Scully sits on a bar stool, hands clasped beneath her chin, elbows on the breakfast bar. She sees the absurd expectation she’s held onto, the cruelty of it. Mulder like a sundial in the garden of her life, static and reliable as she moves through the seasons around him. Ticking off her hours as she spends them.

Scully goes to the sink and slaps cold water on her face. She sees Elizabeth in her mind’s eye. Lanky and brunette, of course. Long legs and khaki shorts, probably lots of trips to REI. She assigns her a sporty dog too. Maybe with a bandanna.

She says a prayer for his happiness, and leaves it to God to sort out what exactly she means by the idea.

***

Anonymous asked: 10/13 Henry anon here, dearest Mrs. Virgata and mangokiwimagicswirl, either or both of you please feel free to flesh it out. It delights me my little something could turn into a bigger something. I'm not above begging. *begs*. Look what you all did, my MSR heart really does belong to MSR, but I can carve a little spot out for Henry/Scully/Mulder. Mulder is earth, Henry is the stick, Scully is Archimede's point bc we all know she makes the choices and drives the consequences.

A Saturday in late September, and Henry and Scully sit on the back porch watching the twins lob lacrosse balls at Viv. She catches them expertly, flicking her wrist to send them flying back at her younger siblings. They dodge them, squealing and chasing one another and Wicket, who makes off with one on occasion. He exposes his preposterously fluffy belly in hope of scratches.

Scully pours herself a glass of sangria, pours Henry another two inches of Macallan. She is pleasantly buzzed, work blurring out of her mind’s eye. Henry is somewhat more than buzzed, she suspects. Joan’s parents had been over, which exhausts him.

“There’s, ah, there’s something I want to discuss with you,” Henry says. “And with a bit of liquid courage, there’s no time like the present.”

Anxiety rises in her like a barometer. “That’s quite a lead-in,” she says, keeping her tone light while her stomach churns.

“Sorry,” Henry replies. “It’s not, it’s nothing bad.”

“Let’s have it, then.”

“Mulder’s birthday dinner,” Henry begins. “I know what he…I know that you two are…dammit.“ He trails off in frustration.

The anxiety is now constricting her throat. “Henry?”

He shakes his head, still watching his children. “What I’m mangling here is that if you, um, if you ever felt a need to, you know, take a night off from all this-“ here he nods at the yard, “I’d not hold it against you.”

Comprehension begins to dawn, and Scully is aghast.  “You’re not suggesting that I….no. Henry, no.”

Henry shrugs. “It’s not a moral failing, okay? I asked you once if there was a place for both of us in you and you said there were two places. And I said I’d rather share you than lose you. I know a marriage is a compromise, and I’m, you know, I’m trying to figure out what that looks like here. You took on three kids and a guy with some heavy emotional baggage.”

Scully’s cheeks burn. “So your solution is that I offer myself up to him as a birthday gift? Is this some kind of magnanimous man-to-man gesture, sharing your woman as a show of friendship?”

Henry turns to her now, mouth open. “Oh god, oh….shit. I had no idea it sounded that way. I’m sorry.”

Scully drains half her glass in one gulp. “This is the life I committed myself to, Henry. It’s not a job I need a sick day from, and you and the kids aren’t baggage, for heaven’s sake.”

Henry stares into the yard, watches Wicket play tug of war with Viv’s lacrosse stick. “I’m terrified of losing you,” he says. “Partially because of Joan but partially because…” he shakes his head.

“Because what?”

He swallows the rest of his Scotch. “Because there are these dark places in you I can’t see, places that have been redacted. And I told you I wouldn’t pry, and I won’t, but I have this fear of them. That they’ll swallow you one day, and you’ll just disappear. I guess I hoped that if I offered you a night to visit, so to speak, you might not feel tempted to run away to them.”

Her sinuses burn. “Henry…”

“I wasn’t trying to offer you to Mulder as a birthday gift, Dana, that’s really fucking sick. But I was trying to offer you a night in the parts of yourself you haven’t let me go to yet.”

She reaches for his hand and grips it hard. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“A vacation home,” he says, smiling weakly at his own joke. He squeezes her hand back.

“I don’t need a vacation,” she assures him.  She tugs Henry closer, pulls him down so that his head is resting on her lap. His legs dangle over the armrest of the wicker settee.

“I just want you to know I meant it,” he says.

She nods. “I do. But you can’t keep me by giving me away.” She traces his face with her fingertip, his eyelashes and tragus and philtrum. She etches him deeper into her heart.

***

Anonymous asked: Original 10/13 anon here, I suppose i'm down for consummation of free pass too. Heck, you can do both versions for all I care!

aloysiavirgata:

Oh @perplexistan and @kateyes224…

A continuation of this

***

It’s sticky outside, a mid-Atlantic fall day not fully committed to the reality of October. A late season hurricane has been stirring up the ghosts of summer off the Carolinas, the air close and heavy. Scully steals hairpins from Viv’s vanity to help tame her bun, and is reasonably pleased with the results.

It’s just Mulder, she tells herself, zipping up her navy dress. It has a boatneck that shows her clavicles to good advantage, cap sleeves that feel feminine but not frilly.

It’s just Mulder, she thinks, choosing beige kitten heels that lengthen her legs, swiping Lancome’s Perfect Fig across her mouth. She skips perfume.

The sky is thick with shaggy clouds, the sun slipping away nearly undetected. Scully slides behind the wheel of her car, and leaves tire tracks on the grass when she swerves backwards down the driveway.

***

The restaurant is new and well reviewed, with nothing served in Mason jars or on slate tiles. She asked when she made the reservation, as these things leave Mulder snarky and cross.

Mulder arrives at the table a few minutes after her, wind-whipped, mud on one of his loafers. They embrace, a quick kiss on each cheek, and she breathes shallowly. It would not be good to inhale the scent of him.

“Happy birthday,” she says, settling into her chair, napkin spread across her silken lap. “I’m sorry the weather’s so ominous.”

“I blame you entirely.”

She smiles. “I should have e-mailed Holman Hart, called in a favor.”

Mulder peruses his menu. “Next time. I’m just glad you got to come out and play for an evening.”

Scully frowns. “This isn’t the fifties, Mulder, and I’m not a kept woman. Don’t make it sound like that.”

He is taken aback, but nods. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

Scully sighs. She doesn’t want to begin like this. “It’s fine. I’ve had a long week and I’m a bit snappish. I just don’t want things to be strained between us because of….well. It’s your birthday, Mulder.”

A waitress comes by with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. She sets it on the table, handing them each a flute.

Scully looks at her in confusion. “I didn’t order this,” she says.

The waitress nods her head towards Mulder. “The gentleman called earlier, ma’am.”

The gentleman denies this, and the waitress furrows her brow. “Sir? Someone called earlier and ordered this for Dana Scully’s table. For a birthday celebration.”

Scully blushes, twists her wedding ring around her finger. “It’s fine, thank you,” she tells the waitress. “Just a misunderstanding on my part. Sorry for the confusion.”

“Shall I open it?”

“Please.”

The cork makes a wonderful popping sound, the champagne golden and sparkling as it flows into their glasses. The waitress tucks the bottle back into the ice before she leaves.

Scully stares at the silver bucket, the frost of condensation on it, the mounds of crystal ice. She runs a fingertip along the rim of her flute, making it squeak.

Mulder raises his glass in a toast. “Many thanks to Henry,” he says, without a trace of irony.

***

Mulder is clacking his empty mussel shells like castanets. The champagne is gone and so is half a bottle of Sancerre. The candle on their table has burned low.

Scully is laughing helplessly, her napkin pressed to her mouth.

“I can’t believe you never told me this,” she manages. “The Spanish ambassador, how could you?”

He drops the shells back into the bowl, grinning. “It’s was university and I was an asshole. Plus my girlfriend was semi-psychotic. Phoebe,” he clarifies.

Scully groans. “Oh, God. Phoebe. She was a mess, Mulder.”

He laughs. “Gorgeous though. My main requirement at the time.”

She wipes her eyes. “I’ll grant you that, yes. I was a little intimidated, I won’t lie.”

“You were looking pretty good too.”

Scully wrinkles her nose in reply.

A boom of thunder comes suddenly, making the chandeliers rattle. Seconds later, a jagged fork of lightning splits the sky. Gasps come from the other diners when the lights go out.

Mulder dribbles wine onto the candle,  extinguishing it. “Pouring one out for my homie Zeus.”

***

They make a mad dash to their cars in the rain, Scully nearly diving into her SUV. She slides on the wet leather, blasting the air to dry herself off.

Across the lot she spots Mulder’s car, his battered old two-tone Land Cruiser 70. It has not been started. Worried, Scully drives over, hydroplaning on the slick asphalt. She parks parallel to him, oriented nose to tail.

She sees him through the downpour, scowling at his phone. She waves to get his attention and he frowns at her, shrugs. A round of hurried texting reveals that the car won’t start and he’s got at least a 2 hour wait per the AAA app.

Scully reaches behind her seat for the huge wood-frame golf umbrella she keeps there. Opening the door, she unfurls it into the storm. The wind nearly drags it from her hands. She makes it to her trunk before Mulder sees what she’s doing and leaps from his car.

“Are you out of your fucking MIND?” he yells into the wind.

“JUMPER CABLES,” she shouts back. “YOU CAN’T STAY HERE FOR TWO HOURS!” Scully rummages around, then hoists them victoriously.

Thunder crashes, and the hail begins.

Mulder shoves her into his open driver’s door and she clambers into the passenger seat so he can get in. Hail the size of quail eggs bounces in with him.

He slams the door, panting. “You have a degree. In physics.”

She twines the cables around her hands, shamefaced. “I know.”

Mulder starts to laugh. He rests his head on the steering wheel, shaking with laughter while hail rattles around them.

Scully glares at him. “Let’s agree it wasn’t my finest moment, okay?”

He catches his breath. “No, it’s fine. It’s good. I appreciate the laugh. But we picked the wrong car for this little adventure.” He clicks the useless ignition to demonstrate.

Scully groans. “My phone’s in mine too.”

Mulder peels his jacket off, his shirt mostly dry underneath. “Scully, you’re soaked. I’d offer you my jacket, but…” He holds it up, letting it drip water onto the floor.

“I’m good,” she says. “Just turn on the - oh.”

“Yeah.”

She folds down the visor, inspecting herself in the mirror. She looks like the undead prom queen from a slasher flick, straggling hair coming loose, smudged rings of waterproof mascara.

She snaps the visor back up.

Mulder brightens. “I think there’s a blanket in the foot locker. I’ll climb back and get it.”

She waves him off. “I’ll get it, I’m smaller.”  Scully turns, her silk dress clinging like wet paper as she wriggles. She and Mulder studiously ignore her hip against his shoulder. Her shoes drop beside him to the floor.

She squelches into the back, feeling clammy and uncomfortable. There is loose grit on the floor, which hurts her knees. She tugs a quilted moving blanket from a folded-up seat onto the floor, then opens the foot locker. Inside is his old Navajo blanket. She touches it, smiling.

“You find it?” Mulder asks.

“Yeah, thanks,” she says. Scully unfolds the blanket and wraps it around herself. It smells of dry wood and motor oil, GoJo hand cleanser. “I forgot how much room there is back here with the side seats up.”

He adjusts the rearview mirror to see her, and they hold one another’s eyes for a beat. Scully looks away, watches the storm shred leaves off the trees. She twists her wedding ring.

Mulder climbs through the seats, grunting, then sits next to her on the moving blanket. “I texted Henry,” he says. “Let’s him know you’re safe, just waiting out the storm. Thanked him for the champagne.”

“I appreciate that,” she says, touched

“I’d want him to.”

Scully pulls the blanket tighter.“I’m sorry your birthday is going like this,” she says.

He looks at her, surprised. “Good dinner, great company, spooky storm. You wanna tell ghost stories and creep each other out?” He bumps her shoulder.

Scully smiles. “I’m don’t think we can surprise each other anymore,” she says softly. “We’re like two magicians trying to show each other card tricks.”

“You can always surprise me,” he says.

She holds her left hand out for his inspection. The diamonds reflect scraps of yellow streetlight. “This?” she asks.

Mulder shrugs, looks away.

Scully touches the rings. “He told me to go home with you tonight if I wanted. He said he would understand, like shore leave. That it wouldn’t change anything.”

Mulder swallows, closes his eyes. The air is becoming steamy with evaporate, the windows fogged. The smell of damp silk, damp wool hangs about them.

“I told him I couldn’t, that I didn’t need it anyway. And that I certainly wasn’t going to offer myself to you like a gift from the lord of one manor to another.” She reaches out to touch his face, to turn it towards her.

“Don’t,” he rasps.

“Mulder, look at me.”

He shoves her hand away, stares at her. “I’m getting in your car,” he says. “Before we do something really stupid.”

Scully drops the Navajo blanket to the floor. She unpins her hair, lets it fall down her sticky neck to just past her shoulders. She sits back on her heels, wet dress like seaweed. “Mulder.”

“One of us needs to get the fuck out of this car,” he whispers, his voice ragged. He doesn’t move.

She unzips her dress, but it doesn’t fall away like she’d planned. It clings to the tops of her arms, the tops of her breasts, the back gaping open. Gooseflesh rises.

“I thought I could get out of the car,” she says. “ But maybe a joyride every so often isn’t such a bad idea. Henry says it’s not a moral failing, Mulder. And I’m quoting directly.”

They stare at one another, her face tipped up, her mouth swollen. Mulder gazes down at the shadow between her breasts.

Scully runs her tongue across her top lip.

He reaches forward, slides his hands down her shoulders, scraping the ruined silk away. His breath, his heart, are louder than the thunder.

She is bare to the waist now, her chest heaving, her dress a puddle between her hips and the quilted grey blanket. Her nipples ache.

Hail smashes against the windshield, and the wind howls.

She unbuttons his shirt, her fingers trembling, and his chest is deeper, broader than she remembered it. His scars are just as she left them.

Scully moves closer, her breasts grazing his skin when she kisses his neck, bites at it. He shudders, fingers tangling in her hair.

She cups his erection through his trousers.

“I thought you said…” he gasps, hands sliding down to plane her back.

“I thought I meant it,” she mumbles, unbuckling his belt, unfastening his fly.

“I wish you had,” he groans when she pulls his boxers to his knees.

Scully lays back on the blanket, her dress still rucked around her abdomen like a painting of Venus. She reaches beneath it to pull her underwear down, kicks them away.

Mulder is on top of her then, his hands on either side of her head, his shirt tenting her torso. He moves one hand against the hot skin between her thighs, comes away slick from even so little contact.

She whimpers as the storm roars, and he presses his wet fingers to her mouth.

“Scully,” he says, his eyes searching hers. “We can’t undo this, you know that.”

She knows, she knows, she saw what happened to Daniel’s family, what she had done.

“Please,” she says, raking her manicured nails down his back, her pelvis arched against his.  “Please.”

Mulder is not her conscience, and enters her in one thrust.

He cries out to her god.

***

It’s past one when she stumbles into the kitchen, past one by the little clock above the sink.

Henry jumps up from the ladderback chair. “Dana, thank God,” he says. “Mulder called about 45 minutes ago, said you’d left, but I couldn’t reach you.”

Scully holds up her phone, the screen black. “Ruined in the rain,” she says. She slumps into a chair, drained. “And the hail cracked my windshield.”

Henry watches her, concerned, then takes his robe off. “Look at you, you’re soaked.” He tucks the thick cotton around her, smoothing her hair out of her eyes. “Dana?”

She leans up, kisses him. “I’m sorry, the roads were awful and I’m exhausted. I don’t remember a storm like that since Sandy.”

He runs his thumb over her cheekbone, smiling at her freckles. ”I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Scully nods, pressing his palm to her face, to her lips. She’d stood outside in the rain, after the storm burned itself out, to wash the yeasty scent of sex from her pores. She’s afraid, somehow, that it has lingered. That she is marked, tainted forever.

“Probably too much wine, too,” she admits ruefully. “I drank more than my fair share and my head hurts.”

“I got his text,” Henry tells her. “I’m glad he liked it.”

Scully looks back at him, her heart aching with how much she loves him, how much she despises herself. “Oh, yes,” she replies. “He loved your gift.”

 —

For everyone who asked.

***

He rattles up the driveway, the rattling a function of his automobile rather than the O'Keefes’ smooth asphalt. He parks under the basketball hoop, blocking the garage.

Fallen branches litter the yard. A shutter is down from one of the dormer windows, and the landscaping looks threadbare in places. A Japanese maple is split down the center.

Henry is gathering this debris from the storm, hauling it into a large pile in front of the house. He wears a Princeton sweatshirt and jeans, a Nationals cap pulled over his hair. He pauses in his work to greet Mulder. There are wet leaves on his hands.

“Didn’t expect to see you,” Mulder says, stepping over a rake to shake hands. “I was planning a drop-and-dash.” He holds out Scully’s wooden umbrella, her jumper cables.

“Well, you can just, um, set that stuff on the bench I suppose. Dana’s in surgery all day, but I can put it in her car when she gets home.” Henry jams his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels.

“Okay,” Mulder says. He lays the items on the bench, then surveys the yard with a kind of awe at the destruction. “Hell of a mess.”

Henry sighs. “I know they were calling for it, but I guess I wasn’t prepared for what we got. You know Dana has a big crack in her windshield.”

Mulder’s eyebrows go up, as this is news to him. “She okay?”

“Oh, she’s fine, but she was pretty shaken when she got home last night.” He studies Mulder carefully. “Must have been a rough drive home, huh?”

“Must have been.”

They are silent for a time.

“You need any help cleaning up?” Mulder asks. “It’s the least I could do after you were nice enough to buy me birthday champagne.”

Henry shakes his head. “No, thank you for the offer though. Glad you had a good night despite the weather. You’re hard to shop for, though Dana said you wouldn’t want a gift.”

Mulder looks away. “I don’t need much.“

Henry picks the rake up, leans on the handle as he presses the tines into the soft earth. “I love my wife,” he says. “And so do you. Some people might say that puts us at odds, Mulder.”

Mulder meets Henry’s gaze. “It would be an understandable, if incorrect assumption.”

Henry shifts. “I don’t want to be at odds with you. You….you’re her friend. You represent a part of her life I can never fully understand. When I lost Joan I thought I’d…well. I know we all have our ghosts.”

“Nothing happened last night, Henry.”

Henry stiffens. “Pardon?”

Mulder holds his hands out, open. “I feel like I need to just say it, okay? Nothing inappropriate happened. My battery was dead and we realized we both had too much to drink, so we waited the storm out in my car. Her phone got wet and ruined so she couldn’t call. She adores you and your kids and that Ewok of a dog.”

Henry closes his eyes for a long moment, then opens them. “Thanks for bringing her things back. I’ll tell her you came by.”

Mulder nods. He gets into his car and backs down the driveway, navigating fallen limbs as he does. On the radio, Tom Petty’s singing about his last dance with Mary Jane. Mulder turns the volume up and sings along.

***

Anonymous asked: We can just blame love for the Henry saga. Loved fucked all of them over. In Victorian times, after the free pass, Scully would've killed herself, Henry would remain unmarried for the rest of his life and refuse to talk about Dana, and Mulder would go on some stupid quest as penance and probably get himself killed.

I think I saw this movie and Gillian was very good in it.

***

Anonymous asked: I beginning to feel like eventually Henry is going to realize Scully's connection runs so deep emotionally that he's just not going to want to deal with it anymore. He says he's fine with how things are, how Scully doesn't tell him much about her past, that she is still very close to Mulder and gives her a free pass, but eventually he'll want more for himself in a relationship and leave her. In my mind, Scully want want that life and deserves it, but she unintentinally sabotages it.

I think you’re right. Scully has a deep self-destructive streak that rears its head on occasion. I think there’s a part of her that doesn’t feel like she deserves familial happiness after William, and that she doesn’t deserve Mulder or Henry. She’s almost created a perfect storm for herself where she can lose them both by capitalizing on their feelings for her.

***

Anonymous asked: How did Henry and Scully meet?

She wore navy peau de soie and nude stilettos, a beaded bag on her wrist. Her hair hung in sculpted waves just covering her collarbones.

She chatted, she mingled, and she ducked into the kitchen with unnecessary frequency to check the flow of the food.

“Everything’s fine, Dr. Scully,” the staff assured her each time. She pursed her lips, scanning the bison tartare and vol au vents. She sampled a grilled shrimp, nodding tersely.

Scully calmed herself with a third vodka tonic, a poor decision, she knew, but the bar was open and her nerves jangled.

“It’s perfect, Dana,” her intern said, a glass of white wine in her manicured hand. She was a child, scarcely old enough to legally consume her drink. Her father was Someone.

Scully smiled, thanked her. The crowd was too dense, the room too warm, and the talk too loud. There was drunken laughter, cloying perfume. She longed for home, for the reliability of solitude.

Next to her, a man in a grey suit ordered a 15 year Macallan, neat. Scully appraised him out of habit, saw the fine tailoring and coordinating pocket square. The haircut was good, the shoes excellent. She sensed funds for her pet project.

“Dana Scully,” she said, holding out her free hand.

He took it with his left. There was no ring. “Henry O'Keefe,” he said. “You’re on the committee, aren’t you?”

Scully blinked in surprise. “I am,” she said. “Have we met?”

He shook his head. “My firm’s the title sponsor and I recognized your name.”

She smiled in the way she knew people liked, all her teeth on display. “Impressive. Have you checked out the auction items yet?”

He nodded. “There’re a few things I’d like for my kids, I put in some bids. Quite a variety this year.”

“It’s much appreciated. I hope you win them.” She left a tip for the bartender, turning to go.

Fingers at her back, and she sucked in her breath at the ghost of a memory.

“Dr. Scully?”

She turned back to Henry O'Keefe. “Yes?”

He looked into his drink, then at her. “It’s a very good cause.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps…perhaps you could tell me more about it. About how you got involved. It would be nice to hear from someone with passion rather than just a calculation for client endearment.” He offered her a hopeful smile.

Scully set her empty glass on the bar. “I’d love to,” she said. She rested her hand on his offered forearm, and waded back into the fray.

***

Anonymous asked: Henry story: if Mulder and Scully were asked to consult the FBI on a strange case (and a once only basis), what would happen?

She’s got a stack of patient files next to her, dog-eared, the corners grubby. Scully dutifully logs their contents into her computer, wishing the hospital would spring for software upgrades. Her phone rings, startling her from the mind-numbing task.

“Mulder?”

“There’s a case.”

She pecks at the keyboard. “I’m sorry, but the person you’re trying to reach is no longer available. Please hang up and try your call again.”

“I’m not kidding. You’ve gotta make arrangements, you’ve gotta-”

“Mulder, slow down. What the hell is going on? What case, why are you freaking out like this?”

A pause. “It’s Skinner.”

***

“I realize the government is slow with the red tape, but they are aware that they no longer employ you, correct?” Henry’s fingers tap his forehead as he paces the kitchen.

She traces her nail along the grain of the kitchen table. “Strictly consulting,” she says. “All behind the scenes. Probably no longer than a week.”

“Forgive me, but why you two? Why now?”

She looks down. “It’s classified.”

“Of course. And where will you be going? Can I know that at least?”

“Classified,“ she whispers, still not meeting his eyes.

Henry throws his hands in the air. “Of course. Of. Fucking. Course. Your whole life is classified, why shouldn’t this be too?”

Scully squeezes her eyes shut. Any other case and she would have said no. Anything else and she would have hung up on Mulder, gone back to her filing, eaten Viv’s outstanding lasagna, and gone to bed.

“Are you allowed to say no, even? I mean, you’re a civilian, right? They can’t force you to do anything.”

“I have to,” she says, heartsick. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But I have to.” Her throat is tight.

Henry knuckles the counter, his back to her. “I have never asked you anything, Dana. Not a single goddamned thing. I agreed to leave the past behind and move forward, but it seems to keep popping up. Flying off with your ex husband to your ex job? I’m supposed to be fine with that when I know…” He shakes his head.

“When you know what?” she breathes, nauseous. She is afraid he will say it, even though she knows he knows.

Henry turns, his eyes hard. “Enough, okay? I know enough.” He considers her. “What would you do if I said no?”

She is taken aback, this possibility not having occurred to her. “I didn’t think we forbade each other things, Henry,” she says slowly.

“The requests are getting pretty one-sided. So what would you do?”

She presses her trembling hands flat to the table, palms cool against the lacquered wood. “I’d go anyway,” she says. “Not for anyone else, but for Ski-” she bites off the end of her sentence, furious with herself.

Henry sits across from her at the table. “For whom?”

 She remains silent, shaken.

“Classified,” he says, with faint contempt. “Right.”

Scully chews her lip until the inside of it bleeds. Experience has taught her that there are reckonings, crossroads past which a life can take on an entirely new direction. She does not want this to be one of them.

They look at each other for what seems like a very long time.

“Henry,” she says carefully. “What I’m about to do is completely illegal, all right? I’m putting your life and my life in danger by telling you this. But you’re right; I owe it to you. To us.” She reaches across the table for his hand.

Henry nods. “I understand.”

He doesn’t; he can’t possibly, but she plows ahead before she loses her nerve. “FBI Director Walter Skinner has been taken by a militia group called the New Spartans. We believe he’s being held inside their compound, located near Casper Mountain, Wyoming.”

Henry gapes. “The Director. Of the FBI. Has been kidnapped?”

“So it would seem.”

Henry shakes his head, appalled. He withdraws his hand from hers to run through his hair.“Why isn’t this national news, why isn’t the, uh…who? The SEALS or the Army Rangers all over this? Why are they pulling two agents out of retirement to deal with a huge fucking disaster? Were you hostage negotiators, what?”

“No. But we….um. We, along with Director Skinner, have dealt with this group before. Mulder infiltrated them undercover at one point. August Bremer, their former leader, spared Mulder’s life at one point.” She looks at him sadly, reminding herself of all that he doesn’t know.

“Shouldn’t they be making demands, on TV or something, I don’t know…. Bragging?” Sweat beads on Henry’s brow, and he wipes at it with a paper napkin.

Scully shakes her head. “Maybe in a Bond flick. These are not people who want attention. They see themselves as the last true patriots and this is symbolic for them, for their followers. They don’t want to cut a deal with the federal government. They’re anarchists, and see no difference between the FBI and the KGB, Henry. This is a power move.”

Henry, dazed, shreds the paper napkin into minuscule fragments. “How the hell did they get him, anyway?”

In for a penny, in for a pound, she figures. What’s a little more treason between husband and wife? “A member of the group had been leaking plans to the Director for about eighteen months, all of it credible. The source claimed that the New Spartans had been working with anti-federal groups overseas to plan an attack that would take down power grids in 20 major US cities. Based on our prior dealings with the group, the Director found this consistent with their MO. He agreed to meet with the source to obtain satellite footage of the other groups’ headquarters. But it turned out to be a setup, an ambush. Four agents were killed and the Director was badly injured.”

Her husband looks ill. “My god,” he mumbles. “And you’re wading back into this? And I’m supposed to just nod and wave like it’s fine?”

“Just consulting, Henry, I promise.” She speaks softly, like she does when the twins wake up from nightmares they can’t remember. “I’m past fifty, and hardly in peak form. Intel only.”

“But why, Dana? Can’t someone else do this?” His voice is pleading.

“I owe him my life, Mulder’s life,” she says. “He risked himself to save us. And when I had no one, nothing, he was there.” She shrugs. “It’s a debt I never thought I could repay.”

Henry frowns. “No one and nothing? Dana, what happened to you?”

And now, Scully knows, now is the crossroad. She gulps air, takes her husband’s hands again in her own.

“I have a son,” she says.

***

@perplexistan asked: I need something from the Henry-verse. Something happy, though. Maybe Scully finally divorcing Henry and going back to Mulder. I know that's not the point of this AU, which I truly do love, but I just want it. Sue me.

You are asking a lot of our friendship. Can’t I just send you cookies?

***

Anonymous asked: Who is being eaten up by the repercussions of free pass more Mulder or scully?

Scully for sure. I think that, particularly post IWTB, he’s stopped taking responsibility for her decisions. I have a line in there where I say that Mulder is not her conscience, and I think he really feels that way now. She’s a grown woman capable of making her own choices. I think he knows what they did was wrong, but Scully isn’t some wide-eyed innocent anymore.

***

Anonymous asked: Does Viv know about Emily and William? Has she met/seen Mulder?

Henry doesn’t know about Emily and William. Viv has met Mulder twice. She thinks he’s a compelling, charming weirdo but, given her stepmother’s tendency to organize closets by color and make spreadsheets for every conceivable topic, she’s baffled that they were together as long as she’s heard they were.

***

For all the anons who have so sweetly asked after Henry, here’s a little intersection with Ghouli.

***

Simon and Alice run squealing from the living room, slamming into Scully when she comes around the corner from the kitchen.

She staggers back under their combined weight, bumping into the dog. “What’s wrong?” she asks, steadying herself against the counter.

Viv stalks in behind them, waving her phone. “I told them it was too scary,” she says. “But they hid behind the couch to read over my shoulder, and now they’re all freaked out.” She punches Simon in the arm. “Serves you right.”

“We’re never sleeping again,” Alice asserts, cuddling against Scully.

“Ever,” Simon adds, punching Viv back.

Scully rubs Alice’s small back, running her fingers through her thick hair. The irrational squabbles of children are still hard for her to follow, but she tries. “What was too scary?”

“Ghouli,” Viv says, crunching into an apple.

***

Scully is curled up on the chaise longue in her bedroom, lost in reading, when Henry comes in. He’s shed his suit for pajama pants and a Georgetown sweatshirt. Scully smiles at his mussed hair, an untidy silver haystack from wrestling with the twins. The nails of his left hand are painted with purple glitter polish.

“You get them settled?” she asks.

He rubs his face. “Yeah, finally. Alice is good, but Simon’s still pretty sure this Ghouli thing is coming to eat our family.” He sits at the edge of the chaise, reaching out to massage Scully’s neck. His hands cover her shoulders, thumbs meeting at the base of her cervical spine.

“Mmmmmm,” she says, rolling her head forward. “You’re going to distract me.”

“That’s the plan,” he says, trailing butterfly kisses along her jaw, then stops when he notices what’s on the screen. “What the hell is that?”

“Ghouli, apparently. Viv showed me the site. it’s pretty well done, actually. I can see why they’re freaked out.” The drawing of the monster has the clean, architectural lines of a scientific sketch.

Henry stretches out on the chaise, wrapping himself around her. Scully tucks herself into the solid warmth of his body and adjusts her laptop so that they can both see. Late night cuddling over images of cryptids brings back memories that she shakes off.

As though reading her mind, Henry says, “So whatcha thinking, Agent Scully? This is your former wheelhouse, right?”

She shrugs. “Not exactly It’s fascinating from a cultural standpoint, I suppose. I was talking to Viv about it. There’s an internet phenomenon called ‘creepypasta,’ kind of like urban legends with a paranormal bent. Some of them have taken on a sort of folk-tale quality.”

Henry tucks her head beneath his chin. “Is this that Slenderman thing? Those two girls in Wyoming?”

“Wisconsin,” Scully corrects. “Yes, like Slenderman.” She switches tabs, pulling up a new post. “Ceci n'est ce pas une pipe,” she reads, in her bad French.

“This is not a pipe,” Henry translates, musing. “What the hell does that mean?”

Scully taps her lips. “It’s a reference to a painting by Rene Magritte. He did, um, a painting of a pipe with this phrase below it, as a reminder that the symbol of the thing is not the thing itself. The map is not the territory. It’s a semiotic concept addressed by Alfred Korzybski.”

Henry kisses her temple. “You didn’t even have to Google that, did you?”

She, grins, admits that she did not.

“So hot,” Henry says. “Anyway, so what? Some emo kid who’s read too much Sartre decided to make some of this, uh, creepypasta stuff.”

Scully scrolls around some more. “Probably. It’s just impressively complex. Like, here. Look at this. It’s got a Baconian cypher, it references atomic bomb tests,it’s got sketches of RNA…which. That’s odd, actually.”

“Hmmm?”

“Well, the post with the RNA base is by a user named K/OMouse. I’m guessing it refers to knockout mice. Those are mice whose DNA has been altered, so why include RNA nucleotides instead of DNA? And an RNA nucleotide shouldn’t contain a diphosphate, but there are two phosphate groups here, plus that terminal oxygen should be double bonded to this carbon, or be a hydroxyl, or at least have a negative sign.” She doesn’t notice that her voice has grown agitated.

Henry has. “Uh, Dana? I think maybe you should avoid this site with Simon and Alice. Go play Neko Atsume for a while, hmmm?”

Scully takes a deep breath. He’s right, of course he’s right.

It’s nothing.

She closes her laptop, laughing a little. “I guess I’m Rever’s target audience.”

Henry grins. “I’ll try to distract you again.”

She ignores the little itch in her amygdala, in her entorhinal cortex, and follows him to bed.

***

It’s two AM and Henry is sleeping, bare-chested and peaceful on the other side of the room. Wicket, dense and furry, is sprawled like a wolf pelt over his feet. Their breathing is even and steady, a lulling hum in the back of her head. It steadies her like a heartbeat. Like the sea.

Her eyes flit back and forth between tabs, her face bathed in the blue glow. She looks at the post by K/OMouse again. The alien head, the RNA.

Alien head, RNA

RNA, virus.

Viral replication occurs via mRNA.

Something tickles her brain again, that little itch.

A virus.

An alien virus.

Purity control.

She grabs a notepad to organize her thoughts.

Baltimore classification?

Two phosphate groups = diphosphate nucleoside? Or non-terrestrial?

It is not the pipe - it is not the territory - what does Ghouli represent?

She looks at KO/Mouse’s post again, copies down the code he’s written. She begins working on it before seeing that user Elizabeth has helpfully done this work for her.

weseeyouwilliamvandekampweknowwhoyouare

andifweknowthentheyknowwhichyoushouldknow

crossroadswasonceanatombombandnowitisyou

WilliamWilliamWilliam pounds in her head.

Her vision is black, suddenly. And just as suddenly she sees a farm, idyllic and flat beneath an Ansel Adams sky.

Back to her room in a flash, gasping for air. Back to Henry dreaming in the safe warmth of their bed.

It’s 2:37 by her watch, but time is only a human construct. She pads out to the hall and down the stairs. She dials, and he answers on the third ring.

“Mulder, it’s me.”

#my fic #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf revival #au #henry

[skaeptical-a]

                             H E A D C A N O N        001.   RELIGION 

Does Scully still practice her faith later in life? If she doesn’t when or why did she stop?

LONG POST *

         this has to be one of my favorite thing to ever receive a question on, because scully’s catholicism certainly plays a large part outside of her role as a skeptic. while i do not think scully is a devote and goes every sunday and mass on every wednesday, CANONICALLY, especially in between I Want to Believe, season 10 and season 11, scully is at the forefront of her faith. the mentions are far from underlying, going as prominent to show scully in chapels and church, as well as referencing some prayers. HOWEVER, her   faith     and her    skepticism   often parallels and run in contradictions.  (so, the short answer, i believe scully holds some form of christian and catholic values but more so in the respect that her   skepticism  is symbolic for the head and    faith    is symbolic for the heart. a balance between thought and soul we see often parallel.)

         i want to believe   REALLY  delves into the parallels, too, where scully is trying to treat a child at a catholic hospital. she takes the methodical science route while the hospital’s influence is strictly relying upon god. granted, she comes to question her influence and decision, there is a clear struggle here between  i want to believe in god   and   here are the facts.

       to go through the season, though:

         in the episode revelations (3x11), scully makes a comment about not having gone to confessional for six years. it is often references that she has slipped away from her religion at the beginning of the series, stepping away from traditional church values to methodical science. yet, the struggle exists of a full closed circle, from faith to skeptic back to faith. (which i have a minor head canon elsewhere that mulder does influence her revelation with his own passionate beliefs.)

        i suppose some other great moments to discuss dana’s faith stem from within the cancer arc, where she questions full heartedly why she wears a cross when it seems to be little hope. during this arc, she blows off father mccue wanting to pray initially, but in the first two episodes of season 5, scully finds herself more certain and finds strength in her faith. father mccue re-enters and he ministers her faith.

         in orison 7x07 (when she kills pfaster), she talks about remembering a the song don’t look any further from her childhood when her sunday school teacher had been killed. in correlation, she draws the conclusion god is telling her something about pfaster, that he is not dead and that there is danger, especially after orison calls her scout. at the end, she holds a bible. there’s so much to unpack, but she weighs this heavy burden. a conflict between law and between god. scully believes in evil/the devil. she questions her own credibility and virtues. “who was at work in me? what made me pull the trigger?” mulder asks what, if it was god and she rebuts with “what if it wasn’t?”     WHICH during both episodes involving pfaster, dana sees the devil in pfaster, undoubtedly. dana proceeds to cast pfaster as evil incarnate. though, in s11, she also steps back and insists the devil does not exist, but she jokingly references that in case he does, i sleep with my back to the door.

         my favorite part of her religion stems from a quote in season 11, “prayers aren’t meant to be sentiment, it’s a conversation. you can do it like a meditation or if your needs exceed your grasp, you can ask god to act on your behalf.” though, scully does not use god as a crutch to actively pursue her own goals, despite strife and struggle, she only ever holds conversation with him. in a sense, god is a soundboard of her GRIEF, reasoning, or things she can’t explain/lacks guidance on, especially in emotional strides. (having to hope william is okay, praying mulder is alright after they split between i want to believe and s10, etc. though all within practicality. in a way, a therapy. it gives her someone to speak to when there is no one else around.)

         in short, she holds some catholic values. however, she does not practice to the full extent given her skepticisms and methodical science. again, science being the head  and  faith being her heart.

#LONG POST / * #hc . / ɪᴛ's ᴏʙᴠɪᴏᴜsʟʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ 【 ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ 】

[slippinmickeys]

Seeing as how the world is basically ending, I figured I may as well post the whole thing now. If Tumblr lets me. Tagging @storybycorey​

You can also read the whole thing on AO3 here. 

Dana Scully was running late. Flustered and out of breath from running the few blocks from the Metro stop, she pushed through the doors of the coffee shop, startling a young mom who was pushing a stroller out the door.

“Sorry,” she said, apologizing, and then held the door open while the woman slowly navigated the stroller through the narrow doorway. When she was out, Dana finally stepped in and scanned the store, looking for familiar auburn curls.

Her sister Melissa held up a hand and stood as Dana approached.

“Missy!” Dana said, relieved to see her.

Melissa gave her a long, tight hug before reclaiming her seat. Melissa’s hugs were the kind you always wanted to get. Like she’d cultivated them in a field, each one grown in a tidy row, just for you.

“Everything all right?” Melissa said, as Dana, huffing and out of breath, shrugged off her jacket and swung her purse over the back of a chair.  

“No,” she said, laughing at herself and Melissa’s eyebrows came together in

sympathy, “but tell me about you first. How was your flight? God, it’s been so long!” She reached across and squeezed her older sister’s hand.

Melissa had flown back to the States only the day before, having spent the last two years living in England.

“I’m great!” Missy said, “living abroad has been incredible. I almost hated to come back.”

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Dana said.

In truth, she was glad. She’d missed her sister terribly, but Missy had needed a big change. She’d dropped out of college several years before, much to their parent’s horror, and Melissa had been too spirited to live long under their father’s roof. Her sister looked wonderful. Clearly the time abroad had been good to her.

“But, what’s happening with you? What’s going on?” Melissa said.

Dana blew a raspberry.

“I’m in a tight spot,” she finally said, “We just found out this morning that Ellen got the internship in Seattle for the summer. It’s the one she wanted, and I’m really excited for her, but it’s not paid, so she won’t be able to cover her half of the rent -- she leaves in two days and rent for next month is due in five. We’ve got three more months on the lease. I’ve got to find someone to sublease her room, like yesterday.” She felt panic bubbling up in her gut. “I don’t suppose you have any interest in staying in DC for the summer?” she asked Melissa hopefully.

“Oh, I wish I could,” Missy said, “but I’m registered for massage therapy classes at the National Holistic Institute in Baltimore for the summer. Mom and Dad have calmed down and I’m going to stay with them while I get certified.”

“Missy, that’s wonderful!” She tried to smile at her, but she knew it didn’t reach her eyes.  Dana was excited for her sister, but had been holding out a hope that maybe Missy coming back Stateside would be an answer to her prayers.

“What about Ethan?” Melissa asked, lowering her voice unconsciously, “Couldn’t he move in with you for the summer? It’s only three months, Mom and Dad don’t need to know.”

Dana bit her lip.

“We broke up,” she said. Melissa’s eyes widened.

“June and Ward Cleaver broke up?” Melissa said, in shock. “When? I thought….”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Dana knew what Melissa thought. What everyone had thought. She and Ethan, together since their sophomore year of high school and enrolled in the same post-grad program at Georgetown, were the all-American couple. They, and everyone else, had assumed they would be engaged after they got their PhDs, and married not long after.

“Last month,” Dana said, looking down at her hands.

Melissa reached across the table and put her hand on Dana’s arm.

“What happened?”

“We grew up,” Dana said simply, “we’re different people, now. At least, I am. I’ve been thinking about making some changes at school and Ethan… was not supportive.”

Melissa squeezed her arm.

“What kind of changes?” she asked.

Dana looked up at her sister, “I’ve been seriously considering med school for some time.”

“But you’re so close to your degree!” Missy said.

“That’s what Ethan said,” said Dana, “but he was just so… dismissive. Like he had this plan for me. Like what I wanted didn’t matter. It was bad, Missy.”

“God,” Missy said.

“Yeah,” Dana went on, “he found out I took the MCAT and lost it. I broke up with him then and there. I haven’t seen him since. Not even on campus.”

Melissa gave her a shrewd look.

“Can I say something that you may not want to hear?”

Dana nodded morosely.

“I’m so glad,” Dana shot her sister a look, surprised. Melissa went on, “I never liked him, Dana. I know Mom and Dad loved him, but he’s had a stick up his ass since high school and he always thought he was better than everyone else. I used to sneak out and sprinkle catnip under his bedroom window in the summers.”

Dana’s jaw dropped.

“He used to complain all the time about-”

“-Tom cats in the neighborhood gathering outside his house and howling all night? Yeah, that was me.”

“Missy!”

“He deserved it,” Melissa said, sitting up with an air of moral superiority, “I’m glad you broke it off with him.”

“To be honest, I am too,” Dana said, “but I’m in a real lurch with this roommate situation. I don’t want to take out another student loan and I don’t think I can ask Dad for more money. Especially when he finds out I’m abandoning the program.”

“So you’re quitting for sure?” Melissa asked.

Dana nodded. “I just got the MCAT results and I did really well,” she couldn’t hold in a smile, “I told my advisor last week. I’m finishing out the summer. I’m going to start applying to med schools.”

“Well,” Missy said, “I’m glad you’re following your heart. And I wouldn’t worry much about Dad. He’ll be thrilled to have a doctor in the family. But maybe not so thrilled about bankrolling a degree you don’t intend to finish.”

Dana squirmed in her chair.

Melissa leaned back, thinking.

“What about…” she stopped, assessing Dana for a moment. “I have this friend. Someone I met in England last year. Moving to DC to be closer to family.”

Dana sat up straight.

“Do you know if she needs housing? Oh my God, Missy, you’d be saving my life.”

“The thing is,” Missy said, “it’s not a she.”

Dana made a face.

“He’s a great guy, Dane,” Melissa went on, “PhD in Psychology from Oxford. I met him when he was dating my friend Emma. His parents passed away recently and he’s putting his sister through school. She was a freshman at American this year. I can call him if you want.”

“I don’t know…” Dana said.

“Dana Scully, you are a 25 year old woman and it’s almost 1990 for God’s sake. Surely you’re not so old fashioned that you wouldn’t consider a male roommate. Particularly one that I can personally vouch for.”

“I don’t suppose he’s… gay?”

“You heard me mention my friend Emma, right?” Missy said, “No, he’s most certainly not gay, and no one is going to care that he isn’t. This isn’t Three’s Company, Chrissy. You need a roommate, and he--last I heard--needs a place to live. It’s perfect.”

It was only three months. Surely in this day and age having a male roommate wouldn’t give her some kind of reputation. And she was desperate--she would at least meet the guy. She leaned back in her seat.

“He isn’t cute, is he?” Dana asked.

Melissa narrowed her eyes.

“Cute?”

“Attractive. Hot. Someone with pleasing facial symmetry who other people like to look at.”

“Like you?” Melissa said. Dana gave her an exaggerated eye roll, and her sister asked, “Why?”

“Because it’s the last thing I need right now,” Dana said.

Melissa took a demure sip of coffee.

“No,” she said, not making eye contact, “he’s not cute.”

Dana considered her sister a long minute.

“Okay,” she finally said, “call him.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

At precisely 3:00pm, there was a knock on her door. Shave and a haircut.

He was punctual -- more than she could say for herself that day -- and that usually boded well.

Instead of sticking around to introduce them, Missy had said she had other friends she was supposed to see while she was in town and had taken off after setting up this meeting, though she promised Dana she would still come over for dinner.

Dana opened the door. He was tall. At least a foot taller than she was, and he stood in the doorway with a smile on his face. He was wearing a black leather biker jacket, jeans and black boots and was carrying a motorcycle helmet under one arm. Dana was momentarily taken aback by his good looks. She would kill Melissa.

“Dana?” he said, expectantly, reaching out for a handshake, “I’m Melissa’s friend. Fox Mulder.”

“I thought you’d be British,” she said,  the words fumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He smiled.

Dana shook herself, embarrassed, and extended a hand.

“Dana Scully,” she said, “sorry. Come in?”

“I met your brother when he came out to visit Melissa,” he said as he shook her hand, “one more Scully and I win a set of steak knives.”

“You’re in luck,” she said, smiling, “we Scullys come in sets of four.”

He laughed and wiped his feet on the welcome mat before stepping past her and into the apartment. He stood a few feet in and looked around.

“Wow,” he said, “this is a really nice place.”

Dana nodded and closed the door. It was a nice place. Much nicer than two broke grad students had any business living in. It had cathedral ceilings, hardwood floors and a large, spacious living room framed on one side with immense sliding glass doors that opened to a long balcony that ran the length of the room. On the other end of the living room sat a modern kitchen with a large island countertop that sat three people on the living room side, and had a 4 burner cooktop on the other. The appliances were pretty new. There was a hallway leading from the other end of the living room that led to one bathroom and a bedroom (Ellen’s), with a small in-unit washer/dryer at the end of the hall. Stairs led up from the left of the doorway to the master bedroom (Dana’s) and en-suite bathroom that had a separate tub and shower. The place was filled with hand-me-down furniture from various parents and siblings, but was decorated well and was quite comfortable.

“Rent controlled,” she said, by way of explanation, “my roommate’s brother had lived here for years. We got really lucky.” He nodded, still taking in the space. “You want a tour?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, smiling.

She showed him the living room and the trick to opening the sliding glass door, then ran him through the kitchen and on down the hallway to Ellen’s room, which was a disaster area filled with half-packed boxes.

“This would be your room,” she said, “I promise to clean it before you move in.”

“Nah,” he said, peeking his head in the closet, “I’d be happy to do it. When would move-in be?”

“You could be in in two days,” she answered, “Ellen flies to Seattle tomorrow night, though you wouldn’t know it to look at her room.”

He smiled.

“I don’t know if Melissa told you about my situation,” he said, “everything has been happening kind of quickly. You’d really be saving my bacon, here.”

“She told me a little,” Dana said, “I’m really sorry about your parents, Fox.”

“Thank you,” he said softly. He cleared his throat. “Though, I uh, prefer to go by Mulder.”

“Fair enough,” Dana said. “Though there’s no way you ever got Melissa to call you anything other than Fox. I bet she was delighted.”

He laughed, a melodious, warm sound. Upon hearing it, she decided she liked him.

“And then some,” he said. “So what do I need to know?”

“Well, it would be a sublease for three months, until Ellen gets back. I may or may not be moving out in the fall, and our lease goes month-to-month after that.” He nodded. “Otherwise,” she said, “I mainly do a lot of studying. I have office hours and classes three days a week. I’m not big on house parties, and I like things quiet.” She looked at him, and he didn’t seem thrown by anything she’d said so far. “Do you…” she was sure how to put it, “have a girlfriend or anyone who would be coming over a lot?”

He smiled.

“No girlfriend at present,” he said, “though my sister is at AU and she may come over every now and then if she’ll deign to visit her stuffy older brother.”

His eyes crinkled with affection when he talked about his sister, and Dana found herself involuntarily charmed.

“And what do you do for a living?” she asked.

He winced.

“I’m currently looking for work,” he held his hand up when she raised her eyebrows, “I have enough in savings to more than cover three months of rent,” he said, “so you don’t have to worry about that. But I only got into town a few days ago. I’m still trying to figure everything out.”

“Melissa vouches for you,” she said, “that’s good enough for me.”

He fiddled with the helmet, which he was still carrying, and took a long, slow turn, looking around the apartment, as if making a decision. He finally turned back to her.

“Well, Scully Number Three?” he said, holding out his hand once again. “You’ve got a new roommate if you’ll have me.”

“No need to remind me of my place in the pecking order,” she said, “if you’re Mulder, I think just Scully will suffice.” Scully. She let it roll down her spine and liked the way it felt. She reached out and gripped his hand firmly. It was warm, dry, and completely enveloped hers. “Welcome home, Mulder,” she said.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Melissa breezed past her in the doorway without a word, arms laden with plastic bags.

“I brought take-out!” she said over her shoulder, kicking off her shoes and making her way to the kitchen to unburden herself of the bags. “Is Fox still here?” she asked, looking around, a little out of breath.

“He left about an hour ago,” Dana said, coming to stand in the doorway of the kitchen. “Melissa,” she went on, and Missy wouldn’t look at her. “You said he wasn’t cute.”

Melissa opened the fridge and helped herself to a beer.

“He’s not cute,” Missy said, finally turning to her, “he’s gorgeous. You’re welcome.” She twisted off the top and then shoved herself up to sit on the counter, taking a long pull.

“Make yourself at home,” Dana said sarcastically.

“Thanks,” Missy said, brushing her off. “How’d it go?”

“You’re right, he was really nice. He’s going to take it,” Dana said, and then decided she could go for a beer as well. She opened up the fridge as Missy punched the air in a yes! gesture.

“What did I tell you?” Melissa said, “kismet.”

“Yeah,” Dana said, tamping down her own enthusiasm, “I hope it works out.”

“It’s going to be great!” Missy said, “He really is the best guy.”

“Did you guys ever…?” Dana asked, wondering if she really wanted to know.

“Me and Fox? No,” she answered, “not that I wouldn’t have liked to,” she went on, “but I think the whole ‘thou shalt not date your best friend’s ex’ rule is pretty universal. Even across the pond.”

Dana was surprised to find herself relieved.

“I am privy to some information, though,” Missy said, arching an eyebrow.

“Do I even want to know?” Dana asked.

Missy ran her tongue along the corner of her mouth.

“He’s very well endowed,” she finally said with a grin.

Dana felt herself blushing and took a deep swig of beer to cover for it.

“Unless it’ll help him pay the rent,” she said, swallowing, “I don’t see how that’s any of my business.”

Melissa shrugged, looking coy. “I’ve also heard he loves to eat out,” she said.

“What does that have to do with-“ Dana finally looked at her sister, caught her eyebrows in the air, suggestively. “...Jesus, Missy.”

Melissa smiled, took a sip of beer.

“I’m just saying,” Melissa said, “a generous lover is a generous man.” Dana looked to the sky as if for help. Her sister was clearly enjoying Dana’s discomfort. She finally jumped down off the counter and turned her attention to the bags of food. “You could do a lot worse than Fox Mulder.”

“I’m not going to do Fox Mulder, Missy,” she said, and Missy let out a bark of laughter. “I need a roommate, not a boyfriend. And anyway, I’m going to be in med school soon. I won’t have that kind of time.”

“Make time,” Melissa winked, and then dug around in the bags, pulling out carton after carton of Chinese food. “You hungry?”

Dana set down her beer and hugged her from behind.

“I’m famished, you snot,” she said into her sister’s hair.

XxXxXxXxXxX

On move-in day, Mulder showed up at her (their) door at 9:00am sharp, wearing a ratty Oxford University sweatshirt and an anxious expression.

“Hey,” he said, when she opened the door, “I got a buddy downstairs with a truck. Where should he park it?”

“Follow me,” Scully said, and grabbed her keys off the hook by the door. She led him down the stairs and around to the back of the building.

“We’ve got two parking spots,” she said, “though I don’t have a car. You can have him pull in here. The one next to it is yours. You ride a motorcycle, right?”

He nodded and then jogged to the corner and called out to the friend he had waiting, who pulled into the alley and then leaned out of the open window.

“Frohike, Scully, Dana Scully, my buddy Melvin Frohike,” Mulder introduced them.

“Last name basis with everyone, huh?” Scully said to Mulder in a low voice. He smiled.

“She’s hot,” was all Frohike said, and Mulder flipped him off and then directed him into the narrow space.

Scully looked down at her jean cut-offs and baggy, laundry-day tee shirt. She wasn’t exactly dressed for Prime Time.

Frohike cut the engine,  jumped out and they all gathered around the back of the truck. There were about a dozen medium sized boxes and no furniture.

“Is this it?” Scully asked.

“I am but a humble nomad,” Mulder said, “taking only what I can carry.”

“What he means is that he sold almost all his shit when he left England,” Frohike said, “I hope you have pots and pans.”

Scully laughed.

“I do, and you’re welcome to use them,” she said,  “Five bucks a pop for utensils, though.”

“I like her,” said Frohike, hooking a thumb at Scully as he pulled down the tailgate.

They had everything up and into Mulder’s bedroom in less than ten minutes.

“I’m off,” said Frohike, the second he set the last box down on Mulder’s floor. “It was nice meeting you, Scully.”

“Likewise,” said Scully, who was leaning against the frame of Mulder’s door.

On his way out, Frohike paused by Scully and leaned into her confidentially.

“If he tries to seduce you, let him down easy. The man’s got no game,” he said.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Scully said and then cut a look to Mulder who looked more than a little glad to see the back of Frohike.

“Where’d you pick him up?” Scully said, once the front door had closed behind him.

“I collect strays,” Mulder said simply, peeling the tape off of one of the boxes.

Scully took a step back into the hallway.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said. Then, “Oh! Here’s your key,” she stepped back into his room, and handed over the single key. “It works on the building doors and the apartment deadbolt. Sometimes you have to wiggle it a bit on the lock by the garage.”

Mulder nodded his thanks and she backed out.

“Let me know if you need help or anything,” she called out over her shoulder.

XxXxXxXxXxX

A few hours later, she knocked on his door.

“I come bearing gifts,” she said, holding up a pizza box and a six pack of Shiner Bock.

“Marry me,” he said, and she smiled, looking around the room. He’d hung clothes in the closet, and had all his other meager possessions in various small stacks around the room. He’d broken down the boxes and had them sitting neatly by the door. He looked exhausted.

“There’s Spartan furnishings, and then there’s this,” she said, and he shrugged, chagrined.

“I’ll need to do some shopping in the immediate future, I’ll grant you,” he said.

“The good news is, I have a real table with real chairs not eight yards from your bedroom door.” She held up the pizza and six pack once again, “Come on,” she said, “your piles aren’t going anywhere.”

He followed her to the kitchen and she gave him a quick rundown of what cabinets held what, pulling down plates and glasses. She pulled out two beers and slid the rest of the six pack back in the fridge.

She opened them both and handed him one. He clinked the bottles together.

“Happy housewarming,” she said.

“Slainte,” he said, and they both took a slug.

A semi-comfortable silence descended on them, and Scully filled it by sliding a couple slices of pizza on her plate. Mulder sat back and pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up his forearms. They looked tanned even in the washed out light of the kitchen and were roped with muscle and sprinkled with dark hair.

“Ever wonder why they call it a housewarming?” Mulder asked.

“I never really thought about it,” she said, and then leaned forward. “But now I want to know.”

She looked at him and he smiled back.

“Fire is a classic symbol of strength and purity, which is why many European traditions involve lighting a candle or a fire on your first night in a new home. Doing so is said to ward off evil spirits by casting away darkness. It’s fallen out of practice with modern conveniences like electricity, but the name stuck.”

“Well,” said Scully, “aren’t you a wellspring of random and arcane facts.”

Mulder held up his beer.

“You have no idea,” he said, and she laughed.

She peeled off a piece of pepperoni from one of her slices of pizza, and popped it into her mouth.

“Be right back,” she said, and came back a moment later with a large white pillar candle and a box of matches. She struck a match and lit the candle, then held out her beer. He clinked the neck of his to the neck of hers.

“To warding off evil spirits,” she said.

“And casting out darkness,” he replied.

They smiled at each other, the silence turning easy.

XxXxXxXxXxX

A few days had passed. Enough for them each to get to know the other’s routines and for the excessive politeness of two strangers sharing a space to fade a bit.

Scully was sitting on the couch going over classwork when Mulder emerged from his room in running shorts and a ratty tee shirt with the sleeves cut off. The skin on his upper arms was paler than that of his lower arms, but had a delineated curve where deltoid met bicep. It took a minute to look away.

“Going for a run?” she asked a little too brightly.

“I was hoping to,” he said, sitting down in front of the front door to put on his running shoes. “Are there any good places around here?”

She set down the paper she was holding, thinking.

“There’s a park a few blocks away, over by the… you know what, it’ll be easier if I show you. Mind some company?”

“I’d love some,” he said, smiling.

“Be right back,” she said, and ran upstairs to change.

When she got back to the living room, he was stretching, one leg held up in a quad stretch, standing with the graceful ease of perfect balance.

“Ready?” she asked, pulling an old baseball cap over her messy ponytail.

He lowered his leg to the floor and swept his eyes over her once.

“As I’ll ever be,” he said.

They walked the first few blocks, with Scully taking the opportunity to point out various neighborhood hot spots -- the local gas station, the corner market.

When they got to the park nearby, she ducked under a low hanging tree to find the running path that ran near the outskirts.

“This way,” she said, and they started to jog.

After a few minutes, she threw him a look.

“I’m slowing you down,” she said, guiltily.

He was taking short strides next to her, keeping pace with her.

“Nonsense,” he said, staring straight ahead.

“Muder, your legs are about a foot longer than mine, you could run circles around me,” she said.

“Sounds like a good idea,” he said with a glimmer in his eye, and then pulled the hat off her head and started running in literal circles around her, hooting at her while she grabbed at the hat -- every time she got close, he’d pull it away, holding it behind his back or far above his head where she could never reach it. After a minute of keep away, they were both laughing and she pulled up, out of breath but with a smile on her face.

“I knew I was slowing you down,” she laughed, and bent to put her hands on her knees.

“Aw,” he said, putting the cap back on her head and pulling it low, “you’d have caught up eventually.”

He gave one last tug on the brim of the cap and they stood looking at each other, a moment passing between them. Scully felt something low in her belly, and there was a sharp look in Mulder’s eye.

“Why don’t you go ahead and get your miles in,” Scully said, taking a step back and breaking the moment. “You know how to get back?”

Mulder nodded at her.

“Sure you don’t want to come along?” he asked.

“Pass,” she said, “I’ll see you at home.”

He took a few steps backward, holding her eye and then turned and loped off back down the path, eating up the distance in long, even strides.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The days turned into a week and then two. Their schedules were pretty compatible, and they usually woke up and ate breakfast at about the same time, and then Scully would leave to head onto campus.

She came back on a Thursday afternoon, holding a folder full of medical school applications, her gut churning in nervous anticipation. Her MCAT scores were good. Hopefully good enough to secure at least one full ride scholarship. She closed the door to the apartment with her head in the clouds, and it took her a moment to notice Mulder, who was standing in the middle of the living room, holding the telephone. He was just lowering it from his ear and he had a queer look on his face.

“Mulder?” Scully said, “Everything okay?”

“I just accepted a job,” he said, looking a little surprised.

“What? That’s fantastic!” Scully said, swinging her backpack down to the floor and plopping the folder of applications on top of it.

“Yeah,” he said, and then moved to the wall to hang up the phone.

“You seem surprised,” Scully said, walking toward him.

“I am,” he said, turning toward her from the wall. “It’s the one I was hoping for. I did not expect to get it.”

“What’s the position?” Scully asked, moving to stand in front of him.

“I’ll be starting at one of the best Psychology practices in the Metro area. Low on the totem pole, but they’ve offered to train me until I get licensed.”

The surprise on his face melted slowly into happiness as the news started to sink in.

On a whim, Scully wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He returned it, warmly.

“Congratulations,” she said into his shirt, then looked up into his face. “This calls for a celebration.”

“Yeah?” he said, looking down at her with a smile. She felt color spreading up her cheeks. After a second they let their hands fall away from each other. “What’d you have in mind?” he asked, taking a step back.

“Drinks,” she said, taking a step back, herself. “There’s a great dive bar right down the street.”

“When can we leave?” he asked.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They were at least four drinks in, not counting the two tequila shots she’d insisted on when they first arrived. They’d both agreed their third drink should be water, and Scully had lost count after that. She had ordered a glass of the house Chardonnay (“It’s terrible, but also four dollars,”), and Mulder appeared to be pacing himself through a large gin and tonic, while Scully told a story.

“And then we said ‘follow that car!’” Scully said.

“You didn’t,” Mulder said.

“We did,” said Scully on a laugh, “but to our surprise the cabbie didn’t share in our excitement and instead slammed on the breaks half a block down the street and told us to get out.”

Mulder threw his head back and laughed.

They had started at the bar, but moved to a dark booth in the back when the place started filling up with the after-work crowd. Rush was playing too loud on the jukebox nearby. The drinks were cheap, the tables were sticky and the lighting was bad.

“I love this place,” Mulder said, looking around.

“Me too,” said Scully, watching the way his adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed his drink. “It’s the perfect dive bar.”

Mulder leaned back in the booth and leveled a look at her.

“Tell me about Dana Scully,” he said.

“There’s not much to tell,” she said, humbly.

“Nonsense,” he said, “a smart, beautiful woman like you? I bet you’ve got a lot going on.”

She ducked her head at the compliment. She’d noticed that he peered rather than looked. There was a ribald quality to his gaze, though she found herself more intrigued than intimidated. Mulder looked at her as if she were a question to be answered and she found herself hoping to be worthy of his inquiry.

“Boyfriend?” he prodded, taking a big drink. She rolled her eyes just thinking about Ethan. “Ha!” he went on, “there’s a story there. Tell it.”

He crunched ice from his glass, the dull sound brushing across her skin like a memory. He held the dewy tumbler in long, elegant fingers and for a moment she felt like a real, live grown-up.

She told him about Ethan. She probably shared more than she should have. How they’d started dating in high school when her father retired from the Navy and they moved to Maryland. She told him about her dreams of becoming a doctor and how she’d broken up with Ethan over it. When she finished, he held up his glass.

“Fuck that guy,” Mulder said, and clinked her glass with his.

“I did,” Scully said, and Mulder choked on his drink, laughing. While he recovered, Scully handed him a napkin and leaned back. “I tell you,” she went on, “I’m thrilled to be single right now.”

Mulder cut his eyes to her.

“Tell me about Fox Mulder,” she said, diverting the conversation, “smart, handsome guy like you? I bet you’ve got a lot going on.”

He smirked at her as he brushed the front of his shirt with the napkin.

“You said no girlfriend, right?” she asked, feeling brave.

“I’m thrilled to be single right now,” he said, giving her a look she couldn’t read. The silence stretched for a moment.

“Missy said you moved back for your sister?”

“That, and it was time to come back,” he said, sighing. He started shredding bits of the napkin onto the tabletop.  “Sam is doing well in school, but that’s about it. She’s at the age where you leave home and strike out on your own but always have that parental support, that thing to fall back on, that place to go home to. Mom and Dad died just after she left for college, and… I think she feels like she was just expelled into the world before she was ready. She’s sad and angry, and I don’t quite know what to do for her. PhD in Psychology and here I am flapping in the breeze, not even able to help my own sister.”

Scully reached across the table and squeezed his arm.

He smiled self-consciously and stood. He looked brooding and slapdash in the half-light of the bar, stippled with 5 o’clock shadow and flecked with chips of light from a distant, dusty disco ball. She found herself wanting to run her hands through his sable hair and brush her lips over his cheek. She threw back the rest of her wine instead.

“We need another round,” he said.

“We really don’t,” Scully said, reaching up and feeling the end of her nose. When she had too much to drink, it went numb. She couldn’t feel it.

“Are we out celebrating me or not?” he said.

“We are.”

“Then I say we need another round,” and with that he walked to the bar, though when he came back, he was carrying two waters.

“Bartender insisted,” he said.

“He’s a good guy,” Scully said, waving in the direction of the bar. A nod from the bartender.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, drinking water and watching the bar fill up. Then Spirit of the Radio came on the jukebox and Mulder leaned back his head as if in ecstasy.

“I love this song,” he said.

“I had you pegged as an INXS guy,” Scully said.

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” he replied. He looked at her steadily. “Let’s dance.”

Scully looked skeptically towards what passed for a dance floor.

“Mulder, no one has danced here in at least a decade,” she said, thinking of a fifty-something barfly swaying by herself to Jolene.

“All the more reason,” he said, sliding out of the booth and holding out his hand. There was a rakish glint in his eye and his renegade jaw clenched once.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” she said, though she put her hand in his and let him pull her up.

“Yes, you are,” he laughed and led her to the middle of the floor.

She was definitely drunk enough because it took nothing at all for her to start dancing. The bartender, who knew her from more than a few nights out with Ellen, smiled at her and bent down under the bar. A second or two later the volume of the music went up and he stood, giving her a thumbs up. She laughed and let herself go.

When the guitar solo started in the middle of the song, Mulder leaned back and started playing an air guitar, throwing his head into it with enthusiasm.

“You’re such a dork!” Scully yelled to him over the music.

“You love it!” he yelled back.

She had to admit, she kind of did. She liked that he seemed to live his life not caring what other people thought of him. It was a lesson she should probably learn herself.

When the song ended and Tom Sawyer came on, she took a step back, and looked up at him. She was sweaty and suddenly self-conscious, feeling like a goldfish in a bowl.

“We should go home,” she said, feeling a lot drunker than she thought she’d been, “get some food.”

He stood up straight, as if gauging how he felt and swayed just a bit.

“You’re right,” he said, “we should.”

They strolled to the bar to settle their tab, and he wouldn’t hear of letting her pay.

They walked out of the bar and were surprised to find that night had fallen. The sudden silence settled over them like a heavy blanket. The air was so fresh it almost hurt to breathe it.

“You should have let me pay,” Scully said, speaking too loudly, her ears ringing with a brief tinnitus from the music. She lowered her voice, “we’re celebrating your accomplishment.”

“Well, my accomplishment is going to pay a lot better than your post-grad stipend, I guarantee you.”

“Still…” she said, and then tripped over the curb.

Mulder reached out and grabbed her arm, saving her from a face plant.

“All hands on deck!” he said, and she smiled and looked up at him gratefully. He slid his hand down her arm and took her hand. “Two blocks to go,” he said, “we got this.”

His hand was warm in hers, dry. She squeezed it. Inhibitions lowered, she could feel herself falling for him a little, against her will.

When they got to their building, there was a young woman sitting on the steps out front with her arms crossed, looking like she was on the verge of tears. When the woman heard them, she turned to look and her face registered surprise and, when her gaze dropped to their linked hands, unhappy confusion.

Scully suddenly wondered if Mulder actually did have a girlfriend and she felt her stomach reel.

“Sam!” Mulder said, dropping her hand. He lurched forward and grabbed the woman in a bear hug.

“Get off, Fox,” she said, pushing him back, “you smell like a frat party.”

Mulder’s face fell.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What’s wrong?” the woman’s voice went up an entire octave, “you told me to come here at 7:30. I’ve been sitting out here for an hour and a half!”

“Shit,” Mulder swore. “I’m so sorry.” His apology did nothing to improve her demeanor.

Mulder then seemed to remember Scully’s presence.

“Oh,” he said, “Sam, this is my new roommate Dana Scully. Scully, this is Samantha, my sister.”

“Scully?” Samantha said, and made no move to shake hands. “You’re still doing that last name thing?” Her eye roll was implied.

“Let’s go inside,” Scully said, for something to do, and pulled out her keys to unlock the building’s door. When she got the key close to the lock, she dropped the whole ring. She could hear Samantha sighing in annoyance behind her.

“So, you went out partying instead of meeting me,” Samantha said, her voice flat. “Awesome.”

Scully recovered, got the door open and they all trooped up the stairs to the apartment in silence.

Once inside, Scully knelt to pick up the backpack and envelope of applications she’d dropped by the door earlier and made her way to the stairs.

“I’ll let you two catch up,” she said, excusing herself.

Mulder threw her an apologetic look. She flopped on the bed when she got to her room, applications forgotten until tomorrow.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning, Mulder met Scully in the kitchen and wordlessly handed over two Tylenol and a glass of water. She threw back the dusty pills, and assessed him over the rim of the glass.

“Thank you,” she said, and he nodded. “Did your sister forgive you?”

“I’ve been granted a temporary reprieve,” he said, and Scully walked around him to pour herself a bowl of cereal. “She’s interning with the local police department this summer, she asked me to come down to the station in a few days so she can show me around. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be scared straight or if she’s letting me off the hook, but either way I promised to be on my best behavior.”

“What kind of internship?” Scully asked, spoon halfway to her mouth.  

“I’m not exactly sure. Some kind of Women in Law Enforcement thing. She’ll mostly be getting coffee for dispatch, I think, but occasionally she’ll get to shadow a female detective, so she’s pretty stoked.”

“Sounds cool,” Scully said. Then, “...I don’t think she likes me.”

“She was just upset last night. Totally my fault. She’ll come around.”

Mulder plopped down next to her and poured a bowl of cereal for himself.

“What’s on the docket for today?” he asked her. He poured milk into his bowl slowly until it submerged the flakes like a rising tide.

“Med school applications,” she said, her mouth half full.

“And who are the lucky schools?” he asked.

“Stanford, UCLA, Michigan State and Columbia,” she said, “they’re amongst the few still accepting applications for this fall.”

“Not Georgetown?” he said, casually.

“Georgetown, too,” she said, “I love it here. I would love to stay. I do plan to apply, but…”

“But?”

“But when I inquired, they said their spots were filled and that they rarely make exceptions.”

“Too bad,” he said.

“Too bad,” she agreed.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence.

XxXxXxXxXxX

It had taken days to fill them out, but Scully had left the post office after mailing her applications and felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She was finally going after what she herself wanted and felt jubilant at the prospect. For too long she’d let other people’s expectations for her guide her life. She walked down the sidewalk feeling lighter than air.

The dull roar of an engine on the street pulled her attention and she turned to see Mulder sitting on his motorcycle next to her, pulling off his helmet.

“I thought that was you,” he said with a smile, which she returned. “You get all your applications out?”

She nodded, grinning.

“You make it out of the local police station without having to post bail?” she asked with a smirk.

“Just barely,” he said, then reached back and unsecured a second helmet, holding it up to her. “Want to go for a ride?” he asked.

She looked at the bike skeptically. Motorcycles had always freaked her out a bit.

“Come on, Scully, it’s a Saturday, live a little.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Why not?” she said.

“Atta girl,” he said, grinning. He helped her fit the helmet over her head, securing it under her chin. He lifted her visor before putting his own helmet on, and said “Hold on tight, okay?”

He mounted the bike and she climbed up after him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. The leather jacket he wore was warm from being in the sun.

He kick-started the bike and it roared to life beneath her. She felt a thrill as he pulled away from the curb and picked up speed, the wind teasing the hairs on her bare arms. She wondered if Mulder could feel her heartbeat as it pounded against her chest and into his back.

They crossed the river and he merged onto the parkway, the bike surging forward like a tracer round. She rested her helmeted head onto his back and watched the city give way to forest, neither knowing nor caring about their destination. After about ten minutes, he pulled off into a the small parking lot of a scenic overlook, the brown water of the Potomac rushing past them at the base of the hill they were perched on. He cut the engine and she slid off the side of the bike, reaching up to take her helmet off.

Mulder followed, his gaze piercing as she shook out her hair. She set the helmet on the seat, and he did the same. She turned to look around.

“This is pretty,” she said, “I’ve never been out here.”

“Me neither,” he laughed, and shook the jacket off his shoulders.

The June day was approaching full heat and the breeze that came up off the river was muggy and rich. They walked a little way past the lot and into the shade of several large maple trees. There was a neat rock retaining wall that ran the length of the lookout, and they each hopped over and sat down on it. Far below them the river purled off toward the Chesapeake, dotted occasionally with a kayak or sailboat. The air held the decadent smell of petrichor from rain the day before.

She looked over at Mulder, at his strong profile, the chiseled set of his jaw. He turned to her and caught her looking. Smiled.

The heather grey tee shirt he wore looked overwashed and soft. She had to stop herself from reaching out and rubbing it between her fingers.

“How’s Samantha doing today?” she asked.

“Better,” he said, relieved. “She’s thrilled with this internship. It sounds like she’s really taken to it.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Scully said.

They sat in silence for a few minutes

“Hey, when do you start your new job?” she asked.

“Monday,” he said, his eyes wide. “They already have patients on the schedule.”

She put her hand on his shoulder.

“You’re about to be a real live grown-up, Mulder,” she said, “you ready?”

“Do I look ready?” he asked, pushing his shoulders back. If he’d been wearing a tie, he would have straightened it.

She turned to face him. Took the opportunity to look her fill.

“Mm… yes,” she finally said.

“There was a hesitation there, Scully,” he said playfully.

“There was no hesitation,” she played back.

“There was a decidedly skeptical hesitation.”

She pursed her lips.

“Listen, far be it from me to undermine your confidence…” she started.

“But?” he led.

“But don’t most grown men own furniture?” she teased, bumping her shoulder into his companionably.

He tilted his head back, busted.

“If that’s how you feel about it, how about you come shopping with me tomorrow?” he said.

“For furniture?” she laughed.

“That doesn’t sound like a good time?” he deadpanned.

“Let’s just go now,” she laughed again, “we’ll stack it on the handlebars and taunt the traffic cops.”

“You joke, but I’m serious. Come furniture shopping with me tomorrow.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I guess it depends,” she finally said, “will we need Frohike’s truck?”

He laughed.

“How about if I borrow the truck, but not the Frohike?”

“Deal,” she said, “And all joking aside, is there any reason in particular we can’t go this evening? I mean, I’m free, and I’d hate for a newly minted grown-up like you to develop back problems from another night on the floor.”

She bumped into him again, enjoying their repartee. His face got an odd look to it.

“Actually, I have plans tonight,” he said.

“Oh?” she said, “hot date?”

“I don’t know about hot,” he said, “but I do have a date.”

She felt her stomach drop, then remembered telling him I’m thrilled to be single right now. She felt a small moment of grief.

“Oh, do tell,” she said, sounding entirely too cheerful.

“The uh, detective that Sam is shadowing, asked me out today. I felt kind of cornered, couldn’t say no.”

Mild relief.

“Aggressive, huh?” she said.

“Something like that,” he answered. “Anyway, are we on for tomorrow? I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse,” she said.

The warm breeze sloughed through the trees and settled between them.

XxXxXxXxXxX

True to his word, after breakfast, Mulder went out and rolled back an hour later with Frohike’s truck, but not Frohike.

“He wanted me to pass along his love,” Mulder said when Scully hopped into the cab.

“Is that all?” she asked, pulling the seatbelt across her lap.

“Definitely not,” Mulder said, “but I value my life.”

The truck was a late ’70s Chevy Silverado in metallic brown. It had a manual transmission and only got AM radio. A corner of the floor was rusted out and she could see the road flying beneath them.

“What’s our first stop?” she asked, fiddling with the radio to try to get a signal.

“I’m thinking bed,” he said, “in deference to my old man body.”

She smiled and the truck rumbled on, the transmission tacky. He had to kick the clutch at every stop light.

“Know where you’re going?”

He tapped the side of his head.

“Got it all mapped out.”

The only radio station that would come in was transmitting a baseball game, so they listened to it in silence for a few minutes. Finally her curiosity got the better of her.

“So,” she said, “how was the date?”

“Not bad, actually,” he replied, stealing a look at her as if to gauge her reaction.

She made sure to keep her expression neutral, pressed the vee of her toes hard into her flip-flops.

“Oh?”

“She’s intense, but funny,” he said. “Not sure if I see it going anywhere, but she asked if I wanted to go out again.”

She could feel his eyes on her and kept staring straight ahead.

“You should go,” she said. Stop talking, Dana.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” No.  

“Oh, we’re coming up on the mattress store,” he said, “see if you can see a parking lot.”

They walked into the mattress store, eyes practically bugging out of their heads. It looked like close to an acre of nothing but bare white mattresses as far as the eye could see. There were SALE! Posters hanging above almost every section and cardboard cutouts of showcase models leaning against every third mattress.

Mulder took a step back.

“I’ll keep sleeping on the floor,” he said, “nothing is worth this.”

Scully grabbed his arm.

“Mulder,” she said, “you need, what? A bed, dresser and desk?”

He nodded.

“Then we’re practically a third of the way there. Come on.”

She pulled him along like a recalcitrant toddler.

It took about 10.2 seconds before they were met with a smiling salesman. By that point, Mulder seemed to have recovered.

The man was short, balding and entirely too chipper for his own good.

“You and the missus looking for a new mattress?” the man asked, “You know mattresses expire after eight years.”

She opened her mouth to correct him, but Mulder grabbed her arm.

“Yes,” he said, “the missus and I are looking for a new mattress. You have any newlywed discounts?”

The salesman waggled his eyebrows.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He marched off ahead of them and Scully hissed “what are you doing?”

“Trying to save a little money,” he whispered back, “go with it.”

The salesman stopped in front of a row.

“Now, this here line is your best bet for what we like to call active sleepers,” at that he gave an exaggerated wink, “you folks looking for soft or firm?”

“Oh, my wife likes it firm,” Mulder said. Scully rolled her eyes.

The salesman moved to the end of the row.

“These are going to be the firmest on this end, getting softer as you move to the left. Why don’t you two lay down on a few and see if any of these speak to you.”

A new customer walked into the store then, and the salesman excused himself and ambled over to greet them.

“I’m not going to speak to you if you keep that up, Mulder,” she said.

“Keep what up?”

“My wife likes it firm,” she repeated in a low voice.

“What?” he said, all innocence,

“I’m leaving,” she said and he grabbed her wrist as she turned.

“Wait,” he said, laughing, “I’m sorry. He’s just lobbing these softballs out there, and I gotta take a swing. I’ll stop.”

She gave him a look.

“I will,” he said, putting on a straight face, still holding onto her arm, “just help me pick out a bed and we can get out of here. Scout’s honor.”

She relented and they cautiously sat on a few mattresses before getting comfortable. Eventually they were sprawled out next to each other, debating the merits of quilt-top vs foam.

The salesman finally came back over.

“Y’all have any questions?” he asked.

“Just one,” Mulder said, propping himself up onto his elbows. The salesman looked at him expectantly, “is that newlywed discount still on the table?”

XxXxXxXxXxX

They pulled into the parking space behind the building a few hours later hauling several large boxes containing the unassembled pieces of a matching set of a dresser, desk and nightstand. The bed would be delivered later that afternoon.

They were able to haul them up the two flights of stairs with a minimal amount of arguing which both pleased and surprised Scully.

They dumped them on the floor of the living room before plopping wearily onto the sofa.

“Oh God,” Mulder said, eyeing the mess of cardboard before them, “We have to assemble them.”

“What do you mean ‘we?’”

Mulder looked at her, his lips almost pouting and she laughed.

“Oh come on, it’s not like you have to build them from scratch, they give you directions,” she said, “If you’re lucky, they’re even in English.”

“You’re making this worse.”

“And enjoying myself immensely,” she said, “Do you have any tools?”

“Do you?” he asked.

“Of course, I do,” she said.

“Please grant a moment of silence for the death of my masculinity,” he said, dropping his head.

She swatted his shoulder.

“Stop being patriarchal,” she said, “I’ll help. Let me grab my tools.”

Three hours later they were drinking iced tea on the small loveseat on their balcony while the sun sunk slowly below the horizon, the cotton candy clouds a riot of color above them.

“I’m never moving again,” Mulder said, “tell Ellen she can sleep on the couch when she gets back. Or she can sleep with you. I’m done.”

Scully chuckled and wiggled down lower into the cushions. The temperature had dropped with the sun and she was still wearing a tank top and shorts, her feet bare.

“You cold?” Mulder asked her.

She shrugged.

“A little,” she said.

“Here,” he said, and pulled off the sweatshirt he was wearing, handing it over to her.

“Thanks,” she said, pulling it over her head. It was still warm from his body and smelled like sandalwood and a little like sweat. She wanted to pull it up to her nose and give it a big whiff, but she resisted. When he put his arms back down, he rested one on the back of the loveseat behind her. He wasn’t touching her, but she could maybe tell he wanted to.

“You nervous about tomorrow?” she asked.

“A little,” he said, smiling.

He had a tee shirt on under his sweatshirt, and it was riding up a tiny bit, the skin of his hip showing. He took a sip of tea, and she wondered for a moment what he might taste like.

“You’re going to do great,” she said.

He turned to look at her, serious.

“Thanks, Scully.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said dismissively.

“I mean, for everything.”

The moment felt weighty. She could practically feel the heat from the skin on his arm above her, and knew if she touched it it would be warm and exquisitely soft.

“Tell me another random and arcane fact,” she said, settling further into the loveseat, the collar from his sweatshirt brushing her jaw.

“In New York City,” he said, turning his face to hers, “on Broadway medians between 63rd and 76th streets, biologists discovered a new species of ant.”

She raised her eyebrows at that.

“They call it the ManhattAnt,” he smiled.

“Naturally,” she smiled back.

If she let herself, she could fall in love with him; absolutely, irreversibly. It’d be as easy as taking a breath.

He drained the rest of his tea and stood. She sat up.

“You want your sweatshirt back?” she said, her hand on the hem.

He waved her back down.

“Keep it,” he said, “I know where you live.” He then jerked a thumb in the direction of his bedroom. “Gonna try out that new bed,” he said, and opened his mouth like he was about to say something else. He shook the ice left over in the glass and looked down at it. “I… I had a good day today, Scully. Thank you.”

She gave him a close lipped smile.

“Night,” he said, drifting slowly off toward his bedroom.

“Night,” she said back.

She waited until his bedroom door closed before going inside. She slept in his sweatshirt.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder had been on four more dates with Detective What’s-Her-Name (she didn’t ask) in the last five weeks (not that she was counting). He was always home by 11:00 pm, alone (not that she was paying close attention).

She’d usually be sitting on the couch studying when he walked in the door.

“How was your date?” she’d ask.

“Good,” he’d say, and wouldn’t elaborate.

Twice he sat on the couch with her after he took off his shoes, and they’d talked until they were both yawning and wondering aloud where the time went. Once, he just went to bed. Once she’d been asleep and woke up hours later to find an Aztec print blanket draped over her on the couch.

Tonight was date number five. Earlier in the day she’d gotten her second response from med schools (Michigan State had accepted her, but had been unable to offer any financial support) -- this one from Columbia, which regretted to inform her that they had already filled up all their remaining spots, but asked her to please apply again next year. That disheartening rejection on her mind, she had a nervous, anxious feeling in her gut about Mulder’s date, and was planning to go to bed early--if he came home and he wasn’t alone--or didn’t come home at all--she didn’t want to know.

At 9:03 pm, she was getting a glass of water from the kitchen in just a thin worn-out tee shirt and an old pair of running shorts from high school when she heard the key in the lock.

Mulder slid in through the door and closed it behind him. He was alone.

“Hey,” she said, surprised. “How… was your date?”

“Meh,” he said, bending over to get at his shoes. “She got a call about a case halfway through dinner and had to leave. To be honest, I was relieved.”

A lightness bubbled up from inside her, and she had trouble containing a smile.

“Oh yeah?” she said lightly.

He moved to plop heavily onto the couch, giving his lone remaining shoe a perplexed look.

“Damn lace is knotted,” he mumbled, “I can’t get it.”

She sat on the couch next to him.

“You probably need a decent fingernail,” she said, flicking hers together with the satisfying click of keratin. “Gimme your foot.”

He turned and swung his foot into her lap. She started picking at the knot, which he’d managed to pull even tighter with his efforts.

“Relieved, you said?” she tried not to sound too interested. She kept her eyes on his laces.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “She’s nice enough--pretty--but I think it’s run its course.”

“Aw,” she said, and patted his leg, “your somebody is out there, Mulder. I just know it.”

“Yeah,” he said, softly, “I’m sure of it.”

She had just gotten her thumbnail into the knot and started to get it loose when there was a knock on the door. They looked at each other, expectantly. Neither were expecting anyone.

She set his foot on the floor.

“I think I loosened it enough,” she said, “you get it from here, I’ll get the door.”

“Success!” he said, when she was a few feet from the door. He pulled off the shoe triumphantly just as she threw back the lock. She turned to smile at him, and pulled the door wide, turning toward it with a big grin still on her face.

Her face fell as soon as she registered who was standing in front of her.

“Ethan,” she said, “what are you doing here?”

“Dana,” he said, and held out a small posy of flowers toward her. She didn’t reach out to take them. “I came to apologize.”

She stood there, debating.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

She looked at him, sighed.  “I don’t need an apology, and it’s late, and… Ethan, I don’t want to do this.”

He brushed past her and came in anyway. When she turned toward him, Mulder stood from the couch, his eyes narrowed. Ethan stopped in his tracks.

“What is this?” Ethan asked.

Scully sighed, annoyed.

“You tell me, Ethan. What is this?” she asked, pointing to the flowers, “What do you want?”

“I was coming to…” he looked back and forth between her and Mulder. He looked her up and down and she suddenly felt vulnerable and small. She wasn’t even wearing a bra. She crossed her arms in front of her.

“This wasn’t about school, was it,” Ethan said, his tone turning quarrelsome. “You were cheating on me.”

“Ethan, Jesus Christ,” she said, taking a step toward him.

“Fucking ‘med school,’” he said, his face melting into a sneer, “right. It was a fucking excuse. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me-” at that, she went from annoyed to irate.

“Are you kidding?” she said, “I wrote half your papers in undergrad-”

“You barely proofread them,” he interrupted snidely, and turned to Mulder. “What’s she got you doing for her?”

“Hey, man,” Mulder said, taking a step forward, “Don’t.

“Oh,” Ethan said, slapping the posy of flowers against the side of his leg. A few petals fell to the floor, “maybe I should ask you what she’s got you doing to her.”

Mulder took another step forward.

“Scully,” he said, connecting eyes with her.

“Ethan, you need to leave,” she said.

He ignored her.

“Scully?” Ethan said, then reached out a hand and grabbed her arm. “What the fuck? You fucking slut-”

Before he could finish whatever he was about to say, Mulder’s fist came flying over Scully’s shoulder and connected solidly with Ethan’s nose. The force of the punch sent him spinning a few paces away from Scully almost into the open doorway, and when he turned and straightened blood was running down his face.

“Whad da fuck?” he said, his words garbled and nasally. He brought a hand to his face and looked to Mulder. “Good luck wid her. Frigid bitch.”

Scully was so furious she was shaking.

“First I’m a slut, now I’m frigid? Make up your fucking mind, Ethan. And get. Out.”

With that she gave him a shove and slammed the door in his face.

She leaned against it and took one bracing breath. Then she looked to Mulder, who was holding his right hand awkwardly.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Are you?” he volleyed back, concerned.

She shook her hands out, trying to release some nervous energy. Anger and horror and embarrassment all fought to get out, coming together in a clod in her throat that choked her. Tears sprung out instead.

“I mean your hand,” she finally said, moving to his side. She wiped the tears away hastily,  gingerly lifting up his hand. He winced, sucked in a breath.The skin over two knuckles was split, blood dripping lazily down three fingers. It was starting to swell.

“I think I hit a couple teeth,” he said.

“I hope you knocked them out,” she said. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” she went on gently, glad she had something to do, and pulled him lightly toward her bathroom up the stairs.

He stood at the threshold while she rummaged around for her first aid kit and looked around.

“I’ve never been in here,” he said quietly. “You have a nicer shower than me.”

She finally felt her mouth tug up into a small smile. She gingerly grabbed his injured hand and pulled him to the sink.

He let her wash and rinse his hand without words. She could feel his eyes on her, he never looked away. Finally, she sat on the edge of her tub with the first aid kit, and pulled him down next to her. She rested his hand gently in her lap as she worked butterfly bandages over his knuckles. She then wrapped it gently with gauze, securing it with a quick tuck.

“You’re going to make a great doctor,” he said earnestly, and she tucked her chin to her chest.

“This needs ice,” she said, finally raising her eyes to his. Tending to him had given her mind something to do, and now looking at him made her feel vulnerable all over again—he’d heard every accusation made in her fight with Ethan—the words were coming back to her. She looked back down, willing back the tears that threatened to spill.

Finally, she felt the fingers of Mulder's other hand lightly on her chin and she looked up. The second their eyes connected, her tears started to fall.

“You’re not frigid, Dana,” he said, his voice rumbling and soft, “you might be the warmest-hearted person I’ve ever met.”

His eyes were mossy in the bright light of her bathroom, and she felt herself tipping forward until her forehead was resting against his.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

They were still for a moment, breathing each other in. She felt a pull to him like the tide chasing the moon.

His fingers were still resting tenderly under her chin, and all it took was the slightest, smallest pressure from them and they crashed into each other, their lips tangling in a sudden, passionate kiss.

They were still sitting side by side on the edge of her bathtub, and Mulder brought his arm around her and pulled her up until they were standing, bodies pressed together in a line, their mouths all tongue and teeth.

She reached up and weaved her fingers into his hair, pulling him down to her like he was a source of water and she’d been thirsty for days.

She felt him harden against her belly, and she reached down and grabbed him over his jeans, rubbing. He moaned into her mouth and thrust against her once, twice. His injured hand was wrapped around her backside, pulling her closer, while his good hand crept up under her tee shirt and cupped roughly over her bare breast, squeezing her nipple between his thumb and the vee of his hand.

He dragged his mouth away from hers and started biting and licking at her neck.

“I want you, Scully,” he said into her skin, “God, I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.”

She was so het up in a fervor of desire and sheer wanting that she could barely form words.

“Ye-” she said, struggling to get the whole word out, “yesss.”

He leaned back for a moment and used his good hand to grab his shirt behind his head and whipped it up and off. She took the opportunity to do the same, and when they came back together, the heat from his bare chest on her nipples sent a frisson of energy down the length of her spine. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh.

“You’re cold,” he said into her mouth, and she was too interested in kissing him to answer.

Their tongues tangled together and he reached down and started pushing off his jeans and boxers, kicking them away without breaking contact with her. She was short enough that when she reached down to do the same, she had to bend down away from him, and when she stood back up, he was standing in her open shower door, turning the water on.

He turned back toward her, his cock pointing at her like a divining rod.

“I’m going to warm you up,” he said, looking at her like a cat stalking prey.

She rove her eyes over him once before he got to her, and her mouth went dry at the sight of him. He was all lean muscle and smooth skin; he looked like he’d been cut from marble.

He got to her and pulled her tightly to him, his skin like fever along the length of her. He pulled her with him slowly backwards, and when they got to the shower, it was steaming. He maneuvered her inside the stall and positioned her under the hot spray; she felt her nipples pucker in the air.

He leaned down and licked water off her shoulder and then lowered himself slowly to the floor, pausing at her breasts to suck one nipple into his mouth, and then the other, water sluicing down his face like rain. When his knees finally reached the floor, he ran his hand gently down her thigh until his hand was around the back of her knee, which he lifted slowly, his eyes going to hers for permission.

She could only look back and lick her lips as he pulled her leg up and over his shoulder. His mouth was an inch from the throbbing, aching skin at her center, water running down over her breasts and into his hair.

Ethan had gone down on her only a few times in all their years together, regarding the act distastefully as something of a chore. But here was Mulder, kneeling before her, who looked at her reverently, as though he were about to unwrap a gift.

Scully reached behind herself to brace a hand against the shower wall, feeling dizzy. When his tongue darted out to part the folds of her labia, she gasped. Her other hand went to his head, threading her fingers through his dark coiffure, which was as thick and smooth as a martin’s.

He reached his hands up and under her, pulling her by the ass tightly to his face, a long train of gauze unraveling from his injured hand and hanging limply in the wet spray.

In high school, Melissa had loaned her a romance novel where a pirate referred to his conquest’s genitals as a “cunny,” and that word was all she could think of as Mulder lapped at her, making her feel as flushed and ripe as a rum wench.

Mulder licked and licked, making small, satisfied noises, the shower pushing needles of heat into her hair and back. Cunny, she thought.

He removed his hands from her ass only long enough to yank the rest of the gauze off his hand, and before she could utter a protest, he had stuck one long finger slowly up inside of her and began rubbing at her G spot in time with his tongue. She let out an involuntary moan, and could feel Mulder’s answering smile on her tender flesh.

“Let go,” he said gently into her, and then proceeded to suck her clit against his tongue. She came so suddenly and unexpectedly that she felt her knees go limp under her, and Mulder grabbed her and held her steady while she rode out the waves of pleasure, his name a prayer on her lips.

When she came back to herself, he was standing, one arm wrapped around her middle and the other in the wet tangle of her hair, looking at her with satisfied affection.

She reached down and grabbed him boldly, his cock hot and thick in her hand. His eyes fluttered closed and he rocked into her.

“Bed,” she said, and reached around him to shut off the water. That seemed to rouse him and he reached down and grabbed her under the ass, lifting her easily up so she could wrap her legs around him. His mouth descended on hers as he walked her out of the shower, the air hitting the water on their skin. She suddenly felt cool everywhere but where their bodies were touching: their mouths, her legs around his waist, his cock bobbing up into the cleft between her legs.

He lowered her gently onto her bed, perched in between her legs, her hair fanned about her head in thick, wet ropes. He leaned back.

“Condoms?” he asked.

“Drawer,” she said, and nodded her chin toward her bedside table. She propped herself up on her elbow and pulled a hair off of her tongue.

He rolled away from her and pulled a condom from the drawer, tearing it open as he settled himself back between her legs. He had started to roll it down over himself when he paused.

“This, uh,” he said, somewhat sheepishly, “might not fit.”

She looked down at him in alarm.

“Do you have any?” she asked him, and he nodded at her, a smile coming back to his face.

“Be right back,” he said, and leaned down to give her a quick kiss before he tumbled out of her bedroom door.

Scully looked around her room and expected to see it changed. Everything looked exactly the way it had, she realized, and found that the only thing that had changed was her. Her breathing started to even out and she flitted her eyes to her bedroom door, doubt suddenly creeping into her subconscious. Should she be doing this?

Before she could plumb the depths of that feeling too closely, Mulder filled the doorway suddenly, an adonis in all his naked glory, and he smiled at her triumphantly. She smiled tremulously back and had a thought to say something when he grabbed her foot in his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. His touch calmed her nerves and she felt suddenly re-centered.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows while he rolled the new condom down and then he was back on the bed, crawling up her body like a panther, and his mouth found hers once again.

As soon as his body pressed itself toward hers, she lifted a leg and wrapped it around his waist, her psyche entirely back in the moment.

“You ready?” he asked her, his honey-over-sandpaper voice rolling over her skin like a cat’s tongue.

She nodded and he reached down and guided himself into her slowly. As wet as she was, she still felt tight, too tight, and when she winced, he stilled instantly.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked in concern.

“No,” she said quickly, “it’s--just go slow.”

She willed her muscles to relax, one set at a time, starting at her toes and working her way up her body and after a moment she felt him slide in more and they both hissed with pleasure.

The more he moved, the better it felt, and after a while she wondered how she’d ever managed to live without this. Without him.

She bit her lip and suppressed a moan, and his pace increased, just a fraction, the look on his face one of either pleasure or pain. He hooked his thumb into her mouth and she sucked it, licked it clean. It tasted of salt, a little bit like her, the dry tang of latex. He pulled it out of her mouth and reached it between them, sweeping it urgently over her clit.

“Come with me,” he whispered into her ear, then pulled back to look into her eyes.

She concentrated on the sensations, trying not to lose herself in his gaze, and soon enough she felt another orgasm coming on, bit her lip and nodded at him. He surged up into her hard and they were both gone, eyes clamped closed, blood roaring in their ears.

He slumped down next to her, shifting his weight to his side, his penis still inside of her.

“Jesus,” he said, his tone reverential, “Jesus.”

She remained silent, feeling the bed under her, her duvet cover damp from shower water. She felt tears prick her eyes, overcome with emotion and release. She was afraid of what had happened, of what would happen, of the feelings he evoked inside of her.

He kissed her temple and then stood to dispose of the condom in the bathroom, coming back to the bed with water in her cup from the sink. He handed it to her.

“Here,” he said, and she smiled gratefully at him and drank the whole thing.

He reached for the empty cup and set it down on her bedside table, then sat on the edge of the bed.

“So,” he said, smiling at her, half amused, half anxious.

“So,” she said, and had trouble meeting his eyes.

“I think your ex-boyfriend is a bit of a douche,” he said.

At that she laughed and looked at him.

“Yeah,” she said.

He held her gaze a moment.

“You okay?” he asked, “I get that tonight,” he waved his hand around as if encompassing everything, “was a lot.”

“Yeah,” she lied, “how’s your hand?”

He looked down.

“Bleeding again,” he said.

She winced.

“Worth it,” he said.

“Ethan was lying,” she said suddenly, turning her face away, “I’m the one who carried him through school. God, that-”

“-Hey” he stopped her. Put a hand on her knee over the covers. She pulled the sheet up over her breasts, sniffling, feeling exposed. “It’s okay,” he said, “don’t give him another thought. He doesn’t deserve it.”

She took a deep breath, nodded.

“Did the band-aids at least stay on?” she asked him nodding toward his hand.

He looked down and held up his hand.

“Yes,” he said, smugly.

“Let me rewrap it,” she said, and grabbed the nearest thing to the bed to throw on. It was his Oxford sweatshirt. She put it on, realized what it was and looked to him guiltily.

“It looks better on you,” he said, “I meant it when I said ‘keep it.’”

It fell halfway to her knees, so she didn’t bother with anything else and padded softly to the bathroom. She peed quickly, washed her hands and brought fresh gauze to the bed. She found Mulder under the covers, sitting against the headboard, smiling at her shyly.

“This okay?” he said.

She paused a moment and then nodded to him. It only took a minute to rewrap his hand.

“This really needs some ice, Mulder,” she said, getting into the other side of the bed. The second she was settled, he reached for her.

“But that would mean leaving this bed,” he said, “and that is the last-” he paused to kiss her behind her ear, which sent a shiver down her spine, “thing I want to do.”

She turned in his arms so that she was the little spoon, and settled in, feeling his large hands on her stomach and his breath in her hair.

“Good night, Mulder,” she said.

He squeezed her.

“‘Night.”

He was asleep long before she was, her thoughts swirling and echoing in her mind. Eventually, his long, even breaths calmed and centered her, and she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When she woke the next morning, it was to a soft kiss on her neck. It was the Saturday morning of the long Labor Day weekend, she remembered. She inhaled and rolled over. Mulder was kneeling onto the bed over her, wearing his boxers and holding onto the clothes he’d shed the night before.

“Morning,” he said, smiling. “I gotta go take a shower. Sam’s coming over this morning.”

“Okay,” she said, and he leaned down and kissed her on the lips.

He pulled back and gave her a long, fond look.

“Maybe we can all eat breakfast together,” he said, then shot her a toothy grin, “I’m starving.”

She hadn’t seen Samantha since that first night when they’d initially met, when she and Mulder were tipsy and Samantha was irritated with them and upset. She felt a low throb of embarrassment and anxiety in her gut. She got up to take a shower as well.

When she got downstairs, she was hit with the smell of coffee and toast and found Mulder already banging around in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he said, “I just buzzed Samantha up. She said she has a surprise. I hope it’s donuts… You want some eggs?”

She shook her head and went for the pot of coffee, fresh anxiety coursing through her. Mulder came up behind her and put his hands on her hips, kissing her neck, and she shied away sideways like a nervous filly.

“Scully?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

The doorbell rang. He backed away from her, looking confused, and Scully couldn't bring herself to make eye contact. She busied herself by pouring a cup of coffee.

She heard the door open and excited female chatter, then Samantha’s voice said “Surprise!”

“Debbie,” Mulder said, his voice filled with dismay.

Scully moved to the doorway of the kitchen and watched Samantha and another woman come into the apartment. Sam had a small stack of paper in her hand and the other woman was holding a bottle of champagne. The women were laughing and she watched as the older woman leaned in and pressed a kiss to Mulder’s surprised lips.

“Hi!” she said, sweetly, “Sam told me she was coming over here this morning, and I thought I’d tag along and apologize for last night.” She held up the bottle, “Mimosas, anyone?” She looked over at Scully expectantly.

Scully finally got a good look at her and her jaw almost dropped. Mulder had said she was pretty, but the woman was downright stunning. She was at least 5’9”, with long, thin legs that reached up into verdant hips. She had an almost pinched waist, a full, high bust, and a long elegant neck. High cheekbones, lush lips, gorgeous, big, brown eyes and a cascade of wavy brown hair completed her look. It occurred to Scully that she herself was wearing an oversized tee shirt and a ratty pair of sweatpants, her hair hanging wet and limp over her shoulders.

Mulder seemed to snap out of his surprise.

“Ah,” he said, shaking his head, “welcome. Um. Deb, this is my roommate, Dana Scully, Scully, this is Detective Debbie Winther, Sam’s mentor at the police department.”

And your girlfriend, Scully couldn’t help but finish for him in her head.

“Nice to meet you,” she said instead, feeling rooted in place.

“Oh my gosh, you too!” Debbie said enthusiastically, moving over to give Scully a buss on the cheek and a tight hug.

She even smelled like heaven, Scully thought, an expensive perfume like Chanel or Hermés.

“Can I throw this in the fridge?” Debbie went on, holding up the bottle of champagne, and then moved past Scully without waiting for an answer.

Mulder caught Scully’s eye and threw her an apologetic, horrified look. When Scully cut her eyes to Samantha, the young woman was watching them closely, a shrewd look on her face.

“Here,” Samantha said to Mulder, her tone a little frosty, and pushed the stack of papers into his hands, “your mail was falling out of your box. I grabbed it.”

Sam shot a look at Scully and then moved to the couch. Mulder shuffled absently through the stack, moving slowly into the room.

Scully felt like she’d been caught cheating and could feel her cheeks burn red.

“Oh!” Mulder said suddenly, his eyes still on the mail in his hands. “Scully.” He looked at her, held up an envelope. “Stanford,” he said.

He walked over and handed the envelope to Scully, then said in a low voice, “Do you want some privacy to open it?”

She looked at him in thankful relief when Debbie walked back in from the kitchen.

“What’s this?” she said brightly.

“A letter from Stanford, apparently,” Samantha said, her eyes boring into both Scully and her brother.

“Something exciting?” Debbie asked.

“Uh, Scully applied to med school there, she’s been waiting to hear back,” Mulder said.

“Oh my gosh, you have to open it!” Debbie said. Mulder looked pained. “What?” Debbie went on, “bad news, we drink; good news, we toast!”

Scully held the envelope in front of her.

“Yeah,” she said, unable to take her eyes off of it.

She took a breath and tore it open. She held the letter, reading it, the paper in her hands shaking. She suddenly felt weak, and sat down heavily in the chair next to her.

“Scully?” Mulder said softly.

“I got in,” she finally said shakily, “full ride scholarship.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder bent down to get a better look at her face, his eyes shining.

“You did it…” he said.

She felt a tremulous smile rise up her cheeks.

“Amazing!” Debbie said enthusiastically, then ducked back into the kitchen. She emerged a moment later with the bottle of champagne and ripped the foil off, then expertly twisted off the cork. A little bit of bubbly ran out the top of the bottle and foamed down her fingers. “To Doctor Dana Scully!” she said, and then handed Scully the bottle.

Scully took one look at Mulder and then brought the bottle to her lips, knocking back a slug. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and handed him the bottle.

“I’ll get glasses,” he said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Scully looked back down at the letter, and continued reading.

“Congratulations, Dana,” Samantha said flatly, “will you be moving to Stanford soon?”

“Uh,” Scully said, her eyes rising to Mulder’s sister, “yes. In just a couple of weeks, it looks like.”

Samantha nodded at her and then cut her eyes to her brother, who was emerging from the kitchen with three juice glasses.

“I couldn’t find champagne flutes,” he said apologetically.

He poured Scully a glass, and then one for Debbie. He then looked at Samantha. “You’re not 21,” he said.

Samantha rolled her eyes.

“Oh, come on,” Debbie said, “we’re celebrating. Anyway, you could legally drink when you were younger than she is now. She should be grandfathered in. Pour her one. It’s not like I’m going to arrest you.”

“You can have mine,” Scully said, and held it out to her.

“No thanks,” Samantha said.

The tension in the room got thick quickly. Debbie was having none of it.

“She’s having mine,” she said, and walked her glass over to Samantha. She then took the glass that Mulder was holding and leaned into him. “We need to toast the accomplishments of your incredible roommate, Fox, I’d hop to and get yourself a glass.”

Scully couldn’t help it, she liked the woman.

When Mulder came back in, he raised his glass and gave Scully a significant look.

“To Dr. Scully,” he said.

“To Dr. Scully,” the others repeated after him.

Scully brought the champagne to her lips. It felt like fire all the way down.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When Mulder closed the door on Samantha and Debbie, he immediately turned to Scully.

“God, I am so sorry. I had no idea she was coming and-”

“It’s fine, Mulder,” she said, though it was not fine. She was not fine.

“I’ll call her later, break it off with her,” Mulder said, moving over to her, and Scully cut him off again.

“Don’t,” she said. Mulder peered at her.

The whole morning would have been incredibly awkward had Debbie Winther not been engaging, enthusiastic, and an altogether fun person to be around. Whenever she stood next to Mulder, Scully couldn’t help but think what a handsome couple they made. Samantha eventually warmed up a little under Debbie’s gentle prodding.

The only really awful moment was when Debbie excitedly told Mulder that she had managed to get a cabin out on the Chesapeake for the long weekend and hoped she could take him out there this afternoon for a romantic getaway for a couple of days.

Mulder politely told her he would probably have to move a few things around and would call her.

“Scully?” Mulder said, breaking into her thoughts.

“She’s really nice, Mulder,” Scully said, “in fact, she’s great.”

Mulder looked at her in confusion.

“Mulder, I’m going to be leaving in a few weeks and-”

“I don’t care,” said, interrupting her, “Scully last night was… I don’t care if you’re leaving, I want to be with you.”

Scully’s heart felt like it was going to beat itself out of her chest.

“It was a mistake,” she whispered. It hurt just thinking it. Saying it made her sick. “Last night was a mistake.”

He stumbled back, as if stung by a jasper.

“What?” he said.

“It was a mistake. I’m leaving for Stanford. How could this even work?”

He saw an opening. Moved back toward her and grabbed her hand.

“We’ll make it work,” he said, “we’ll figure it out. Maybe I move out there.”

“Mulder, your life is here, your job,  your sister-” Scully thought of the way Samantha had looked at her that first night. How easy she’d been with Detective Winther this morning. It was almost as if he was reading her thoughts.

“Don’t worry about my sister. She’ll come around. She’s incredibly loyal— she thought I was still dating Debbie, knew something had happened between you and me-”

“How?” she cut in.

“She can read me like a book, Scully. Listen, don’t worry about her, I’ll talk to her-“ he said.

She pulled away from him.

“Your sister aside, medical school is going to be all engrossing, I won’t have time. I -- It’s the first thing I’ve ever done for myself.”

“And I would never get in the way of that, Scully. Med school can come first. Should come first. I’ll take whatever you have left, even if it’s just scraps.”

She didn’t want that for him. He deserved so much more.

“No,” she said.

“But I thought-” he said.

“No,” she whispered and took a step back.

His jaw clenched and rippled under the surface of his skin, like the groundswell before a volcano blew its top.

He put his hand on his chest. “I know you feel this, too,” he said, his voice somewhere between anger and a caress.

She said nothing, but turned and walked up the stairs, tears spilling down her cheeks. She was doing this for him. Wasn’t she?

She looked over the railing and he was still standing there watching her.

‘

“I don’t,” she said, and ran the rest of the way to her room

XxXxXxXxXxX

A few minutes later, she heard the front door slam and then the sound of his motorcycle tearing up the street. Her world felt foggy and unreal. Not knowing what else to do, she picked up the phone.

When Melissa answered her call, Scully could barely talk through her tears.

“Dana?” Melissa said, her voice tinny through the earpiece, “Dana, slow down. What’s going on?”

She told her sister everything. Melissa listened patiently, asked pointed questions.

“Missy, I feel like I made the right choice and the wrong one, all at the same time,” she said when she was done.

“Sometimes there’s no one right answer, Dana. I haven’t learned much in my short time on this earth, but I have learned that.”

Scully sighed into the phone.

“Tell me, then,” Missy said, “What have you made the right choice about?”

“Med school,” Scully answered definitively. “Everything inside myself tells me that’s the right choice.”

“Then what’s the wrong one?”

“Mulder,” she said, with equal determination. “What I just said to him. Driving him away. Everything about it feels wrong, but I can’t consolidate the two. His life is here. And mine is about to be eaten up on the other side of the country.”

“Relationships have survived worse,” Missy said.

“Are you saying I made a mistake?”

“I think you said it, Dana,” her sister said gently. “I think you owe it to yourselves to at least give it a chance.”

“I need to talk to him,” Scully said, almost to herself. “I hope it’s not too late.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

She waited hours for him to come home. She mostly sat on the couch chewing her nails to the quick, imagining every scenario under the sun. Dark clouds moved in just before sunset, and the sky took on an ominous color and mood.

She was standing to switch on a lamp when she heard a soft knocking at their door. She rushed to it, swung it open, hoping it was him.

It was a different Mulder. Samantha stood there, her hand still raised from knocking.

“Dana!” she said in surprise, and then got a good look at what Scully assumed were her red-rimmed eyes and pallorous skin. “Are you okay?”

Scully sniffed and wiped her nose, didn’t answer. Sam stood there a beat and pushed on.

“I came to apologize,” she said, her words in a rush, “I was being a shit, and what you and my brother do with your lives isn’t any of my business. I know you’re leaving town soon, and I wanted to just… clear the air.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Scully said, looking down and away, embarrassed.

“I do. So… I’m sorry.”

Scully gave her a weak smile.

“Do you... know where your brother is?” she asked.

Samantha looked chagrined.

“I haven’t talked to him, but… Debbie said he had called and said he’d go up to the Bay with her this weekend. She left a couple of hours ago, I… I think Fox went with her.”

Scully nodded dumbly. She felt like the floor had opened under her.

“My shift at the station starts in a few minutes,” Sam went on, “I’ve got to get going.”  She reached out and squeezed Scully’s arm briefly, then turned away and left.

When Scully closed the door and turned back into the apartment, she felt like the air had gone out of the room. Everywhere she looked, she saw a memory of the two of them. She needed out, she needed air.

She grabbed her running shoes and slid them on, not even tying them very well. She took her keys from the hook and fled out onto the street.

The sky was still lit, but barely, a yellowish ozone tinge to the air. She walked with her head down, not really having a destination in mind. She found herself at the mouth of the local park.

Moths were barnstorming the streetlamps that were scattered throughout it, and there was a steady crowd of people streaming toward the street; a soccer league had just finished for the night.

There were kids sucking on orange wedges, cleats with laces tied together draped over shoulders and around necks. A boy chased his sister, trying to get her to smell his shin guards. Somewhere off in the distance a coach or referee blew one sharp bleat on a whistle.

Scully shouldered her way past them all, feeling numb. There was a low rumble in the distance--either a truck or thunder, Scully could not tell which, and did not care. Once she was away from the thinning crowd, she walked deeper into the park and eventually sat on a bench under a large maple tree, the bottom of the leaves lighter than the tops, like the belly of a fish.

Time passed as did people, and both seemed to get fewer and farther between, the minutes slowing like dull drawn out heartbeats. A teenager gave her a disinterested glance and pulled his hood up over his head and walked on. A woman walking a pomeranian passed the other way, the dog pausing to sniff at Scully’s shoes.

One more low rumble, and Scully finally came back to herself; thunder. The wind had picked up and cooled off, the sounds of the trees above her gradually turning from a salubrious psithurism to an ominous rattle. She wasn’t wearing a coat and was starting to get cold.

She stood and looked around, trying to get her bearings. It wasn’t a large park, but it was long, and she was fairly far from the exit to the street. After a minute of walking, she thought she heard the shuffle of footsteps behind her and turned to look--there was no one there. When she turned back there was a person standing directly in front of her, appearing as if out of thin air. It was the teenager who had walked by her before--he looked older than she originally thought and his hood, which she realized now was more of a cloak, was pulled low over his face. He was holding a knife, and his gaze was intense. She felt the dump of adrenaline in her bloodstream.

He didn’t say anything, just stood in front of her, staring at her darkly.

“What do you want?” she finally asked him, sounding braver than she felt.

He mumbled something she couldn’t make out, shifting on his feet.

She had taken a self-defense course her sophomore year of undergrad, and her mind reeled trying to remember all that she had learned.

She felt the cold bite of her keys in her hand and tried to shift them as subtly as she could to get them between her fingers. He noticed and raised the knife.

“Don’t,” he said in a heavy accent, and she froze.

Scream, scream, scream the voice of her instructor came back to her, and she took a deep breath, just as the man in front of her started to twitch. She got the first “H-” of a blood curdling HELP! out before he made a move, and everything after that seemed to happen in both slow-motion and fast-forward.

He swung out with a fist which glanced off her stomach, rendering her scream mute and then slashed at her with the knife. She managed to get her arm up and out of the way and took a swing back at him with the fist holding her keys. Her punch glanced off his elbow and he moved forward towards her. Instinct took over and she brought her knee up for a groin shot. Her aim was off and she kneed him in the thigh instead, grazing it off the inside of his leg as he moved to defend himself.

Momentum carried her forward and him back, and she felt a dull blow to her left arm that didn’t hurt much. His free hand reached out with the speed of a snake and grabbed her wrist, yanking it back. Her keys went flying.

“Bitch!” he shouted at her and twisted her hand back until it was behind her and he was holding her from behind, his chest to her back. Adrenaline thrummed through her and her ears roared. She could feel the point of the knife just pressing into her side.

In one last ditch push of effort, she lifted her right foot up and slammed it down into the arch of his foot, connecting with a sickening crunch, just as her left elbow smashed into the arm holding the knife, which he dropped. It tinked onto the pavement of the path below them just as he gave a hollow grunt, his grip on her loosening.

She twisted away and ran, another dump of adrenaline boosting her forward. After a quick burst of speed, she risked a look behind her.

Nothing. Her attacker seemed to have dissolved as quickly as he had appeared, and she tripped in surprise, landing hard on her knees and hands.

It was then she noticed the blood on her arm. It was bright red and running thickly from a gash just below her elbow. The realization brought her back to herself, and the cramp that had been forming in her side from what she had assumed was running turned into a burn. She reached around herself with her uninjured hand and it came away dark with blood.

She felt another wave of panic and bile rose in her throat. She looked around. Her attacker was still gone, but so was everyone else. The park was empty and she was nowhere near the exit.

She rose to her feet and stumbled a few paces before catching sight of a small outbuilding, backlit by a dim light. The building was most likely used to store lawn mowers and the other horticultural implements needed to maintain a park. She made her way toward it, feeling a little weaker with each step.

Another low rumble of thunder cut through the air and she felt the first few stinging drops of rain start to fall. She finally got to the building and lurched around the corner toward the light.

The first good fortune of the day: a phone booth stood sentry beside the building, the blue plastic binder that should have housed a phone book hung down empty, limp as a dead bird. She threw up a silent prayer that the phone itself worked.

She floundered forward and picked the receiver up off of the hook. Dial tone. A relieved sob fell from her lips.

She dialed the operator and asked for emergency services just as the rain came down in a deluge. She slumped to the ground under the booth, giving halting, hissed information to a dispatcher, blood seeping into the ground beneath her knees.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She was separated from the rest of the patients in the ER by only a thin curtain that was occasionally thrown back with a curt shhtt! by any number of hospital personnel, quickly and at random. She flinched every time.

She was wearing an ill-fitting grey sweatsuit provided to her by the police officers who came to take her statement and her clothes, as evidence. She was allowed to keep her shoes, for which she was grateful. They were almost dry, though marked by a Pollack-like splatter of blood, mud and rain water. She had eight stitches in her arm, nineteen in her side, and a prescription for an antibiotic which she clutched tightly in her hand.

Shhtt! The curtain pulled back once again, this time admitting a nurse named Carmen--the woman was in her 50s and overweight, her hair pulled back in a dark bun with wiry strands of silver running throughout. She smiled at Scully, revealing a mouth full of crooked teeth. She’d had a tendency to call Scully “honey,” which Scully wanted to attribute to her sweet, maternal-like nature, but probably had to do with the fact that she couldn’t remember her name.  

“You’re almost out of here, darlin’,” she said, mixing it up a bit as she dipped her head to look Scully in the eye. “The doctor is filling out your discharge papers, now. These,” she handed Scully a few pieces of paper that were printed in faded dot-matrix ink, “are your after-care instructions. Ibuprofen for the pain. You can take up to 600 ml safely, every six hours.”

Scully nodded mutely and folded the papers around the smaller prescription. Nurse Carmen patted her leg gently.

“Do you have someone you can call to come get you? It’s late.”

Scully glanced up at the clock on the wall -- it was nearly 3:30 am. She flipped through her mental rolodex and came up empty.

“I… I don’t have my keys,” she told the woman in a halting voice, “he knocked away my keys.”

“Do you have a Super or a roommate that can let you in?”

At the word “roommate” Scully felt tears burn in her eyes unbidden, but nodded at the nurse. Gary, their building manager, would be cranky as hell about it, but would let her in. She tried not to think about Mulder, and of course could only picture him on the porch of some oceanside cottage, sitting in a bench swing with Debbie while they fed each other crabcakes and drank red wine.

Shhtt! This time the curtain produced her doctor, who had been kind enough, but always seemed too busy or distracted to meet her eye. His head was always buried in a chart or steeped in concentration six inches from her skin, sewing her back together.

“All right Miss Scully, you’re free to go,” he said, snapping a folder closed. “Have you been assigned a detective yet for your case?”

“No, they said they’d call me,” she answered, and thought but with my luck…

He nodded and walked away, and Carmen touched her elbow and told her which way to go to get to the hospital exit. She passed by a pay phone near the door to the outside, but realized she didn’t have any change and gave the nurse at the nearest station her sob story before the woman, looking bored, handed her the station phone’s receiver and let her call a cab.

She headed outside to wait.

There was an ambulance idling just outside the emergency bay, the EMTs leaning against the side of the rig, drinking coffee and joking with each other. She couldn’t remember if they were the ones who had helped bring her to the hospital, so turned the other way and walked forty feet down the sidewalk, embarrassed.

She hadn’t asked how long it would be until the cab showed up and wondered how many were even on duty this time of night.

The pavement was damp, as if it had only just stopped raining, and it was still cold. She rubbed her hands together and stamped her feet to keep warm, the movement jarring the wound in her side. She felt close to tears.

She heard the roar of a motor coming up the empty road, but a quick glance proved that it wasn’t her cab, just a motorcycle tearing up the drive, going too fast for conditions. She wondered if maybe the driver was hurt when he skidded to a stop under the overhang directly in front of the ER doors.

The rider swung off his bike just as the two EMTs pushed off the ambulance, chiding him and telling him he couldn’t park there. The rider ignored them and whipped off his helmet, about to trot into the doors of the hospital when Scully recognized him and shouted his name.

“Mulder?!”

His head whipped toward her voice and then he came running, his face a mask of worry.

“Scully!” he shouted as he approached. He slowed only when he was nearly on top of her and reached out two hands, only to whip them back, as if afraid he might hurt her. “Scully,” he said again, “God! Are you okay?”

“How-” she said, not quite believing it was him, “what are you doing here?”

“I just found out,” he said, stopping short then stumbling into speech again. “That you were attacked. Jesus, I thought the worst.” He reached a hand out again, but didn’t touch her. “Are you okay?”

He must have driven in the rain. His jeans were soaked through and his hands looked red and chapped.

“Scully,” he said, again, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, slowly. She wanted to be dismissive, but she was in too much pain. “I’m -- I’m cut,” she said, raising up her arm to show him the stitches. “And here,” she said, pointing to her side.

“Jesus,” he said, “Will you be able to ride the bike? I need to get you home. Shit.” He looked around, “you can’t ride like this, we need to get you in a car.”

“No!” she said, and his head whipped back to her. “I can ride. Just… Please just take me home.”

He looked at her a long moment and then nodded, shrugging off his leather jacket to put around her shoulders. He helped her gingerly get it on, and then reached down to zip it for her. The inside of the jacket felt like silk, and was dry and warm. He put his arm around her and led her to the bike, the EMTs looking on silently, sipping their coffee and staring unabashedly.

He got her on the bike first, unzipped her jacket a bit to put her care instructions and prescription in the inside pocket, and then delicately lowered the helmet over her head, securing it before putting on his own. He got on, careful not to jostle her.

She was able to wrap her arms around him--luckily even the injured one--without much pain, and his body felt wonderfully warm and solid in front of her. He kicked the bike on, and he drove as carefully back to their apartment as he had driven pell-mell to get to her.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When they got back to the apartment, she was stiff, bone tired, and she wanted to tell him she’d made a terrible mistake, but she couldn’t find the words.

He escorted her to her bedroom door and hovered there, an energy radiating off of him that fairly trembled. She turned to him, one hand on the doorknob, and looked at him expectantly.

“Did he… hurt you?” Mulder asked. “Other than…” he gestured vaguely to her arm.

“Hurt me?” she asked, confused, and the look on his face broke her heart. Oh. Oh. “No,” she rushed out, and put a hand on his arm. “This is the extent of it. I got mugged, Mulder. That’s it.”

He must have rushed to the hospital without any information. She could only imagine all the dark scenarios running through his head.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said, “Okay…”

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she said, and he nodded.

“Call out if you need anything. At all.”

She took her hand off the door handle.

“I’ll leave the door open, just in case,” she said.

He nodded and backed away slowly, throwing her several concerned looks as he descended the stairs.

She fell into bed and slept for 12 hours.

XxXxXxXxXxX

At 4:00pm, she hovered at the top of the stairs, her tongue thick with sleep in her mouth, her side and arm hurting. Her hair was a mess and she was afraid of what lay at the bottom of the stairs. Of facing the day, facing Mulder, facing her future. She thought of the dolly zoom in Hitchcock’s Vertigo, and placed her foot on the first step.

Mulder was waiting on the couch and leapt to his feet when he saw her.

“I was getting worried,” he said.

“Post-shock sleep,” Scully shrugged.

“How are you feeling?”

In truth, she was feeling so many things they seemed to bottleneck in her throat and render her speechless.

Finally, she just said, “Fine.”

He nodded at her, letting the silence settle around them, and it occurred to her that he was using a psychologist’s trick--waiting for her to fill the silence. She smiled to herself and let him have the round.

“How did you know?” she asked, wanting to know since he’d shown up at the hospital on his motorcycle like Steve McQueen. “That I’d been attacked? Where to find me?”

He sat down on the couch and she gingerly lowered herself next to him.

“Sam called,” he said, “ she was working at dispatch when your call came in. When I walked in the door, the phone had been ringing off the hook. She called and called. I’m so sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

“You drove all the way down from the Chesapeake? In the rain?”

He looked at her, confused.

“I never went to the Bay,” he said, cocking his head to the side.

“You- what?” Scully said, sure she hadn’t heard right.

“I never went to the Bay with Debbie,” he said, “I went over to talk to her and break things off, like I said I would.”

Scully felt like the top of her head had lifted off and floated away.

“But Samantha said-” Scully started.

“Sam only knew what Debbie had told her the last time she saw her. We never went to the Chesapeake. I told Deb I wanted to see her before the trip, but only so I could break it all off. I ended up telling her everything. We sat and talked for hours…  She helped me figure out what to do.”

“What to do?” Scully said, feeling like pages had been torn out of an instruction book she’d been trying to follow.

Mulder looked down at the floor and then raised his eyes to her.

“I’m not the kind of guy who can date a woman… when I’m in love with someone else.”

Scully felt a surge of hope and happiness so overwhelming she wasn’t sure what the look on her face was. Mulder read it as something else all together.

“Look, I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel the same way. And I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, and I swear going forward I will keep it to myself, but for weeks I’ve felt like this and I thought there might be a chance you felt it, too. But you don’t, and I respect that. I just… I needed to say it. I needed to say it out loud. Once.”

She felt light and heavy all at once, elemental. Lit from the inside, like she’d swallowed a mouthful of ginger.

He stood suddenly and ran his hands through his hair until it stood on end.

“This is all my fault,” he said, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Scully was taken aback.

“Your fault? Mulder-” she said.

“I shouldn’t have pushed myself on you,” he said, “after Ethan was here. You were hurt and vulnerable and- you said it was a mistake. It was. The mistake was mine.”

He looked to the ceiling, shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You didn’t push yourself on me, Mulder,” Scully said, refusing to let him take on responsibility for anything that had happened in the last 24 hours. She took a bracing breath. “And the only mistake was mine. When I told you that that night didn’t mean to me what it did. When I let you think for one second that I don’t feel the same way you do.”

His eyes snapped to hers.

She stood and walked to him, his mossy eyes searching and perspicuous.  He was miles deep and a fathom tall. She realised in that moment--and she would be able to look back and remember it clearly--that to love him had an inevitable feeling. Inevitable as gravity. As death and taxes. She grabbed his hand.

“My life right now is as tumultuous and up in the air as it has ever been and might ever be. I’ve been figuring out who I am on my own. I’m giving up what I thought I wanted out of my career and life for what I know I want. I’m about to move 3,000 miles away. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I fell in love with my roommate.”

As he looked at her, a smile blossomed on his face and reached his eyes. He squeezed the hand she was holding.

“I’m sorry I pushed you away. Frankly, this,” she put her other hand on his chest, “scares me. But I also know I would regret not at least trying to be with you. I’d regret it until the day I died. I didn’t realize that until I thought I was about to.”

He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers, took a deep breath. She felt everything inside her click into place.

He leaned down and pressed the gentlest kiss to her lips.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They slept together that night--only slept. Mulder had gone out and picked up her prescription earlier in the day while she slept and the pills made her queasy.

Mulder tucked her into his own bed downstairs, brought her Saltines and ginger ale. When she awoke the next morning, he was curled around her. He helped her change her bandages and tie her shoes--she still couldn’t quite bend over.

At noon that day -- Labor Day -- the phone rang, it was Ellen calling from Seattle.

“Dana?” she said. “God, how are you?”

Scully didn’t have the first idea how to respond to that particular question, so she deflected.

“Ellen!” she said, “how are you? How goes the internship? You ready to come home yet?”

“It’s fabulous! And that’s actually why I’m calling. Dana, they offered to hire me on full-time. They want me to work out here while I finish my degree.”

“Oh Ellen, congratulations!” she said, feeling genuine joy for her friend.

“Thanks,” Ellen said, “I know you were counting on me to take the lease back over, and I can still probably help out for a few months now that I’m getting paid, but I thought I’d see how the new roommate is working out? Any chance he might want to stay for a bit longer?”

The roommate in question was currently tidying up in the kitchen, and came to the room’s doorway to eavesdrop on her conversation.

“The new roommate?” she repeated for his benefit, and then gave him a tart look, “He’s working out okay, I guess.”

At that, Mulder feigned insult and promptly whipped off his shirt and started doing push-ups.

“I take that back,” Scully said, maintaining eye contact with him while he exercised, by which she couldn’t help but get a little turned on. “He’s definitely working out.” Mulder stopped doing push-ups, sat up, and kissed his bare bicep. Scully let out a guffaw. “I’ll ask him.”

Ellen laughed too, without knowing why, and said “I’m so glad. And thank you. Oh, I’m going to miss you! Listen, I’ve got to get going, but we’ve got so much to catch up on. Talk soon?”

She watched Mulder as he disappeared back into the kitchen, still shirtless. “Sometime next week?”

“Done. I’ll call you. Bye Dane!”

“Bye!”

Scully rose to hang the phone back up on the wall and drifted into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe to watch Mulder as he put dishes away.

“You do that a lot?” she asked him.

“Do what?” he asked, without looking away from his task, “Housework like a helpful roommate, or exercise hard to maintain my girlish figure?”

She came up behind him and kissed his bare back.

“Your figure is decidedly non-girlish, Mulder,” she said, ignoring his question, “for which I am increasingly thankful.”

He turned suddenly in her arms and she found herself staring at his bare chest. He rubbed his hands up down the tops of her arms, careful not to get too close to her cut.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, leaning his face down into hers.

She nodded into his kiss, “Yeah,” she said, right before his lips met hers. She deepened the kiss immediately, remembering the way the big muscles on his upper back had moved beneath his skin as he did push-ups, the way he’d looked at her with intent the entire time he was doing them.

He let her lead, doing nothing more than returning her enthusiastic kisses and dropping his hands to rest lightly on her hips.

She reached down and tipped her forefingers into the tops of his jeans, pulling him closer and then running her fingers to his fly. He pulled back, just as she popped the button.

“Hey,” he said, nudging her face with his nose, brushing his lips lightly against hers. “What are you up for, here?”

She looked down at him with intent, at where his erection was pressing against the fly of his jeans. “Whatever you’re up for, flyboy,” she said, and nipped at him.

“I just,” he leaned back a little bit more, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She unzipped his fly slowly.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” she said.

“You pop a few of those stitches, your doctor might say otherwise,” he said, putting his hands on hers to still her movements.

“But I want you,” she said, licking her lips, reveling in the concupiscent lustiness he brought about in her.

He smiled at her slowly.

“We can figure this out,” he said, “we just need to be creative.”

“I have, so far, been both pleased and impressed with your creativity,” she said.

“Then allow me,” he said, and turned their positions so that she was standing with her back to the counter, then bent down to shimmy her sweatpants and underwear off, while she stood, patiently, wondering what his plan was.

When he straightened back up, he leaned forward, bracing his arms on the counter on either side of her.

“What,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her, “can you do that doesn’t hurt?”

She grabbed his head and brought his mouth back to hers for a deep, thorough kiss, then she released him.

“That,” she said, “didn’t hurt.”

He smiled at her.

“Noted.”

She reached forward and grabbed his fly again, and then started to lower his jeans down around his hips when she suddenly hissed in pain. Mulder grabbed her and straightened her.

“So no bending over,” he said. She nodded, a little disappointed. “Can you sit?”

“As evidenced by sitting on my ass nearly all of yesterday evening and again this morning, all information points to sitting being a medically approved position for Patient Scully,” she said in her best med student voice.

Mulder chuckled.

“Okay,” he said, and then surprised her by reaching down and easily lifting her up and onto the surface of the counter, which was cold against her aforementioned ass. She let out a startled yelp.

“Mulder!” she said.

“Was that pain, or the temperature of the counter?” he asked.

“The temperature of the counter,” she said through gritted teeth.

He smiled wickedly.

“The longer you sit on it, the more it’ll warm up,” he said.

She shook her head.

“Mulder, counters are for glasses, not for a-”

“Shh,” Mulder cut her off with a finger to her lips. “I promise I’ll clean up,” he said.

She tilted an eyebrow at him, but complained no more.

He put his hands on her thighs, spreading her legs apart so he could step in between them, their faces now perfectly level for kissing. He ran his hands lightly up her legs until his thumbs were just brushing at the crease where her legs met her pubis, sending a shiver down her spine.

He had pulled his jeans back up, but hadn’t zipped them, so she reached down and slipped her hand inside, grasping the silken steel of him, and he hissed into her mouth.

“You first,” he whispered, and then lowered himself to the floor, now at the perfect level to lean forward and press his face into her sex, giving her an open-mouthed kiss and inhaling deeply through his nose. “I love the way you smell,” he said, and then darted his tongue out to press into her labia. “I love the way you taste.”

She reached out and ran her hands through his hair, digging her nails into his scalp when he gently parted her labia with his fingers and started running his tongue softly over her clit, gradually with more speed and pressure.

She concentrated on keeping her torso immobile, which was difficult when all she wanted to do was gyrate her hips into his sumptuous mouth, chasing the orgasm she could feel building even now.

Just as he’d done before, he pressed one long finger and then another up and into her, and moments after he started rubbing the rough pad of her G spot, an orgasm surged up within her. She let go of his head and braced her hands on the countertop, holding herself as steady as she could as the waves crashed within her, and he gently lapped at her, slowing as she came down.

He stood when she exhaled, and she rolled her head from one shoulder to the other, letting the ringing in her ears lessen with each breath.

“How are you so good at that?” she asked, her tongue all lassitude in her mouth.

“I was a double major,” he said smugly, his cocksure grin charming as a flop-eared terrier.

She shoved him in the shoulder and he fell back a step, then moved forward to carefully help her down from the counter. She stood in front of him, still in a shirt with no pants, and he pressed a finger under her chin and tilted her head back until she was looking up at him.

“I like this look,” he said, “it’s very Donald Duck.”

She laughed and shoved his shoulder again.

“You know, I was going to push for reciprocity, but I think I just changed my mind,” she said.

“Nah,” he said, and leaned down to nip at her nose, “plenty of time for that.” He then leaned over sideways to look at her aftercare instructions, which had been stuck to the fridge. “When do you get your stitches out?”

“Friday,” she said.

“Gonna be a good weekend,” he mumbled into her lips.

She felt herself deflate.

“I leave for California the Friday after that.”

She hadn’t even begun starting to pack.

He leaned his head forward until it once again rested on hers.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispered.

XxXxXxXxXxX

That night, they sat on the loveseat on their balcony, watching the stars wink on in the sky, Venus emerging brightly from the ecliptic. They drank iced tea (Mulder may have had a beer or two) and talked about how they’d handle being long distance, Scully tucked into Mulder’s side.

They had yet to come up with a plan that excited them both. The pull of sunny California started to wane.

“Have you ever found a place you felt like you belonged? Somewhere you just felt at home? Where you knew it was where you were supposed to be?” she asked him after a few minutes of silence.

He squinted his eyes, thinking. Then,

“It’s not down on any map,” he recited to the stars. “True places never are.”

Melville. She gave him a look, thought of her father.

“Yeah,” she said, “I’ve been searching for it my whole life. And I think… that place might be you.”

“You gotta go, Scully,” he said, looking down at her, knowing what she was getting at. “Med school is your dream, so it’s my dream, too. I won’t let you not go.”

She took a breath, knowing he was right.

“Besides,” he said, “I don’t want to be the only doctor in this house,” he said, then shrunk away from her, knowing what was coming. She swatted at him, then let him settle back against her.

They sat in silence for long minutes, until Mulder finally shifted.

“Be right back,” he said, and stood, her side going cold from where he’d been.

He came back a minute later, carrying the large white pillar candle that Scully had lit for him his first night in the apartment. He produced a lighter from his pocket, flicked it on and touched it to the wick, then set the candle on the small table in front of them.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, settling back onto the loveseat and gently tucking her back into his side. “Take this with you to California. I’m going to get one just like it. And when either one of us is doubting, or when things get too lonely or dark, we’ll each light the candle.”

She glanced up to look at his profile, her heart constricting in her chest with love for this man.

“To cast out the darkness?” she asked, her voice quiet.

He nodded, then rolled his head to look at her.

“I mean, we should have a go at the evil spirits, too,” he said, chuckling.

She smiled at him, and leaned her head against his shoulder, watching the flame dance in the light breeze of the DC night.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When Mulder got home from work the next day, Scully was on the couch trying to study, her stitches itching madly.

“Hey,” he said, swinging the door closed. He hung his keys absently on the hook by the door, and kicked off his shoes. He had something in his hand. He was radiating a nervous energy.  “Something came for you in the mail.” He looked at her significantly. “From Georgetown.”

“Probably paperwork for the end of term,” she said, barely looking up. “I’ve got a lot of crap I’ve got to fill out. You can put it in the kitchen.”

He sat down next to her.

“I don’t think that’s what it is,” he said, and held out a standard white envelope.

She looked at the return address. Georgetown Medical School.

She felt her eyes go wide and looked at him.

“Go on,” he said, and she wasted no time tearing into it.

She read the letter twice before leaning back into the couch and finally looking at him.

“Don’t make me guess,” he said quietly.

“Accepted,” she said, the smile blooming on her face mirrored back at her. “Full ride scholarship.”

“You get to stay,” he said, mirabile dictu.

“I get to stay.”

The sunlight coming through the sliding glass door behind him glinted off his hair, turning it into a filmy halo of gold. He reached out and hooked her thumb through his pinkie, pulling her hand up until it was against his chest, pressing against his beating heart.

She felt the thump and swish of it, its heat and birr, and she knew what it felt like to be home.

THE END

#the x-files #fanfiction #MSR #AU #a companion unobtrustive #prompt #my fic #roommates

[mollybecameanengineer]

Internet Porn

Summary: An incident with an internet browser history leads to a (hopefully non-judgmental) awkward conversation. Set in 2013 in a universe where Mulder and Scully raised William.

@today-in-fic

Read on AO3 or continue below.

“Shit,” Scully murmured, looking down at the iPad. Her finger had slipped and closed the wrong tab. On a laptop she knew that ctrl-shift-t would reopen it, but on an iPad? She hit the three dots in the upper right and looked around in the menu. There was a history option — that would work. It was, after all, the last thing she’d been looking at. 

So, without thinking, she opened the history on the iPad that Mulder primarily used. 

Porn. 

Lots and lots of porn filled the list of previously viewed sites.

“Holy crap…” she muttered as she scrolled through the list. 

Scully, of course, knew of Mulder’s porn habit — they’d been scattered around their office and his apartment in the early days. The two of them had even watched some after they’d started sleeping together. But she hadn’t seen any porn around in years. It hadn't occurred to her that he had transitioned to online content. 

As she continued to scroll through the list she was kind of impressed that, at nearly 52, he had this much stamina. They had sex a couple times a week, and based on the timestamps on this list, he was taking care of himself on a daily (or maybe more than daily) basis.

Morbid curiosity getting the better of her, she started reading the names of the sites. Lots of bondage, spanking, ass play… which she found surprising. Back in the day his porn had been, honestly, pretty vanilla. He had a few girl on girl tapes, but mostly it was variations on inviting the pizza man in. But this. This was not at all vanilla. This was a lot of BDSM. She and Mulder had only done the most tame of these types of things. She didn’t like to be held down or restrained (she had a lot of trauma around that, which she knew she should probably go to therapy for…). They did take turns ‘torturing’ each other with short term orgasm denial, but Scully hardly thought that was racy. And she did like it if he really pounded her sometimes, but who didn’t? 

The more she looked at it, the more she realized how strange this all was. The Google search terms were things like: ‘big black cocks’ and ‘big boobs titty fucking’. Neither of the searches made her uncomfortable, per se, but they did confuse her. Mulder had never mentioned an interest in men. (They’d once had a conversation about a girl she’d been with in college, and he didn’t mention being attracted to men. But he was also really focused on her telling him about this, so maybe he’d been distracted.) He’d also never mentioned really liking boobs (more than the average man). Maybe he was trying to save her feelings about not being well endowed in that area. Though she was pretty sure she could push them together enough for titty fucking if that’s what he wanted. 

“Whoa, whatcha looking at there?”

Scully jumped. Mulder was leaning over her shoulder, reading the list. “What am I looking at?” she said, turning to face him. “What have you been looking at?”

Mulder took the iPad, scrolling through the list. “This wasn’t me.” Scully gave him a look. “What?” He handed her back the tablet. “First off, I know you don’t care, so why would I lie? Second, I know how to use incognito mode.” 

“Well, it wasn’t me, and if it wasn't you…” she trailed off, realizing who it was. She squeaked and dropped the iPad. 

Will.

Mulder must have realized at the same time, as he was now scrubbing his face with his hands and moaning. “Well, he is twelve…”

“Exactly! He’s only twelve!” She picked back up the iPad and looked at the list with new eyes. 

“Oh, come on, I know I was playing five on one by that age. Weren’t you giving yourself a hand by then?”

Scully sighed. “Yes, I was masturbating by age twelve.” Most of her memories revolved around trying to find a private spot in a house with six people and one bathroom. “I know it’s healthy for him to be… exploring himself, but this? I didn’t know what any of this was at twelve”

Mulder took back the iPad and started scrolling. “Wow. Things are really different these days. I only had the Sears catalog to work with until I was fifteen.”

“What happened at fifteen?”

“I got a Playboy.”

“How?”

“I bought it.”

Scully furrowed her brow. “I ask again: how? They don’t sell them to kids.”

“There was a store that… you know, this isn’t about me and the shit I did to jerk off.” Mulder continued scrolling. “You know what? I’m just disappointed.”

“In what? What he’s looking at?”

Mulder raised his eyes. “Oh, no, that he left this much evidence behind. I mean, how could a child of ours leave tracks like this? Especially when incognito mode exists.”

“Should I be worried about what you’re doing in incognito mode?”

Mulder laughed. “Oh, I only use it to buy you gifts, just like it suggests — woah.”

Scully maneuvered to look over his shoulder. “What?”

“To be honest, this is probably more than I wanted to know about my son’s tastes,” he said, pointing to the title of one site.

“What’s ‘pegging’?” Scully asked, though based on Mulder’s reaction, she probably didn’t want to know.

“It’s uh, when a woman wears a dildo and fucks a guy in the ass.”

Scully put her head in her hands. Mulder was right, this was too much information. She grabbed the iPad back and deleted the history before she could overthink it. “We are invading his privacy by looking at this, however,” she took a breath, “you have to talk to him.”

“Me?! Why me?! And about what? We can’t stop him from looking at porn, all we can do is make him feel bad about it.”

“First off, you because you’re also a guy and I can guarantee he doesn’t want to talk with me more than he doesn’t want to talk to you. Second, I’m not concerned about the porn in and of itself, it’s that he needs to know that porn and reality are two separate things, and with all this BDSM content, you need to have a conversation about consent. And third, you’re the porn expert, not me.”

“Don’t think I don’t know about your ‘romance novels’, woman,” Mulder said, making use of air quotes. Scully shot him a look, and he acquiesced with a sigh. “Ok, fine.”

“Oh, and make sure he knows we love him and support him if he’s bi or gay.”

“Scully, he knows.” Mulder came around the couch and sat next to her. “We’ve been telling him that and using gender neutral language his whole life.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But it can’t hurt to tell him again, right?”

***

Mulder took a deep breath as he stood in front of his son’s door. He really didn’t want to have this talk. He’d thought this part of parenting was over two years ago when Scully had given Will a very clinical description of the birds and the bees. Mulder’s only role in the whole conversation was to affirm that he was available for any questions Will might have. And since there had never been any questions, Mulder thought he was home free. 

Taking another breath to fortify himself, Mulder knocked on Will’s door. 

“Come in,” Will responded, and Mulder entered. 

Will was sitting on his bed, listening to some crazy music Mulder couldn’t identify, and reading a comic book. “Hey, could we talk for a few minutes?” Mulder asked, shutting the door behind him

Will looked at him, suspicious. As he should be, Mulder mulled. This was very much not a normal interaction.

“Did I do something?”

Mulder sat on the office chair that was at the desk, next to the bed. He didn’t know how to respond, thinking both yes and no were wrong answers. Rather than pausing too long at this juncture, Mulder plowed ahead, hoping to get in and out of the conversation as quickly as possible. “Your mom and I found your internet history on the iPad.”

Will looked confused at first, then all the blood drained from his face. Mulder continued, quickly, “We don’t want you to feel bad or ashamed about any of it, but we need to discuss a couple things.” 

Mulder had pulled a childhood psychology book from university out to take a look at what it has to say about these types of conversations. It emphasized that the child should be comfortable and engaged in the conversation as much as possible. 

Will was sitting there looking panicked. 

Mulder cleared his throat. “First off, we thought it would be easier for you to talk to me than your mom about porn. However, if talking with her would make you more comfortable, that’s ok.”

Part of Mulder wanted Will to prefer Scully, just so he wouldn’t have to have this uncomfortable conversation (and risk fucking it up). But he also knew he’d be upset if his son did prefer Scully. 

“Not having this conversation would make me the most comfortable,” Will replied.

Mulder chuckled. “Nice try, but not an option.”

“You’re fine,” Will sighed, and hid his face in his hands. 

A ringing endorsement if Mulder ever heard one. “So,” Mulder cleared his throat, “we saw that you were looking at a lot of BDSM content—”

“You guys know what that is?” Will interrupted, an eye peaking between his fingers.

“Uh, yeah. This stuff isn’t new.”

Will returned to hiding his head in his hands. Mulder continued on. “There is nothing wrong with liking it, everyone has their kinks.”

“Even you guys?” Will’s hands were slowly leaving his face. 

“Well sure,” Mulder replied. When Will didn’t say anything, Mulder continued on. “I mean, for example, I like it when a woman is, you know… bossy.” 

Mulder wasn’t sure what to expect from his confession of enjoying being dominated, but laughter wasn’t it. Will was laughing so hard that he was gasping for air. “Hey,” Mulder interjected, “It isn’t nice to laugh when someone reveals something personal.”

“Sorry,” Will said, wiping his eyes. “It’s just that, of course you do. You're with Mom.”

Mulder didn’t know how to reply to that. He decided a reset was probably best. “What I’m trying to say is that everyone has their thing. And your thing is fine. But it inherently comes with issues of consent—”

“Like safe words?”

“Way before safe words,” Mulder replied. “It’s just that BDSM porn can look like forcing someone is ok, or hurting them is ok, and I want to make sure you understand consent.”

“Dad, I know rape is bad.”

Well, I should fucking hope so, Mulder thought. Aloud, he said, “I know, but when you’re with a partner,” many years from now, God willing, “you need to get a yes from them before proceeding.  And they need a yes from you. Just not saying no isn’t good enough. You need to be in communication about everything that is happening, and make sure you’re both ok with it.” On a roll, Mulder continued, “And porn is absolutely nothing like real sex. I don’t think I’ve ever had a sexual encounter that looked anything like porn. None of the women I’ve been with—”

“Wait, you’ve slept with someone other than Mom?” Will again interrupted.

“Will, we didn’t get together until the year 2000. I wasn’t a 38 year old virgin.”

“How old were you then, the first time?”

This conversation was not going at all as Mulder imagined. Although at this moment, Mulder was rather glad he hadn't been super young when he lost his virginity. “I was 19.”

“You waited until college?”

If Mulder were honest, it was much less about waiting and much more about a lack of opportunity. But he said to Will, “Yes, I waited until college.”

“Did Mom?”

Mulder wondered if the summer before college counted. Well, it wasn’t still high school. “She did.”

When Will didn’t ask another question, Mulder continued, “The point is that porn can present a view of sex that isn’t realistic, just like a movie or TV show isn’t like real life. Everyone needs something different to,” Mulder made a vague hand gesture, “enjoy themselves, so you need to talk with your partner about what they like and try to please them as best you can.”

“Ok, Dad,” Will replied. “Get consent and porn isn't real. Are we done now?”

Mulder ticked through the list of things he was supposed to hit on. “Just about. Remember that you can come to me or your mom about anything. And I mean anything. For example, I’d rather help you get condoms than become a grandfather before we’re all ready for that.” 

Will made a face, but Mulder hoped his son was taking him seriously. He stood and clasped his son on the shoulder before heading for the door. Just as he was about to leave, he remembered, “Oh, wait. First, as you’re, you know, exploring all this, know that your mom and I don’t have the expectation that you’re straight. We will love and support you regardless of your orientation.”

“I know.” Will replied. “You guys have been saying this since I was like five.”

“Well, a lot of people our age were rejected by their families because of it, and we want you to know that will never happen to you.” 

“I know.”

“Good. And second,” Mulder said, as he turned back to the door, “learn how to use incognito mode.”

(Author's note: I don't know where this story came from or if this the best way to have this conversation, but it all felt real to me.)

#x files fanfic

[atths--twice]

Ahhh... here we are at another favorite of mine. I apologize in advance, but this one is a bit rough, as you may be able to tell by the gif. However, it is a pain that needs to be  dealt with and discussed. I hope you enjoy it. 

Chapter Seventeen 

Therapeutic Thanksgiving 

Scully has an appointment with Doctor Kosseff and they discuss many things that need to be brought to light. Guidance and care from her Mom also help to ease a broken heart. 

November 2015

To say that Scully enjoyed therapy with Doctor Kosseff would be somewhat misleading. She did like the feeling of the constant pressure inside her abating a bit when she left the office. She did not like the amount of crying she had done, the headaches she had suffered, and the past hurts that were dusted off and re-examined. It hurt so much sometimes, she wanted to leave and never come back.

Since bumping into her at the coffee shop in June, Scully had only seen Doctor Kosseff seven different times. Work got in the way, and while she knew her own self-care was important, she was pulled into cases, and unable to get away. Doctor Kosseff was understanding, and Scully repeatedly expressed her thanks.

Her first session was a train wreck. She broke down and cried for most of the hour. Doctor Kosseff remained silent and let her ramble and cry, her words tumbling over each other, not even sure what she was saying, only remembering the sobs. As Scully took the tissues handed to her, Doctor Kosseff smiled and sighed before nodding at her.

Her next session was better. The conversation was more structured, and Doctor Kosseff insisted Scully call her Karen. Scully looked at her and tried to respond with some coherent explanation of why that seemed wrong, but she was unable to do anything but nod.

“We may not have seen each other in a while, Dana,” Karen said with a smile. “But we go way back, and that counts for something.” She smiled, and again Scully felt tears in her eyes.

The fourth session though, that one was rough. Crying seemed to be a normal occurrence as soon as she sat on the couch in the office, but that day was worse, as if something was infecting her and causing her to behave unlike herself. Choking on her tears she began to cry out her worries for Mulder.

“I know he’s a grown man, and more than capable of caring for himself, but I’m worried about him. Is he sleeping? Taking his medication? He said he’s seeing a therapist and he’s sending emails, but how is he really? I miss him so much,” she whispered wiping at her eyes. “It’s like I’ve lost part of myself.”

Karen handed her the tissues and Scully laughed bitterly, dabbing her eyes and blowing her nose. “I’m an independent woman, I’ve always prided myself on that, but … I need him, and all these years later, it terrifies me,” she said looking at Karen and shaking her head. Karen smiled and waited for her to continue, but no words were forthcoming.

“Does it terrify you because you don’t want to live without him or you’re worried you don’t know how?” Karen asked quietly.

Scully shook her head, wiping at her eyes again. “It isn’t that. I know I can live without him, and no I don’t want to live without him. I want to be with him. But what terrifies me are the lengths I will go to, to do so. Two years I stayed and felt like I was drowning at times, but I stayed because … I love him. I know him and I felt that if I could have just done more, I could have helped. If I had seen it earlier or demanded differently …” She shook her head, tears falling again. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, taking deep breaths to calm down.

“Dana, I know you feel this is your fault, that you could have stopped it from happening,” Karen said in her soft calm voice. “But could you have done anything? Really done anything? As you say, you know Fox better than anyone. Could you have changed him or done anything to fix the situation at the time?”

Scully stared at her and wanted to say of course she could, she should have done something. This was her fault. She was the one who left. Karen’s eyes had stopped her from speaking and forced her to look down, the openness she saw in them too much for her at that moment.

“Dana, I’d like you to do something for me when you leave here today,” Karen said kindly, writing something on her notepad. “When you leave, I want you to think of the times when you think saying something or fighting with Fox would have changed the outcome of where you are now. I’d like you to do that before our next meeting.”

Scully sat at home that night, writing out all the times she could think of when Mulder had not come to bed, had pushed her past the point of anger, when he had stayed closed up in his office and shut her out. There were many instances, and seeing them there in black and white hurt in a different way than before.

She ticked off each one as she imagined a different outcome, a way it would have changed if she had barged in the office, turned off the WiFi, or demanded he sit down and listen to her. None of those times would have resulted in a change. She knew that, but she had needed to see it laid out before her to understand it completely. She shook her head as she cried, knowing once again that this, being apart, was the only decision that was right, even if it made her heart ache.

She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She knew it was not within her ability to change the outcome, but she had taken it upon herself and that was not fair. They were both to blame, as they had not communicated how they felt. God, they were so bad at it sometimes. Both of them held back and yet expected the other to be forthcoming. After so many years together, it would seem they would have this shit figured out, but no. Jesus Christ …

Knowing what the problem was, she felt that going back to see Karen would not help. She needed to talk to Mulder, but right now that was not going to happen. Time was all she needed, she thought with a sigh and a shake of her head.

On the agreed upon appointment time though, she was there, waiting to speak to Karen and working on moving forward. They discussed Mulder again, the outcomes she knew she could not change, and then Karen brought up the medication Scully had prescribed for him. Not until Karen pointed it out to her did Scully consider the extent of the side effects he could have been suffering. The lack of sex drive, or ability to even have sex, had not been something that was in the forefront of thought when she had gotten him the medication.

Again, she left the office not wanting to go back, her embarrassment and anger at herself simmering at the surface. Angry that she had not seen the forest for the trees, focusing on one area and missing the rest. She wanted to help his depression and other aspects were a second thought. She paced around her apartment, wanting to call Mulder, and apologize for her own neglect when it came to his care.

Thinking back to the fact that they had still been having sex, up to a certain point, it meant he must have forgone his medication. Her anger and confusion with him made sense now that she figured he was not remaining steady with taking his pills. She failed him, again. Curling up in bed, she apologized to him repeatedly, wishing he could hear her.

That was a couple of weeks ago and today, the day before Thanksgiving, she was ready to start her eighth session, finally feeling a bit more comfortable.

“Dana,” Karen said, smiling at her as she came into the waiting room, shaking Scully’s hand as she always did before ushering her into the office. “How are you?”

“Fine. I’m good. Work is busy, as I’m sure yours is at this time of year. Everyone seems to have more problems around the holidays,” Scully said with a small laugh. Karen smiled and nodded.

“Yes, it’s usually busy this time of year. Do you have holiday plans?”

“I’m spending it with my mother this year. Actually heading there after our session,” Scully said and Karen nodded with a smile.

“How are other things? Have you spoken to Fox? Or kept to the emails and texts between you?” Karen asked with a glance at Scully.

“Just the emails and texts. Though it’s been further between them at times.”

Karen smiled at her and made some notes before she looked up again. She exhaled and kept eye contact with Scully, gauging her, it seemed. Scully shifted in her seat and took a deep breath. She licked her lips and closed her eyes before looking up at Karen, knowing this was going to hurt.

“I had a dream last night. About William,” she said quietly. Karen nodded, having heard about him before, and Scully closed her eyes again. “We were walking down the street, and I could feel his hand in mine. It was so small, I could feel all the bones as I ran my thumb across the top of his hand. Then it was bigger and he was there but pulled away from me. I tried to reach for him, to grab for his fingers, but I couldn’t find him. I woke up crying, trying to grab for something that wasn’t there.” She opened her eyes, tears welling inside them before they spilled over, and she wiped them away.

“It’s been fourteen years and I know ... I know that he’s ... he has a family, parents who love him and care for him,” Scully said quietly, tears flowing freely from her eyes. “I have to hope he is okay, anyway. My head knows that, but my heart is not always so accommodating. I still can’t help but wonder ... or worry if he has ever remembered me and I wasn’t there. Did he cry for me those first few nights after he left? Did they know he liked to be sung to and rocked a certain way? Was he ... was he happy? I know, as a doctor and as a scientist, that he would have no memories of me, he was too young. But ... what if … what if he woke up not knowing why he was dreaming of someone he didn’t know, but he felt scared and alone?”

She stopped talking and sobbed into her hands, thinking of William, and the weight of him in her arms. She remembered how she would hold him and breathe in his baby smell, the happiness of finally being a mother had been so overwhelming. His rosy cheeks and soft downy head were the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

Letting him go, knowing it was for his protection, was the hardest decision she ever had to make, and she did it alone. Mulder did not even get a chance to weigh in and voice his opinion or the possibility of a different plan. She had agonized, cried, and screamed over the decision she made. It was she who crumbled to the ground when William was taken from her, her heart that shattered when her baby, the only one she would ever have, was given a better chance of survival away from her. It was she and her mother who clung to one another in the days after he was gone. No Mulder to mourn with her, hold her, or simply grab them both and run, never looking back.

Her sobs began to subside, although not by much. She felt the box of tissues being softly placed on her lap and it caused her to cry more. Taking one from the box, she dabbed at her eyes and wiped her face, then took some deep breaths. She still cried, but her loud and aching sobs had seemed to slow. She blew her nose and took more tissues out to again wipe her face. Keeping her head bowed, she simply sat and waited.

“Dana,” Karen said barely above a whisper. “What does Fox say when you discuss these feelings with him?” Scully shook her head, unable to speak. “Do you not discuss William? Or how you felt during that time of your life?”

Taking a shuddering breath, Scully shook her head again. “It ... it’s sort of an unwritten understanding, so to speak. We ... we talk about William in a roundabout way, but rarely directly, if at all. It hurts to talk about it, and I don’t want to cause Mulder that hurt.”

“Fox?” Karen asked, her tone sharper than Scully had ever heard it. She raised her head and looked at her, finding her face serious and somewhat hard. “Why is your worry for him, when you are affected this way?”

“He wasn’t there. It wasn’t his choice and ... and he ... he missed everything. I took that away from him, his chance at fatherhood. If ... if we talk about what we could have done or how it may have been, it would dredge up too much ... and,” Scully said, shaking her head, remembering the times they had gotten close to having the talk and the look on Mulder’s face. The pain she saw, the anguish. She hated seeing him that way, and eventually not discussing it had been easier.

“Dana, sometimes the only way to move forward is to dump out the past and wade through it. Yes, it may most definitely be painful, but leaving it tucked away and hidden ...” Karen shook her head and looked at Scully. “Keep it hidden, and it festers and rots. It becomes a poison inside that strangles you and stunts your growth. Don’t let this continue to be a poison in your life.”

_____________________

Scully left the office a while later, and walked to her car, exhausted and wanting nothing more than to lay down and sleep. She got in and sat down, closing and locking the door before leaning her head against the headrest, closing her eyes, and sighing.

Exhausted, no, it was not the right word to describe how she felt. She felt boneless like her body was a heavy pile of goo, and it would remain that way forever. Everything ached and she thought never leaving the car sounded like a wonderful idea. She leaned forward and put her head on the steering wheel, her eyes still closed.

You can’t stay here, Dana. You need to get moving, she thought. Heaving a huge sigh, she turned on the car and begin the drive to her mother’s house. She was looking forward to staying with her for the holiday weekend. Some time off work, catching up with her mom, and seeing some old friends sounded wonderful. Right now though, she simply wanted to crawl in bed and sleep for the rest of the day.

Pulling into her mother’s driveway, she sat for a few minutes, collecting her strength, waiting for her body to become less goo-like. Taking a breath, she opened the door, took her overnight bag out of the backseat, and walked up to the front door. She used her key and called out to her mother she was there.

“Dana!” her mother said, coming out of the kitchen wearing an apron and wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “You’re early! I was thinking it would be a couple hours more before you got here.” She smiled at her and pulled her in for a tight hug.

“Hey, Mom,” Scully said, returning the hug and holding on longer than usual. Her mother looked her in the eyes as she put a hand to her face.

“Rough session?” her mother asked softly. Scully nodded and sighed. Her mother also sighed and brushed her thumb across Scully’s cheek. “Well, would mixing up ingredients for pies help you at all?” Scully laughed out a sob and nodded. Her mother patted her cheek and turned to head back to the kitchen. Scully set her bag down on the couch and followed her.

For the next couple of hours, they worked together, mixing and baking pies, cutting vegetables for the next day, and setting the table. Spending time with her mother helped her feel better, but she could feel tears threatening to fall at any time. When the last chore was finished, her mother put the kettle on, grabbed mugs and tea bags, and took off her apron.

Once the kettle whistled, and the tea was made, she reached for Scully’s hand, looking at her with her kind eyes. That was all it took for Scully’s tears to begin. She told her mother of the session that day, of her dream and the discussion that had followed. Sure she had cried herself dry, she was surprised by the amount of tears she still had left. Her mother kept her hand on hers and rubbed her arm.

Scully put her head on the table and her mother moved closer to stroke her hair and speak words of comfort. Scully cried and cried, letting her mother’s love and calmness wash over her. When she had no tears left, she sat trying to calm her sobs. Her mother rested her head against her and told her how much she loved her, how proud she was of her, making Scully cry again.

Her mother helped her to her feet and pulled her in for a hug. “Dana, I know how hard this is for you, how hard it was. I remember.” Scully held her tight and cried softly. “You just go ahead and cry, honey.”

They stood there for a few minutes before Scully pulled back and stared at her mother. Her soft hands were on her cheeks, wiping her tears as she had when past heartbreaks had felt so big. Those had been nothing compared to this pain, but the comfort she felt gave her strength.

Her mother gave her a small smile and grasped her hand, pulling her upstairs to the master bedroom. Scully stood by the bed and heard the water running in the tub. She closed her eyes and sat on the bed, waiting for her mother to come as she knew she would.

She felt a brush in her hair and she sighed, more tears slipping out, as her mother softly brushed her hair. Her shoes were slipped off, her sweater slipped over her head leaving her in her camisole, and then she was pulled to her feet. She opened her eyes as she walked to the bathroom and stood in front of the tub.

The scent of lavender bubble bath surrounded her as her mother walked away, allowing her some privacy. She undressed,  and stepped in, sinking into the deep tub, as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

She lay in the tub, exhausted and boneless when she heard her mother’s quiet footfall. Without opening her eyes, she heard the water shut off, and then felt her mother come next to her. Her bare feet and legs came on other side of Scully in the tub, as she sat on the ledge behind her.

She began to massage Scully’s head as she hummed quietly. It was not a particular song, but it was comforting. After a few minutes, her mother put her hair up and rubbed her neck and shoulders. Scully felt her sadness lessening with each touch of her mother’s comforting hands.

Scully reached up and grabbed her mother’s hand. “Thank you, Mom,” she whispered. Her mother squeezed her hand and then extricated herself from the tub, kissing the top of Scully’s head before she left.

Opening her eyes a few minutes later, she saw that a towel and washcloth had been placed by the tub. She leaned forward and picked up the washcloth, washing her body, before relaxing for a few more minutes. Stepping out of the tub, she dried off and then wrapped the soft towel around her body.

Walking into her mother’s room, she saw her bag had been brought into the room and left on the bed. She smiled at the love and care her mother had shown as she took out her pajamas and underwear. She dressed and then hung up the towel as her mother came back in the bathroom. She smiled at Scully and motioned to the vanity.

Scully sat down and her mother stepped behind her, taking her hair down. Picking up her brush, she began to brush her hair again.

“That day, that last day,” her mother said quietly, the brush slowly stroking through Scully’s hair. “It was horrible, I will not deny that. My heart broke with yours, Dana. I know what that baby meant to you, to Fox. I know if you could have, you would have kept him with you.” Her mother paused as she took a breath and shook her head. “But I had been there, I saw the danger not only him but you were in with him there. You made the right choice, Dana. You did.”

Scully looked at her mother in the mirror and her eyes were sad, but she smiled at Scully. Her mother nodded and Scully breathed out a deep sigh, looking back down.

“It’s easier to see it clearly when it’s been so many years, I know that, but it was right, Dana,” her mother began to rub her head again, her short fingernails scratching at her scalp. “I ... I had a hard time with it after William and then you were gone. I was depressed and alone and worried ...”

“Mom?” Scully interrupted, her head snapping up and looking at her mother in the mirror. “You never ...”

“I never said ... no,” she said, looking back at Scully once again with her kind sad eyes. “I know what that decision meant to you. I know how hard it was for you to make. At the time it happened, I wasn’t going to add to your heartache. I was there with you to lessen your pain, Dana. Then Fox was on trial and your focus was understandably on his fate. You left, as you should have done, you were where you needed to be, but those of us left behind, we were left to wonder and carry on. Your friends, John and Monica, were there and they helped to pack up your place. Eventually, though, even they were gone.”

Scully sat frozen. Of course she knew that when they left there had been those behind picking up the slack, but her mind and concern had only been on her and Mulder’s safety. She had worried for her mother, hated how she had simply left her, and not had the chance to say goodbye. When every day they had to worry about being seen, possibly recognized, and what would happen if they were, worries for those at home took a backseat. Now, she was learning it had been worse than she thought for her mother.

“Mom,” she began, but her mother interrupted her.

“Dana, I’m not saying this to hurt you, I’m telling you I understand. I understand your pain. I’ve felt it, and it took me down for a little while. It was nothing you did, but the circumstances out of your hands. As much as it hurt and continues to do so, it was the right decision, Dana. I knew it then, but the sadness still swallowed me up as it did you today,” her mother said, looking in the mirror, her hands on Scully’s shoulders. “Let the sadness in, and then let it out. You did what you needed to protect him, you, and everyone around you. He is safe because of a sacrifice you made, a painful choice you made. He is safe, Dana.”

Scully’s eyes filled with tears again and she nodded her head. Her mother wrapped her arms around her and held her close, Scully placed her hands on top of her mother’s and held her to her.

Her mother kissed her cheek and they both let go of one another and smiled. Scully stood up and pulled her mother in for a hug, her mother whispering she loved her. Scully closed her eyes and held her tighter. When she stood back, her mother smiled at her and Scully smiled back, incredibly tired all of a sudden.

“Could ... could I sleep in your bed tonight?” she asked her mother hesitantly. She nodded with a smile and Scully turned to head to the bedroom.

She laid down and pulled the covers close around her, hearing her mother let the water out of the tub, and getting ready for bed. A few minutes later, the lights were turned off, and her mother laid down next to her. Scully reached for her hand and her mother held tight.

“I love you, Mom,” she whispered, as she squeezed her hand and took a deep breath.

“I love you too, Dana. So very much,” her mother whispered back, with a squeeze of her own.

Scully closed her eyes and let her tired body relax, seeking the sleep she so badly needed. Her heart and her mind had been lovingly cared for by her mother. Now she needed to find the same relief for her body. She squeezed her mother’s hand once more before sleep found her, drawing her in to bring her comfort.

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #X Files Novel #Therapy sessions are hard but oh so important #Ugh this one hurt #Sharing the pain makes it better #Love and kindness #Angst and caring

[starbuck09256]

Green Sweater

You know the one, that one she favors in Season 7. Yea that one. Wonder who picked it out for her?? We all know. 

Fictober day 7. Barely making it. 

tagging @today-in-fic and @suitablyaggrieved

She stands at the edge of the luggage carousel watching it spin round and round with a small purple suitcase spins past her, mocking her each time it goes around as not another bag drops. She stares down at her black heels, anger blooming up in her chest as she thinks about the fact that it was ridiculous to check her bag, she only did so because they were racing through the terminal. Mulder and his be ready in 10 minutes. She gets that sometimes they do need to leave with little notice. She knows she's not really mad at him but the airline. The 12 hour flight with 2 delays and a middle seat the entire time as done little to dissuade her anger. She just wants her pajamas. She’s still feeling the effects of the chemo even with the recent remission status she’s received. She also doesn’t want to complain, have Mulder pull her out of the field, tell her to go home and rest. She wants to live now, she wants to be out there in the field using her talents again. She needs the challenge because in the last few months all her energy had been drained fighting the invisible force lingering from her chip. She wants to have her mind back, her body back. She wants to feel warm, to feel Mulders love not just in a hospital bed. She wants to move them forward, try and find the beauty in the world again. First though she wants to change into pajamas grab some popcorn from the convenience store and maybe just maybe lay down next to Mulder and fall asleep. She throws up her hand as the purple bag finally gets picked up by the punk teenager with the colorful mohawk. She is defeated once more as she resigns herself to meekly head over to the airline counter Mulder is already sweet talking the attendant. 

“No more flights tonight dude, there is a mall though about 5 minutes away. They are still open  you know with the holidays coming up.” 

Scully looks over his shoulder to see that he has in fact accurately described her bag with precision. She looks up and is so sad sighing. 

“I probably have an extra shirt you can sleep in Scully.” he mutters toeing his food against his black roller bag. 

She can’t help but feel angry staring up into the bright florescent light that blinks back at her.  This man has cost her so many outfits and heels. He practically owes her a new wardrobe. She takes a deep breath, thinks about the mediated therapy she tried when she was sick. Thinks about being grateful to even be wearing clothes or heels to begin with and not still be tethered to an IV or worse buried in some terrible outfit her mother thought would encompass her in the afterlife. He sees her anger most of this is his fault. He should have told her last night, he shouldn’t of kept her up arguing over some cryptoid he found, shouldn’t have stayed over longer and let her sleep against him so long. She wouldn’t be rubbing her neck or have been so out of it when he picked her up.  He taps his fingers on the counter, remembers the girl letting him know that this baggage claim was pretty much incompetant and Scully would be lucky to get her bag by next week. He knows he’s ruined a few things of hers, shirts with his blood, shoes with the running in the woods. Jackets and pants getting covered in god knows what. She now uses his dryer cleaner, who doesn’t ask questions but shakes their head and gives him a look. He thinks they were just happy to see that he had a lady friend after all. Never removing lipstick being the one thing they never had to worry about. He grabs the rental car keys reaches down and grabs Scullys hand. 

“Mulder what?”

“Let's go to the mall,” 

“You are not serious”

She doesn’t want to shop, she hasn’t gained back the muscle she wants. She was out so much that the 60% short term disability leave that she did take really hurt her overall savings and she doesn’t want something cheap. She wants Brooks Brothers, to look like a partner worthy of the man she stands next too. It’s taken her a bit of time to find some good thrift shops that lobbyists favor to donate clothes. 

“I’m buying” he says as he wheels his bag and heads towards the car. 

She’s never paid full price for anything, growing up with 4 kids on one income even with Base stores meant you hit shops carefully, you planned and you saved and you found ways to buy quality garments that lasted. Her student loans and medical school only made her even more conscious of the importance of being thrifty. She would rather have a spacious place in Georgetown then any latest trend. Now though now she is staring at beautifully crafted clothes that hug her athletic figure in ways that she only dreamed. Mulder went through Brooks Brothers in record time, they close in 20 minutes and he didn’t want her to feel the pressure so he just started picking stuff in her size. Normally she would hate it, would hate someone picking out things for her to wear but now she is standing in a fitting room wearing a pencil black skirt with a hunter green sweater and she sees the woman she is, the sweater so light and comfortable perfect for an evening at home or with a blazer at work. Mulder grabs a blazer and another white blouse throws them over the stall door. 

“Hey I know it looks good on you, hurry up so we can pay for it, we still need to get you some sneakers for the autopsies tomorrow” 

She can’t help but bite her lip. She laughs for a second, another shirt comes flying over the top. 

“This one isn’t for you it's for me, don’t wear it around Skinner though… oh I just noticed the famous footwear I’ll be right back, get everything together and meet me at the counter.” 

She can’t help but roll her eyes at the clearly way too low cut for anything professional shirt he tossed to her. Skinner would probably not care about anything they did if she wore that to the office. She gathers up everything lays carrying it to the counter, she probably only needs 3 things if she is honest. But there at the counter is another stack of pajamas some fuzzy slippers some beautiful lingerie it makes her blush wildly. The lady at the counter just looks at her. She is scared for a moment of how this looks like Pretty Woman. The cashier looks at her and smiles. 

“Guy said they lost your luggage, said to have you get this stuff too, even though you don’t need it. Because putting up with him is more than a 40 hour job and to consider it back pay.” 

She is slightly shocked. But the cashier doesn’t seem to care and starts ringing everything up, the numbers are staggering. There is no way she can let Mulder pay for this, well maybe the stuff he picked out, whatever that’s not her problem. The green sweater is lightly folded on top, “wow this color goes really well with your complexion.” 

She isn’t sure where Mulder is and the daunting amount that is showing in bright green is more than a little disconcerting. She feels a warm hand slide around her though. 

“Phew, sorry, hey I got these, these are the ones you always have right?” her perfect white little reebok tennis shoes stare back at her with her favorite brand of socks in a big plastic white bag. Because of course he would know her favorite brand of socks. 

“Mulder” she can only mutter as he pulls out his wallet and grabs a 20% off your entire purchase coupon. 

She laughs, Mulder is a bad tipper, even though he grew up with money he doesn’t like to pay anything more than he has too. He shrugs hands over a credit card and touches the green sweater, he clears his throat. 

“So you uh gonna wear that one tomorrow?” 

“I thought you wanted me to wear that piece that has both my tits hanging out?” She replies with a smirk.

“No, no Scully that one you know is for… nevermind. Wear the green sweater tomorrow ok. Since I didn’t get to see you model it.” 

“It looked good,” she replies. 

“Yea well you would look amazing in a burlap sack Scully,” he thanks the cashier. Grabs the four giant bags as she rolls a new black sleek suitcase towards the exit. 

#mulder and scully #fluff #season5ish? #myfic #the xfiles #txf fic #msr #fictober19

[misslilli]

It'll get better soon guys, don't worry 🤗

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 24 - It Takes A Village

[ Felix ]

It’s close to December and my favorite holiday is coming up fast, the lights are already up all around town and in school we make paper snowmen and sing Christmas songs. It’s supposed to be the most cheerful time of the year, but people in my life are sad, which in turn also puts a damper on my Christmas spirit.

Dad is not doing very well, he’s working all the time and doesn’t say much, he just goes through the motions of our day. One day, he just forgets to pick me up from school because he has worked through the night and fell asleep at the dining room table during the day.

Principal Skinner can’t reach him or my mom, who is in Europe right now, so he calls my other emergency contact, my grandma. I don’t know what exactly he tells her, but she’s coming all the way from Connecticut and the Principal will drive me home to check on my dad.

I’m excited that grandma’s coming, she’s really awesome! She’s straightforward and very, very strict and doesn’t like to cuddle, much, but her no-nonsense way of running a household may be exactly what we need right now. And she also makes a mean lasagna!

When we get to the house, dad is beside himself, apologizing to us over and over again for falling asleep and he looks a little relieved when Principal Skinner tells him that grandma is coming over to help.

I launch myself at her - I’m permitted exactly two hugs, one hello and one goodbye - when she walks through the door and immediately try to get her to make lasagna for dinner. She sends me up to my room to play for a bit, while she talks to dad and cleans up the mess in the kitchen. Afterwards, she really makes lasagna, yes!

——————

[ Teena ]

When I got the call from Principal Skinner, I was very worried about what I’d find when I got to the house, I’ve been called to pick up the pieces only once before.

It was after Diana left Fox and Felix and what I found then was a disoriented and confused three-year old who kept asking for his mom and a devastated dad and husband, unable to care for his child in his own heartbreak.

Thankfully, it’s not that bad this time, but I can tell that something has happened. Fox has been avoiding my calls for weeks now, only having Felix talk to me over the phone. I know that Sam knows something, but she wouldn’t tell me no matter how hard I pressed.

So the first thing I do when I get to the boys’s house is send Felix off to his room and sit down my son onto the couch to talk.

“Tell me what happened, Fox.”

And he goes on to me the whole story, from the first day of school where he met a woman that had upended both of their lives, to the birthday party - Sam has actually told me about that one, I thought it was a really sweet story - and the Halloween fair right up until the Basketball fiasco and the last time he saw her, where she asked him to give her some space until she has figured some things out.

“What do I do now mom? I hate myself for scaring her off like that and I can’t stop the tailspin of thinking I’m not good enough for her anyway, with that broken mess that’s our family…”

“I’ll tell you what to do now. You give her space like she asked you to and you get your act together in the meantime. Felix needs you to take care of him, it won’t do to wallow in self-pity. And ask yourself this: How can you expect someone to love you if you don’t love yourself? Go see Connie and fix your self-worth issues because you’re a good man and you absolutely deserve someone who makes you happy.”

“Thanks mom, for everything. I’ve already scheduled extra therapy lessons with Connie. You know what makes this whole thing even harder? I have to see her every damn day at school when I pick up Felix.”

“I’ll pick him up from now on. You focus on yourself, without distractions.” Maybe I’ll even get to meet her, I’m fairly curious about this Rainbow Woman myself.

—————

[ Felix ]

At recess in school, everyone’s on their best behavior, holding their collective breaths because Miss Scully is in a bad mood today. Actually, she’s been irritable for the past two weeks, with a very short fuse and absolutely no tolerance for disobedience.

Since her classroom is right next to ours, we can sometimes hear her yell at her kids for something or other and even our class flinches when it happens.

Right now, she’s over at the playground, leaning into two boys who have gotten into a fist-fight over a game of tag and I’m silently glad I’m sitting over here with Miss Anderson. I look up at my teacher, curious.

“Miss Anderson, why is Miss Scully so angry all the time?”

“I can’t tell you, Felix, I’m sorry.”

“Because you don’t know, or because you don’t want me to know?” When she changes the subject pointedly, I know it’s the second one. ‘Ugh, why don’t adults tell children anything, it’s driving me crazy! Dad won’t tell me anything and now this.’

Grandma picks me up again today and on our way to the car, we run into Miss Scully. 'Uh oh, I hope she doesn’t go off on grandma, I don’t think that will go over very well.’ My grandma can be scary sometimes, too!

“Hey Miss Scully, this is my grandma, she’s staying with us for a while now! Grandma, this is Miss Scully, she’s the fourth-grade teacher.”

——————

[ Teena ]

I’m happy to see that my son has raised Felix to be a polite child when he introduces the tiny red-head I’ve heard so much about.

“Grandma’s not actually my name, Felix. I’m Teena Mulder, it’s nice to meet you Miss Scully!” Holding out my hand, I try to seize her up.

Her handshake is firm and her posture is ram-rod-straight, all professional, but her eyes betray her poised exterior, because I can see flashes of sadness when she looks down at Felix. I can only guess that she’s not having an easy time with everything, herself.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Mulder. I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got an appointment to get to. I’ll see you tomorrow, Felix. Goodbye, Mrs. Mulder.”

With that, she’s off to get her bike and Felix breathes a sigh of relief.

“Whew, thank God, she didn’t get mad at you like she got mad at the two boys at recess today.”

I’m a bit puzzled by his odd statement, but on the car ride, he tells me all about the incident in great detail. I get the feeling that these stories are a staple in the boys’s days and I can begin to understand why my son would rather not hear Felix go on and on about what she did and what she said right now.

—————

[ DS ]

My therapist has told me that it has to get worse before it gets better, but this is getting ridiculous. I can’t sleep more than a few hours at night, which leaves me irritable in the morning and with an incredibly short fuse at school, going off on my kids for the littlest infractions.

They’re so terrified and confused, they end up making even more mistakes, which in turn sets me off even more - it’s a vicious circle that leaves me frustrated with myself and more times that I’d like to admit to, I’ve lost it in the teacher’s bathroom.

Meeting Mrs. Mulder today was unexpected and I tried hard to keep it together for a few minutes, but I can’t stand looking at Felix’s innocent face for a longer period of time, so I bolted right after the introductions.

I actually did have an appointment, with my therapist, and today she suggested I write down my feelings in a journal to get them off my chest and reflect on them.

During the night, I wake after only a few hours of sleep spent tossing and turning. Unable to fall back asleep for yet another night, I drag myself our of bed and downstairs, turning the TV in the living room, hoping it’ll lull me back to sleep.

“10 things I hate about you” is on and by the time Julia Stiles recites her poem, I’m bawling into a pillow. I remember the homework I’ve been given, so I grab a piece of paper and a pen and begin writing.

“Miss Scully’s list of 10 things I hate about you”

The words of the title swim before my eyes as I scribble my feelings onto the patient paper. The poem I write is slightly different from the one in the movie, but writing it all out really does help.

I fold the paper up carefully and toss it in the trash before heading back up to bed.

#xf #the x files #xf fanfic #msr #felix felicis