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sigritandtheelves · 5 years

Text

Advent

Complete, with Epilogue

Mature | 5.3k wds | MSR, canon divergent

26 snippets from 26 years of an epic love story with a little bit of everything: UST, developing relationship, family, holiday fluff, post-colonization, hanky panky, casefile, and lots of luuuuuve.

A/N: I’m sorry the original format of this story was a bit strange, but here’s everything, all together, with a New Year’s epilogue. I hope you like it, and happy holidays! ☃️

1. Christmas Cards (1993)

She’d mailed all the others, with their succinct and personalized notes—a quick update on her new job, best wishes for families and work and life and love. The last card sat on her coffee table, addressed to him, but she couldn’t think how to fill it out. Dear Mulder… Did he even celebrate Christmas? Was he Jewish? Would her card make him feel bad? She only knew that the holidays seemed painful for him.

But they’d been through a lot in their short time together, and she wanted to give him a card. She… liked him. Maybe more than she would admit. She picked up the card again and looked at the white space, then began writing.

Dear Mulder,

You’re a good partner and a good friend. I’m glad you have my back, and I promise I’ll never let anyone put a worm in your ear. Have a great holiday.

- S

She sealed the card and put it in the stack with the others.

—

2. Hot cocoa (1994)

He told himself it was because the heat wasn’t working well, but the truth is that he suspected she just wasn’t fully well yet. He’d had her back for so short a time and already nearly lost her again to a volcanic spore, of all things. She wore these heavy sweaters now, big coats. It was getting cold. He worried.

She kept taking breaks from her writing to stick her hands in her pockets, to pull them into her sleeves, and he had a thought. “Hey,” he said. “Be right back.” She looked up at him and nodded.

He returned some minutes later with a steaming travel cup, and set it before her. “Oh, Mulder, thank you. I’ve had so much coffee today, though.”

“It’s cocoa” he said, and couldn’t help his smile at her surprise. She reached out and took the cup in her hands, and the look on her face was so grateful, he felt his heart melting a little.

“Thank you,” she said. He shrugged it off, but that look on her face—he thought he’d keep that with him for a long time.

—

3. Snowman (1995)

It almost never snowed in D.C. before Christmas, but today, a drab Tuesday in the middle of the month, it did. She’d been feeling low since they returned from Ohio, since the stigmatic boy named Kevin. What if no one is listening? She kept thinking. But Mulder. Mulder was always listening. He popped his head into her line of vision, where she’d been staring at nothing. “Hey,” he said. “It’s snowing.”

“Hmm?” She looked up, distracted.

“Come with me.”

He helped her with her coat and brought her outside, where a half-inch of powdery white stuff had settled on the grass beside the cement walkway. It was four o’clock and nearly dark already. They smiled at each other in the white pre-holiday gloaming. “It’s nice,” she said.

Mulder stepped onto the grass and pulled at the fallen snow, sculpting it into the tiniest snowman she’d ever seen. He reached into his pocket for an assortment of useless things—a pointed pen cap for the nose, two nuggets of unidentifiable pocket lint for the eyes. He tore a blade of grass to make three buttons.

“There,” he said, and they laughed.

4. Snowglobe (1996)

It was a small thing, but for him it marked something important. An effort to move on maybe. After Roche. Scully lifted the tiny globe again in her hand and turned it to watch the plastic flakes float down around a miniature evergreen tree. A night sky scene was painted behind it. She looked at him, a question dimpling her forehead.

“When we were little, we used to stand in the falling snow at night, hold a flashlight pointed straight up. When the flakes fall, they look like stars. It feels like flying through space.”

She was watching him with such tenderness, her bottom lip held out in sympathy. She reached a hand to lay it on his forearm.

“I dunno. I guess it’s a memory I wanted to pass on.”

Scully leaned against him in a half hug, let her head fall to his shoulder while she turned the snow globe again and watched. “Thank you,” she said. “For sharing it.”

5. Fireplace (1997)

When he’d brought her wine the first time, he’d really been a serial rapist in disguise. When she’d brought him wine several months later, he’d run away in blind panic. So when he knocked on her door on a frigid December evening carrying a bottle of wine and a bag of takeout, she was understandably suspicious.

“Mulder.” She said, eyebrow up. “What’s all this?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Are you Eddie Van Blundht?”

“No.”

She sighed. “Okay. Come in.”

She poured their wine while he added another log to her fireplace. “I was thinking,” he said, poking at the log as if he knew what he was doing.

“Uh huh.” She was waiting for it, whatever this faux seduction would bring—a Bigfoot hunt, a late-night autopsy, revisions on a report he’s been putting off.

“I’m sorry about the Florida thing. I should have had some wine with you.” He sat on the other end of the couch and picked at the throw-pillow that sat between them. “I know you’re headed out of town soon, and I just…” he shrugged reached for the food. “Merry Christmas.”

“Oh,” she said, taken aback. “Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

6. Family Outing (1998)

“Fox, I’m coming to town on the ninth. I want to go out for dinner.”

His mother had been firm, but not unkind. He could think of no excuse to say no—they hadn’t been out of town since their sneaky trip to Nevada. “Okay,” he’d said.

“And I want your partner to come.”

“Oh, um, okay. I’ll ask her.”

“Please do. I’ll call you when I get in.”

And that had been that.

Now he bounced his nervous knee at the world’s strangest dinner with his partner, who’d barely looked him in the eye since June, and his mother who’d barely looked him in the eye since he was twelve.

He was polite. He didn’t slurp his soup. Scully asked friendly questions and tried to calm him with a hand on his knee, at which he nearly jumped out of his seat. She eyed him hard—gave him That look.

When it was all over, Teena kissed them both once on the cheek and then whispered, stealthy into his ear, “I like her, Fox. You should marry her,” before hopping into a cab. He almost choked.

“What was that?” Scully asked.

He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

7. X-Mas Movie (1999)

“Oof.” Scully dropped her fork onto the plate and sat back on the couch. “Done,” she said. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Thanks for checking over the report.” Mulder clicked on the TV and sat back beside her. “Movie?”

She eyed him suspiciously.

“A Christmas movie.”

“They make Christmas movies like that?”

He choked out a laugh. “Well, yeah. But that’s not what I meant.” He flipped around the channels while Scully slumped closer to him, letting her head fall against his shoulder. His free hand found its way to her knee, and she nuzzled her nose against his bicep. He smelled good. He found Rudolph and looked at her, eyebrows up.

“Uh uh,” she said. “Animation in that one freaks me out.”

He gave her a look and began clicking again. She nuzzled closer, so he lifted his arm and brought it around her shoulders, fingers falling at the curve of her waist. “I’m sorry you have to leave town tomorrow.”

Her cheek was over his heart, which beat a rhythm into her ear, into her bones, into her own heart. “Mmm. Me too.”

She closed her eyes and felt his lips touch the top of her head.

8. Snowstorm (2000)

Mulder was at the window, looking out at the snow that was piled to the tire line of their parked cars. “Scully, I really hope you’re kidding.”

She was eight months pregnant and uncomfortable on the couch, hands over her tensing belly. “Well,” she said, taking a deep breath. “No. But it’s not consistent. Probably Braxton-Hicks?”

He chewed his bottom lip and watched her. “What can I do?” He asked, nerves pulled tight like a drum.

“Half a glass of wine,” she said. “Well, maybe a full glass for you. But half for me. Then come sit.” She patted the sofa beside her.

When he came back, her face was already more relaxed. He handed her the glass and sat beside her, hand coming to her middle. “Okay?” He asked.

She took a sip, laid her hand over his. He felt a bump under his palm. “Yeah,” she said. “We’re okay.”

He rubbed her rounded abdomen as if he could massage the contractions away, leaned down to speak into her belly button. “Stay in there, kiddo. Wait ’til the snow melts.”

The snow kept falling, and the kid waited. Mulder kept his hand on her belly all night.

9. Skiing (2001)

It was after ten when he finally came home. He brought the blustery cold of the evening through the front door with him and into the quiet of their little house. The sound of the door seemed loud, and Scully waved to him, then held a finger to her lips from where she sat on the couch. Mulder winced and mouthed sorry as he set his bag down and came to see her. William was asleep, his chubby face smushed up against the crook of her arm.

“He fell asleep nursing and I was too tired to take him up. How was your trip?”

Mulder kissed her soundly on the lips. He smelled like snow and woodsmoke and the outdoors. She’d missed him.

“Good,” he said. “Turns out I suck at skiing, but I’m not as bad as Frohike. Here, let me take him.” He scooped the baby from her arms and gave her a hand as she stood. “I missed you,” he murmured.

Sleepy, she slumped against him and kissed his bicep. “Me too,” she said. “Let’s go to bed.”

10. Ice Skating (2002)

Mostly, he was too young to appreciate all the things a trip to New York at Christmas time had to offer, but William was fascinated by the skaters in the park. He ogled the enormous tree, clapped at the moving displays in shop windows, but begged over and over to return to the skaters.

“I feel like such a tourist,” Scully said.

“You are a tourist.” Mulder smiled at her, and she elbowed him in the side. They’d ducked into an out-of-the-way pizza joint in Midtown where they occupied one of a handful of crumb-covered tables. William had torn through almost an entire colossal slice of plain, and was now looking cheese-drugged and happy.

“Skates,” he said.

“I know, bud. We’ll try to get back and see ‘em again.” That seemed enough—the toddler launched his head into Mulder’s chest and soon became dead weight on his lap.

“You have to admit, we’re pretty good camouflage. You think your guy will show?” She took a sip of her watered-down root beer.

Mulder shrugged. “If he doesn’t, it was still a good trip.”

11. Snow Fort (2003)

Maggie Scully brought popcorn, hot cocoa, and a bag of crafting supplies for her Saturday with William, but they’d gotten an unexpected snowfall that kept his parents home. Their stakeout-cum-date didn’t look like it would happen this time. Instead, Scully and her mother sat at the kitchen table drinking the cocoa, while Mulder and the boy constructed an army of snowmen outside.

“I just think it would make things easier,” Maggie was saying. “In the long run.”

Scully nodded, chewing on her bottom lip, foot bouncing.

“I mean, don’t you want to get married?”

She took a breath. “Mom, I—“

But at that moment, the door burst open and William clomped in, trailing his scarf behind him, covered in snow. His cheeks were like apples, his brown hair damp from romping in the cold wet stuff.

“Mama, a fort!” He called to her. “Issa big one!”

Scully grinned. “You made a fort? Let me see.” She offered a shrug and a smile to her mother, not so secretly glad to avoid the rest of that conversation, and let the almost-three-year-old drag her outside to see his creation. “Be right back,” she said.

12. Family Dinner (2004)

It was amazing, Mulder thought, what the appearance of normalcy could do for some people. Nevermind that he had a vial of what was probably alien DNA in the trunk of his car. Nevermind that he was secretly building a network of resistance to colonization and the complete extinction of human life. Nevermind that he wasn’t even technically married to the guy’s sister. Slap him into a cute three-bedroom, throw in their adorable miracle spawn, and top it off with a “safe” nine-to-five for the little woman, and Mulder was A-okay by Bill Scully.

Well. Maybe not A-okay. But he’d been offered a handshake and a beer rather than a flat-out insult, so that had to count for something, right?

Matt had played beautifully with William (dinosaurs and little people on the living room floor), Tara and Dana had chatted pre-schools and little league, and now they were all sitting down for their chicken and broccoli.

Under the table, Mulder squeezed Scully’s knee and she gave him a grateful, knowing smile.

Completely normal. Nothing to see here.

13. Gingerbread Cookies (2005)

“Who’s this little guy?”

“That one’s you.”

“Oh, I like the red hots. And this one?”

William smiled. “That’s mommy. She’s not feeling good.”

“Yeah, she’s taking a little rest. Where’s you?”

The boy pointed to a smaller gingerbread figure, covered in sprinkles.

“Oh wow, you worked hard on that one. Should we take one to mommy? Maybe a plain one. Her tummy isn’t feeling so good.”

William found a cookie with only a few decorations and held it up. Mulder nodded.

In the bedroom, Scully was curled on her side, pack of saltines on the nightstand beside her. “You asleep?”

She smiled and sat up, “No, just resting.”

“We brought you a cookie.” Mulder bent and kissed her forehead, placed his palm on her lower abdomen. “Okay?”

She nodded, laying her hand over his for a moment. Then she held her arms out to William, who climbed into the bed and presented her with the sparse gingerbread girl. “It’s not too many sprinkles,” he said. “So they won’t hurt your tummy.”

She kissed his hair. “Thanks, kiddo.”

14. Mistletoe (2006)

The living room was dark but for the lights of the tree, which glowed every color. Mulder held the baby so she faced the light, ten fat toes peeking out of her flannel onesie toward the ornaments. Her eyes, already drowsy, were fixed on the gleam. Mulder bobbed and hummed, waiting.

The door opened, quiet, and Scully came in.

He smiled at her, still bobbing. “How’d it go?” A whisper.

“Good,” she said. “We’re really close, I think.”

“You gonna save the world by New Year’s?”

“Not quite.” She smiled sadly and took the baby, who snuggled against her with a soft sigh. Scully tugged Mulder’s hand toward the stairs. “Come on,” she said. “Bed time.”

But he stopped her in the doorway and pointed up. She looked, then rolled her eyes at him. Mulder just waggled his eyebrows and bent to kiss her, passionate, open mouthed, the kiss of a man who was so proud of his partner, this woman who had borne two of his children and would fix the world for them.

He pulled back and cupped her cheek in his palm.

“Wow,” she said.

“I love you,” he said.

15. Horse Sleigh (2007)

The world had changed, was changing. Subtly. Small doses of the vaccine rolled out every few months as supplements to the flu shot, always as an option: a precautionary inoculation. Children and reproductive adults were most important—the immunity was passed down. This they learned from testing their own children, both of whom carried the antibodies without the vaccine. They’d administered it to over a million so far. It was, maybe, a fighting chance.

Scully sat in her warm kitchen, sipping tea on a rainy December Saturday. The smell of toast and eggs hung in the air. She watched her children play, still in their pajamas. William, almost seven, held two plastic people and danced them in front of his sister, singing.

“Dashing through the snow… In a one-horse open sleigh…”

Rowan, almost eighteen months, couldn’t wait for the chorus, and bashed her jingle bells against her chubby knee. William steadied her hand, tried to get her to smash on the beat, and then they were both giggling and shaking the bells to the rhythm of the song.

A fighting chance, Scully thought. It would have to be enough.

16. Christmas Tree (2008)

He was no Clark Griswold, but goddamnit, Mulder was going to get this tree with his family, and then they were going to decorate it, and it was going to be a good day together, and that was that. William had dropped and smashed his mug of hot chocolate and spent the morning in tears (in pain at the hot liquid on his feet, in shame over the broken mug, in despair over the lost treat—he was his father’s son). Rowan had missed her nap and was now in the back seat screaming that she wanted ice cream (unaware, he supposed, that it was 35 degrees outside). Scully had complained of nausea and a headache, and after their rough morning, said to him, “Damnit, Mulder, this better be the flu. If I’m pregnant again, I swear to God…” And now, to top it all off, it had started raining on their way to the tree farm.

“Who wants Christmas music?” He asked.

Scully, still a bit green, looked at William (sulking), Rowan (in hysterics) and then to him with a look of such pity that they both started laughing.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” she murmured.

17. Shopping for Gifts (2009)

They were blessedly alone for the first time in what felt like weeks, though they were in the mall of all cursed places. Maggie had both ragamuffins for the day, and Mulder kept trying to steal bites of chicken from her Panda Express plate.

“Stop!” She said, but she was laughing.

He gave her lecherous eyebrows, and Scully kicked him under the table.

“Some hot date,” he said.

“Here,” she said, handing him an index card containing a careful list. “If we split up in the next store, we can finish faster, maybe have time to make out in the parking garage before we pick up the kids.”

Mulder grabbed at his heart. “Oh! Such a romantic, my sexy doctor lady.”

Scully tried not to smile, but she couldn’t help it. She loved him so much, this handsome brooding man who turned out to be such a goofy, wonderful dad. He was experimenting with a beard, and she reached out to pet his scruff.

“What?” He asked.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re just… I just love you.”

18. Mittens (2010)

His little girl was feisty as hell, determined, with a fire-breathing temper that… well, he knew exactly where she got it. Today she was fully four and fuming about her inferior winter hand-warmers. “I want gloves!” She shouted, but it sounded more like glubs because of her stuffy nose. What she needed was a nap.

“I hear you, Ro. I do.” The problem was that her hands were too little for all but the tiny stretchy ones, and those made her mad because they weren’t waterproof.

She threw her mittens to the floor and looked up at him with those tiny blue eyes, now wet, her bottom lip wobbly. “When’s mommy coming back?” She asked, and his heart broke for her.

Mulder sat down on an armchair and pulled her into his lap. “Soon, baby. A few more days. Her work trip is very important.”

Scully was in Europe, meeting with several government health officials about the vaccine. Still saving the world, his Scully. Rowan let her head clunk against his chest. “I miss her.”

Mulder kissed the top of her hair. “Me too, sweetheart.”

19. Woolen Socks (2011)

He came back to her late: the clock read 2:07. He slid into the bed and they curled together like parentheses around their clasped hands. Already he was touching her: face, hip, the skin of her back. He smelled wild, like gunpowder and night air and danger.

“Tell me?” She asked.

“Tomorrow.”

Mostly he stayed: profiled, consulted, took a case now and then. But sometimes he was caught by the old need, and in black leather he would disappear into the shadows for a time. He was more careful these days, hadn’t needed her to rescue him since long before Rowan was born. Still. She worried.

Scully was bundled in layers that he slowly removed. “I was cold without you,” she explained into his mouth, which burned hot and needy. He slid down flannel and cotton, held her breasts in his hands, kissed her neck, and she whimpered with the need of him. He curled over her, stripped raw and naked, and she guided him into her, wool-socked feet pressed over his lower back.

“Dana,” he murmured into her neck, a plea and an apology.

“You’re home,” she told him.

20. Nutcracker (2012)

Whatever was happening, it had begun. Maggie came to stay with them, the office converted into a temporary guest room, basement stocked with enough canned goods and water for a year. Two armed agents in the house. They hoped it would be enough.

Skinner had called at the first signs, and Mulder went on full alert, wanted to fight on the front lines.

“No,” Skinner said. “Keep your family safe.”

So they all sat in the living room now, Rowan on his lap, Scully curled against his side, William on the floor, explaining the plot of the novel he was reading to Maggie. The news offered only vague reports—illness, violent deaths that followed, hot climates faring worse than cold. They’d switched it off. Tchaikovsky’s Nutcrackerplayed on the stereo instead, and their tree glowed colorful while the electricity held. It was a false serenity.

Outside, the world was burning.

“We couldn’t save them all,” Scully whispered.

Mulder squeezed her tight. “You did so much. The world will still be here because of you.”

“And you,” she said.

The family held tight to each other through the long, cold winter.

21. Playing Board Games with Family (2013)

The power flickered off and on these days, so the wood stove was lit and candles were always at the ready. But for now, the dining room lights were on and the whole house was warm.

“Your turn, Rowan.”

“Dad, can we get a dog?”

“William…”

“I got a seven.”

“Okay, sweetheart, which rooms can you get to? Count how many spaces.”

“I don’t mind cleaning up the poop.”

“You going to get up at six every day for a walk? Even Saturdays?”

“This one? Or this one? The… Ballroom or the … Louge? Mommy, what does this say?”

“The Lounge. Which one do you want?”

“Mmm… the Ballroom.”

“Okay, move your guy.”

“This one’s a girl.”

This time last year, there was fear and uncertainty. Cold nights. Barred windows. Loaded weapons always at hand. This year they had no tree and few presents, but at least there was certainty: they were winning. Too many had been lost, but not all.

“I’d name him Exley, like that baseball guy.”

Scully raised an eyebrow, and Mulder made a motion like he’d been stabbed in the heart.

“You’re too clever for your own good, kid.”

Now, there was hope.

22. Reindeer (2014)

He came up behind her in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her waist. Long fingers slid under the hem of her pants to circle her hipbones. His lips came down on her neck.

“Mulder,” she said, a hint of exasperation.

“Mm hmm.”

“I’m chopping potatoes.”

“And?”

“It’s not very sexy.”

“Is when you do it.”

She gave him a look over her shoulder, but he could tell she was happy. He kissed her neck again and this time she leaned back against him. When he slipped a hand under her sweater, she set down the knife. “You’ll make me lose a finger.”

“Smart move. You’ll need those.”

She turned around in the circle of his arms and leaned up to kiss him. “Not as much as you’ll need yours.”

He grinned. More than twenty years, and she still kept him guessing. His fingers were working at the bottom button of her cardigan when the door flew open and the dog came bounding through the kitchen, a pair of antlers on his head. Rowan followed after, giggling, carrying a harness.

She glanced up at them on her way past. “He’s Rudolph!” She laughed.

23. Santa (2015)

It was late. The kids were in their rooms and quiet, if not sleeping. Mulder was on the couch, chewing his bottom lip, pained expression on his face. Scully, wrapping presents at the coffee table, leaned back and lay a sympathetic hand on his knee.

“We knew it would happen,” she said. “It’s time.”

He sighed. “I know. I know. She’s older now than… than Samantha was, and Sam never stopped… I mean she still believed when…” He rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s good that she’s growing up.”

Scully hoisted herself up from the floor and settled herself onto his lap. She reached up to cup his face in her hands, kissed him on the nose. “Christmas will still be fun. William still loves it, and it’s been years for him.” She leaned back to look at him—wry, angling to cheer him up. “Is it the cookies? Mulder, you can still play Santa if you just want the cookies.”

He smiled at her, despite himself, and pinched her on the ass. She jumped and laughed, smacked him on the arm. He kissed her and murmured into her mouth, “I just want your cookies.”

24. Christmas Carols (2016)

It was not where either of them wanted to be at ten p.m. on Christmas Eve, but when the lives of innocents were on the line, and the clock was ticking to save them, it was hard to say, “Sorry, I have to wrap my kid’s video games and watch Elf for the fifty-seventh time.” Instead of egg nog and cookies, they had cold pizza and donuts in greasy boxes on the conference table. Scully had just given her report on the last victim’s autopsy. Mulder was folded over in his chair, fingers at his temples, absorbing himself in the mind of another murderer—this time, one who promised a Christmas massacre.

“Talk me through where you are,” Scully said.

Before he could answer, Skinner approached them. “I’m sorry you two have to be out here tonight. Are the kids okay?”

“They’re with my mom.”

Skinner sighed. “This thing got to the press,” he said. “They’re calling it the Christmas Carol murders.”

Mulder lifted his head for the first time in several minutes, eyes red. “Give me a couple hours,” he said. “I think I have something.”

Scully squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll get you some coffee.”

25. Christmas Day! (2017)

Rowan and the dog were up first, a few minutes after seven. She was a good sister to her late-sleeping teen brother and often took Exley (a galumphing shepherd mix) for his morning walk. She set the coffee going for her parents, plugged in the tree, and turned the stereo on low to the all-day Christmas station. At the top of the stairs, she knocked gently at the second door.

“William,” she said. “It’s Christmas.”

A muffled groan: “Gimme a minute.”

Her parents’ door was next: a soft knock, some rustling, her mother’s voice, “Come in.”

Rowan padded toward the bed, and her mom scooted back, lifted the edge of the blanket. “Hi, sweet girl. Merry Christmas.”

Rowan tucked under the blanket, head under her mother’s chin.

“Who’sat?”

“Hi, daddy. Merry Christmas.”

His hand reached over, arm wrapping around the both of them, and patted her back. “Hmm, you too, kiddo.”

“William’s still sleeping. I made you coffee.”

A squeeze from her mom, a happy sound from her dad. “Oh, you blessed child.”

“You want me to wrangle him up?”

A nod.

“Okay, let’s go get your brother. I think there are some presents down there for you.”

Epilogue: New Year’s Eve (2018)

They sit on the couch under a blanket with the TV muted, feet up on the coffee table. In the corner armchair, under the soft light of a floor lamp, Rowan reads (Rowan is always reading) a novel she got for Christmas, dog at her feet. William is at a party but has promised to be home by two. Scully’s cheek rests over Mulder’s heart. She is almost dozing, watching the silent celebration, enjoying the quiet and the warm and the smell of woodsmoke.

“What are you thinking?” Mulder asks her.

She breathes in and draws small circles over his shirt with her left hand, noting how solid he still feels, how strong, how ready to fight, should he need to. “I was thinking about my dad,” she says. “He always made us take the tree down so quickly… and how it’s been so long.”

A log in the fireplace pops. Mulder tightens both arms around her under the knit blanket, kisses the top of her head.

“I’ve known you for a quarter century,” she says. “Longer even, by a little.”

“You tired of me yet?”

She smiles and kisses the place under her cheek. “Not even close.”

The world is different now, after so much has been lost. It moves a little slower, takes for granted a little less. It is still a dangerous place—because fear is catching and learning that things are not as they seem can make some go mad with denial and rage and terror at the loss of their footing. But it is also more peaceful, in some ways—because loss reminds us to hold love close. Because all the hearts that stopped beating are still felt in their absence. Because people, in the end, come together in crisis. They don’t only tear each other apart.

“I think we did okay,” he murmurs. “With our quarter century.”

Scully leans her head back to look at him. “Just okay?”

“Mm hmm.” Under the blanket, she feels his hand slide under her t-shirt, smoothing over her ribs, creeping toward the bottom of her breast. “We avenged our ghosts. Fell in love. Took out a global conspiracy. Made a couple cute babies who turned into pretty awesome kids. Saved the world a few times. Decent, I’d say.”

“Not too shabby,” she agrees.

He leans down until the tip of his nose touches hers. His fingers have found the soft cotton edge of her bra and with little probing motions, they sneak beneath its border. She curls closer to him, raises her left knee to rest on his thigh.

“Mom, the thing! Turn on the sound.” Rowan’s voice from the armchair brings Scully back into the room. Her daughter is gesturing toward the TV with moderate interest. Two minutes left on the little clock. Mulder bites her gently on the shoulder, kisses the spot, and fishes for the remote in their pile of blankets. Five years ago, New York was a screaming disaster of blood and death. Now it is full of drunk revelers, noisemakers, party hats and neon lights.

Mulder’s voice is husky in her ear. “Hopes for the next twenty-five?”

On the screen, the count-down begins: Ten, nine, eight…

Scully tilts her head toward his, their noses brushing. “A little less eventful, maybe. Fewer monsters. Fewer guns… More of you.”

The countdown gets to one and there is an explosion of sound: Happy New Year! on the TV. Mulder’s mouth has found its way to hers, and they kiss like it is a promise. “I think we can do that,” he tells her. “Happy New Year, Scully.”

She brings her arms around his neck and rests her forehead on his. “Happy New Year, Mulder.”

—end—

(for real this time)

#a thing i wrote #advent #msr #xf fanfic #plus a new epilogue!#25 (26?) years of loooove

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allyinthekeyofx · 7 years

Text

Fading Light -Part 3- 3/6

PART ONE -- Chapters 1-6

PART TWO -- Chapters 1-6

PART THREE -- Prologue Chapter one Chapter two

PART THREE

CHAPTER THREE

It took me a few moments to re-orientate myself when I woke up, not least because of the feeling of Mulders body curving around mine. His arms were loosely embracing me, his fingers brushing against the bare skin at my midriff where the soft jersey vest I had worn to bed had ridden up slightly. I could feel his breath, warm and even on the back of my neck and the rhythm and intensity told me immediately that he was sleeping.

And I should have felt uncomfortable to have him in my bed, especially like this; holding me in such an excruciatingly intimate way, his morning erection all too obvious as he slept against me. But all I actually felt was a sense of belonging, a deep sense of peace, that this was exactly where he should be. The feeling of him against me was like coming home from a long journey and for the first time in weeks I felt safe; protected; whole.

Because everything about this situation suddenly seems so familiar somehow and yet I know it can’t be. Mulder has held me before of course. I have felt his arms around me countless times when one or both of us have found the ground pulled out from under us. We both know through painful experience how to prevent each other from falling. And I have, over the years come to rely on him to pull me back when I am heading towards the brink, to know instinctively just how much or little he needs to offer me in so that I might be able to keep going, to dust myself off and carry on.

But this seems different somehow. Like a hazy memory suspended on a thread of gossamer silk that can be held on to for a mere moment in time before it cuts loose and floats away. The thought makes me squeeze me eyes shut, because I don’t want this to end, I need to revel in this feeling for a while longer, if only to affirm to myself that he is actually here with me, allowing me to feel, for the first time, that the world is real once again.

I have refused to speak to him regarding the events of the preceding months – because how do I even start? I have no concept whatsoever of what I went through, or most crucially, what he went through. I have tried and tried to remember; frustrated to the point of tears as night after night I try to force myself to recall even one small detail of how the recurrence of the cancer affected us both.

I’ve read the medical files of course, my analytical doctor’s brain assimilating and processing the information that is neatly and thoroughly catalogued as a tangible reminder of the last seven months. But as I read them, I felt absolutely nothing; the words within held no meaning to me and it were as though they belonged to someone else. In fact the only time I felt a small jolt was when I saw Mulders signature regarding his agreed guardianship of the morphine and his acknowledgment of the accepted method of dispensing it to me via intravenous injection. It was something I hadn’t ever considered before – that it had been Mulder who had taken on the majority of my care as I steadily declined in front of him and just for a second I had felt an almost slavish gratitude towards him that he had been able to support me in such a monumental way. And then the feeling had gone as I struggled against the feeling of betrayal I felt that the memories, no matter how painful they might have been, had been stolen from me.

There was a small part of me that was glad I didn’t remember. But I was aware that it was simply my minds way of trying to protect myself from the reality of the situation, a way of trying to persuade myself that none of it had ever happened, denying to myself and to Mulder that the last seven months had even existed at all.

But it was hard, impossible even, because every time I looked at him I saw those terrible months reflected in his eyes. And the toll they have taken on him. I know he loves me. I’ve known for the longest time and I can only imagine what he went through as he watched me dying slowly for the second time. And as much as it hurts me to admit it, I need that affirmation that he loved me enough to stay by my side throughout. The thought makes me a little ashamed also, because having read the files I know I should be thanking God that I am still here, that I am still around to even ask him anything at all. But I can’t. I just can’t bring myself to add to the pain that radiates from him, a pain so intense that I’m not sure how long he will be able to bear it before he shatters.

I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the scars that stand out raised and ridged against the skin of his hand and the fact that my bathroom cabinet is now just a cabinet and no longer a mirror, tells me everything I need to know about how my illness affected him; is still affecting him now. The way he looks at me when he thinks I don’t notice, his eyes wounded, far away with memories that refuse to quieten, plaguing his soul even as he tries to hide them from me. And something else, something hidden so deeply in those ever changing depths that I can’t see far enough inside of him enough to quite fathom it.

Mulder is a complex man, a curious mixture of kindness, strength and aching vulnerability and he has laid bare every aspect of his personality to me at one point or another. But this is different. This is something I’ve never seen before. And it haunts me that I may have caused it in some small way. That he is hiding something from me that is slowly eating away at him.

It was partly the reason I couldn’t hold the tears back last night, because even though I am fully aware that much has been taken from me, I am also somehow aware that Mulder has lost something too. Something so painful he has pushed it deep inside of him, refusing to share it with anyone; least of all me.

And so I had cried, cried for both of us, for everything that has been taken from us on this journey in to darkness that seems to have no end and no reason; unsurprised when he came to me, drawn to the sound like a moth to a flame, needing to make me stop hurting just as he has always tried to heal me in the past. Almost against my will I had tried to deny him, falling back on habits that have taken a lifetime to form and which are now just as damaging as the events that created them. But for once, he had ignored my plea, I think needing the contact as much as I did. That to deny it would be to deny our friendship, a deep abiding friendship that has weathered every storm and somehow continues to endure.

This man is a part of me. A part of who I am and I think I would die without him.

I don’t know how long we laid there, neither of us seeking to escape the confines of the embrace, and I couldn’t speak as he gently wiped my tears and softly traced patterns along my forearm, quietening me, chasing the shadows away, holding them at bay even just for a short time. Healing me in tiny increments just by the power of his touch while the strangest sensation of familiarity crept over me, a feeling of déjà vu so strong it actually made me gasp out loud. Mulder had immediately tensed, as though realising the position we were now in and how potentially dangerous it could be. His grip on me had loosened slightly and as I had felt him raging an internal battle with himself, my heart began to beat with a ferocity that almost stole my breath from me as his whispered words reached me.

“I’m sorry Scully. I should go...”

And I think he was as surprised as I was when I clutched on to his forearms and crossed them firmly beneath my breasts, drawing him even more tightly toward me; Holding on to him as though without him to ground me I would simply fly away. I don’t really know what I was thinking other than if I allowed him to break this connection it might never be regained, the prospect bringing a flood of fresh tears unbidden to burn my swollen eyes.

“Please don’t.”

And whatever misgivings he might have had were pushed away as he dropped his head back on to the pillow, his breath once more gently stirring the hair at the nape of my neck, gentling me with his touch, with his presence. The essence of Fox Mulder that is so much a part of me I can’t even describe exactly what it is.

But he had stayed. And I drifted in to sleep feeling safe for the first time since that terrifying day when my world tilted sharply and my reality blurred; because this was real. He was real.

Now as I lie here, protected in his embrace, watching as the first vestiges of sunlight start to filter through in to the small drab room I know with a certainty that overwhelms me with its clarity that somehow, somewhere in another time and another place, we have shared this moment before. That my heart remembers what my mind cannot, an echo of the past that is merely a whisper of forgotten incidence, speaking to me of a truth I’m not yet ready to understand.

The thought is fleeting, hovering as I am on the edges of sleep and I allow myself to relax back in to Mulder who, unconsciously draws me closer to him, the feel of his lips caressing that sweetest of spots just below my pulse point, feeling the way his breath warms my neck. And my last conscious thought is one of easy familiarity as I drift once more in to nothingness. That something intrinsically wonderful is being regained even as we sleep, and when I next awaken, blinking at the bright sunlight that now fills the room, Mulder is gone.

But that’s okay because for the first time since I returned I feel complete.

Continued chapter 4

#fading light #my fic #msr #angst

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