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television-overload · 3 months

Text

chance encounter

an X-Files Fanfic

Read on AO3

Summary: "Six months after becoming fugitives from the US government, Mulder and Scully have a chance encounter with someone that is very important to them."

Word Count: 6,556

Tag List (let me know if you want taken off or added!): @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @mulderscully @perpetually-weirdening @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @slippinmickeys @teenie-xf @whovianderson

It was him.

There was no way to explain how he knew, but he did.

The little baby sitting in the puddle deep water at the end of the pool was William.

His hands, still chubby like they had been in his infancy, splashed excitedly, and Mulder could hear his squeals of delight over the sounds of the other children playing. An electric yellow swim shirt paired with a dinosaur-patterned bucket hat kept him shielded from the hot California sun, and he wore striped yellow and blue swimming trunks.

Mulder thought he'd never seen a swimsuit so small.

What were the odds that of all the places they could have traveled to, he was here?

They'd been on the road for 6 months, stopping at unremarkable motels and campgrounds all the way, never staying in one place for more than a few days at a time. It was a fluke they were even here at all.

Perhaps fate.

The hotel was certainly a step up from their usual accommodations, but Mulder had insisted. It was their anniversary, he said. Anniversary of what, Scully wasn't sure. The progression from coworkers to friends to lovers happened so gradually that it was hard to pin down a particularly important date for anything. But he wanted to celebrate, to find a brief reprieve from living in darkness, so they splurged a little on this modest, if slightly run-down, hotel by the ocean.

Where their son and his new family just happened to be vacationing.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about this possibility. In those nights where Scully was extra quiet, eager to fall asleep at the end of a long day, of course he'd lay awake and think, what if.

What if we found him? What if we saw our son again? What would we do?

The idea was so far-fetched that he hardly gave it any real consideration. His thoughts ranged from “steal him back, take him with us” to “pretend you never saw him and flee town.”

The urge to do the latter was strong. It was not safe here. They'd given him up for this very reason, what would be the point if their being here got him injured or worse? Was it really worth the risk to William? To Scully?

His next thought was 'Should I tell her?' Should he tell Scully he'd seen him? Would she want to see him too, even if from a distance?

The loss of their son had broken her heart. Broken his too, but not in the same way. She had spent months with him, almost a year, only to be forced to give him away with little time to prepare.

He knew she felt the loss like a phantom limb. Even all these months later, she still awoke with his name on her lips, panic written on her face as she looked around for him. It drove a stake through his heart every time, yet part of him felt he deserved it after leaving her to deal with it herself.

He watched the boy.

He'd only come out here to enjoy the sun, sit on one of the loungers for an hour or so while Scully took a nap in their room. It was a much more comfortable bed than they've had in a long time, though that wasn't saying much.

He hadn't bargained on having his whole world tipped upside down in the short time they were apart.

As stressful as it was, life on the road lended itself to relatively simple decisions. Fast food or canned? Motel or campground? Will you drive, or should I?

This was different.

Should he tell Scully?

The thought of keeping this from her made him feel sick. He couldn't do that.

Then again, would it hurt more to know? Ignorance is bliss, they say.

Mulder had never believed that, though.

The Truth, with a capital T, was the one thing that connected him and Scully. Though their beliefs and methods differed, they valued the Truth above all else. That was what drew them together. That was what propelled them forward, even now.

She had to know. She had to know her son was here, even if knowing might hurt.

She could make the decision for herself, whether she wanted to see him or get as far away from here as possible. It might be the last decision she makes as a mother, who would he be to keep that from her?

She might never forgive him.

Swallowing back emotion, Mulder stood to his feet, trying not to draw attention to himself as he made his retreat. His sunglasses thankfully hid the redness of his eyes, a small mercy in this endlessly unfair life.

He stole one last glance back at William. There was a chance this was the last time he'd ever see his son, his baby boy. If this was it, he'd treasure this moment for the rest of his life.

A woman dropped down beside William, showing him how to cup the water in his hands and throw it.

'A quick learner,' Mulder thought, watching as he gleefully tossed small handfuls of water in the air, giggling as it rained back down on him.

Okay. He could do this.

Find Scully. Tell Scully. Find Scully.

He rushed into the moldy-smelling hallway of the hotel, not bothering to take the elevator up to their floor. Instead, he took the stairs two at a time, finding himself out of breath by the time he reached the 4th floor.

He nodded politely at a passing family decked out in beach gear, not wanting to draw suspicion. Once they were gone, he gave a quick rhythmic knock on the door to let Scully know it was him, then slipped his key card into the slot to unlock it.

The room was still dark, the curtains drawn tight to block out the midday sun, and he could hear soft breaths coming from the lump on the bed.

His heart twisted involuntarily as it so often did when he looked at her.

“Scully,” he whispered, approaching the bed. “Honey, wake up.” He settled on the side of the bed, placing a gentle hand atop her shoulder and jostling her just so.

“Mm,” she hummed, curling into her pillow. A good nap, then. That was nice, at least.

He shook her again, saying her name a little louder. “Scully, you need to get up.”

This time her eyes opened, sensing the serious undertone to his words. He could tell she was waiting for bad news, for him to tell her they needed to leave again. Wanting to put her worries at ease, he tried to smile.

“What is it?” she asked, blinking at him in confusion.

“Uh—” he hadn't gotten this far in planning what to say. But she was waiting for him now, so he needed to say something quick. “Scully, I saw some people outside...”

“Government people?” she asked, sitting up suddenly, ready to start packing.

“No, not the government,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders soothingly. “Scully—it's William.”

He could see the moment his words hit her. She blinked, like she might think she was still dreaming, but she saw the truth in his eyes. Her expression shifted.

He wasn't sure what reaction he expected, but his first guess wouldn't have been anger.

“Did you know he would be here?” she asked, her voice laced with hurt and betrayal. “Mulder, I told you not to look into it! Why—Why would you...”

“I didn't know,” he promised, begging the tears in his eyes to keep from falling. He clasped her hands in his, pulling them from their grip on the fabric of his shirt. “Scully, I swear I didn't know. I was just out at the pool, and—”

“You're sure it's him?”

His heart broke looking at her. Equal parts hope and dread, she didn't deserve this.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure.”

She let out a shuddering breath.

“What do you think about that coincidence, huh?” he said, hoping to lighten the mood.

She shook her head.

“Mulder, we can't see him. It's not safe, it's not—”

“I know.” He didn't like interrupting her, but he didn't want her worrying unnecessarily about things she shouldn't. They had enough of that already, these days. If she didn’t think it was a good idea, he’d be okay with that. “We can leave, if you want. I just thought you should know.”

Her blue eyes met his, brimming with unshed tears.

“Is—Is he…?”

“He's beautiful, Scully,” Mulder answered her unspoken question. “He looks happy.”

She choked out a sob, and he immediately enveloped her in his arms, holding onto her tightly. She clutched at him like a life raft, and he ran his hand over her back in comforting circles, murmuring soft words into her ear.

“What do you want to do?” Mulder asked, knowing that time was ticking, and the little family might not stay out there much longer.

Scully sniffed.

“We could—we could go see him,” she said uncertainly, looking at him to decipher his thoughts on the matter. “From a distance.”

Mulder nodded, then stood, helping her to her feet.

“I'm with you,” he reminded her, grasping her hands tightly in his. “It'll be okay.”

With an arm slung around her shoulders, he led her out the door, this time opting to take the elevator down to the ground floor. Scully seemed nervous, almost frightened, and he didn't blame her. He tried to picture how he would feel if their positions were switched, and he couldn't imagine that he'd take it very well. Eventually, they reached the glass doors leading out to the outdoor pool, pausing for a moment.

“They can't see us,” Scully warned, looking anxious and ready to bolt, but she was glued to his side and scarcely able to move without his guidance. He nodded and took her hand, leading her out to a couple chairs in the corner, hopefully obscured enough by the shadow of the fence that they wouldn’t be seen. That bright neon shirt was still there, easy to spot, and Mulder felt tears rising to his throat again. This was the first time they had all three been in the same vicinity since those first few days when he was born.

He squeezed her hand, checking one last time to make sure she was okay. She searched his eyes, trusting him wholeheartedly, and he was certain he had never loved her more.

“Over there,” he said in a low whisper. “With the little hat on.”

Scully followed his line of sight, gasping when her eyes settled on the playful baby in the water.

What followed next was a sob, and he quickly lost his battle with the tears that stubbornly refused to go away. He wrapped his arms around Scully, offering her what solace he could, while his own chin wobbled miserably.

She alternated between sneaking glances at her son and crying into his shirt collar, muttering “Mulder,” desperately as he rocked her back and forth, his hand smoothing out her hair for her comfort as much as his own.

He couldn’t watch anymore. Seeing her like that... it made it hard to stay strong, but he needed to be. For her. He closed his eyes, pleading with the universe never to give her this kind of pain ever again.

When he opened them again, his stomach dropped to the floor.

The woman he'd seen earlier was looking at them, her eyebrows pinched in concern.

He cursed under his breath, his arms tightening around Scully. She was in no state to leave. The best they could do was avoid eye contact and keep to themselves.

But it looked like that wouldn't be enough.

The woman, William's adoptive mother, whispered something to the man she was with, nodding in their direction. His concerned face matched hers, and he nodded. With a sickening lurch, Mulder realized she was getting out of the water, wrapping herself in a towel and heading toward them.

It was too late. They'd been made.

“Scully,” he said, alarm creeping into his voice. She only had a moment's warning before the woman was there, glancing down at them with a worried frown.

“Is she alright?” William's mother asked, empathy oozing from her.

Mulder hurried to compose himself, knowing Scully was a lost cause at this point. It would be on him to get them out of this.

“She's fine, sorry,” he managed to speak, wracking his brain for a believable excuse. Best to stick close to the truth. “We—We can't have children, so—” he nodded toward their son, hoping she could fill in the blanks.

Looking behind her at the boy in the water, her face eased into one of understanding.

“Oh, I know how that feels,” she said, smiling consolingly. “Our son over there is adopted. Every day we thank God for blessing us with him. He's our little miracle.”

Scully grips him tighter, barely restraining a mournful wail. His heart sinks, knowing this interaction isn't going well at all.

He presses a desperate kiss to her hair, wishing he'd never exposed her to this pain. Wishing they were alone in the confines of their hotel room or car so she could let it all out without arousing suspicion. Wishing this woman, as kind-hearted and friendly as she seemed to be, would leave them alone.

“Are you sure she's okay?” she asked Mulder, brows furrowing again.

His hand rubbed up and down Scully's shoulder, and he nodded. “She will be. This is—hard for her.”

“Okay,” the woman said, not sounding fully convinced. “Let me know if there's anything I can do. Like I said, I've been where she is.”

“Thank you,” Mulder choked out, eyes flitting about, looking for their escape.

Through the gate. Through the hotel. Down to the beach.

“Oh, sorry,” William's mother spoke, turning back instead of leaving. “I never introduced myself. My name is—”

“No!” Scully stopped her, looking suddenly panicked and alert.

The woman startled at the outburst, jumping back slightly.

“Mulder, we can't know,” Scully said, looking pleadingly at him. “We can't know anything, we can't!”

“It's okay,” he said softly, coaxing her back from the edges of a total breakdown. “It's okay.” He looked back up at William's mom, smiling an unconvincing smile. “I think we'd really better get going. It was nice talking to you,” he said as he helped Scully to her feet. “Come on, hon, back to our room.”

It was hard to move quickly with Scully desperately clinging to him, but it wasn't the first time they'd been in this position. Once they got back inside, he'd run her a nice warm bath and apologize over and over for everything he'd ever done to hurt her.

They just. Had to. Get. Through—

“Wait.”

He froze.

“You're—You're his parents, aren't you? The ones who gave him up?”

Ice water filled his veins. He could feel Scully shaking like a leaf under his arm.

“We really should be going—” he tried, refusing to turn back around.

Her voice was closer now. “You are. I—there's so many things I've wished I could ask you. At least let me thank you. Please.”

Against his better judgement, he risked a glance back.

“Mulder, we have to go,” Scully begged, now standing on her own and pulling him by the hand. His feet were rooted to the ground, unable to take a single step forward or back.

“Just wait a minute, Scully,” he said, his brain running a mile a minute to calculate the amount of danger each potential course of action held.

He met the woman's eyes, serious.

“Look, this is not easy for her. For us. Our situation right now is—” his eyes scanned around for anything out of place, “We—We really shouldn't be talking to you.”

The woman stepped closer still, a pleading expression on her face.

“It was a closed adoption, I know. But—”

“I'm sorry. We can't.”

Scully looked exhausted, frightened, and sick all at once. Every second they stood there chipped away at her, the anxiety sinking deeper and deeper into her skin.

“You're right about one thing,” Mulder conceded, glancing over at his son and drinking in his unconcerned, innocent features.

The next words nearly choked him with sorrow.

“He is a miracle.”

They were meant to be parting words, a reminder to this woman to never take what she has for granted, but before he could move, a hand landed on his forearm, effectively stopping him.

“We'll let you see him,” the woman offered desperately, near tears herself. “Please. Just a few moments.”

And with that on the table, Mulder was torn.

On the one hand, this woman had offered them something invaluable: a chance to say goodbye, something they hadn't been able to do properly the first time.

On the other hand, it would be selfish. To put their son and his new family in danger simply because they got caught in a moment of weakness... it was unfathomable. He couldn't be responsible for more suffering. He didn't think he could bear it.

“Please?” the woman said again, squeezing his arm.

He had a decision to make. Glancing once more at Scully's crumpled face, he caught sight of the slightest hint of hope. A barely-there gleam that he'd tear down earth and heaven for the chance to brighten.

His decision was made for him.

Cursing his lack of willpower, he turned suddenly to meet the woman's eyes.

“Not here,” he whispered sternly, pointing in her direction. “Give us half an hour, then come to room 409.”

“409,” the woman repeated, nodding. “We will.”

Mulder hardened his jaw, giving one final nod before collecting Scully and hurrying off into the building without another glance back.

“This is dangerous, Mulder,” Scully said worriedly as they passed through the hall, though he knew deep down she was relieved that she might get to see her son again. He only hoped that this risk would be worth it, that they'd be able to find some semblance of peace here and leave feeling less like a part of them was missing when all this was over.

As soon as they entered their room, Scully broke down.

“Oh my god, Mulder,” she gasped, crouching low to the ground and covering her face with her hands.

He immediately dropped to his knees to help her up, ushering her over to their bed.

“Did you see him? He's gotten so big.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, a mix of happy and sad, and though he'd known Scully and her nonverbal cues for so long, he still wasn't quite sure what she needed right now.

“Yeah, I saw him, Scully,” he answered, pulling her into his lap and rocking her gently.

“Do you think they'll really come?” she asked, hopeful, but hesitant.

“We need to be prepared in case they don't,” he answered realistically, thinking of an entire squad of police cars surrounding the hotel with their flashing lights and sirens. “I can pack up the toiletries, you got the suitcase?”

She nodded, grateful to have something physical to do.

Mulder checked his watch. Twenty-five minutes. If they didn't come in twenty-five minutes, it was time to get out of dodge.

“I love you,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and then her lips. “I love you, Scully.”

“I love you too,” she answered, breathing deeply to calm herself. Checking one last time to make sure she was okay, he nodded and released her, each to their own assignments to ensure they were ready to make a quick escape if need be.

As the minutes passed, they became restless. They watched the clock, counting down the seconds until they should have arrived.

Their cutoff time came and went. Mulder was about to call it and give the signal to run, already gathering bags and suitcases, but the subtle knock on their door stopped him in his tracks. He held up a finger to his lips, gesturing for Scully to stay quiet while he checked the peep hole.

The sight before him caused his shoulders to slump in relief.

“It's them?” Scully asked hopefully, reading his body language.

He gave a cautious smile back, then unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

There they were, William’s adoptive parents.

And William.

It nearly took his breath away.

This close. They were this close to him, after thinking they’d never see him again. He felt like a dehydrated man in a desert stumbling upon an oasis when he was sure he was going to die.

“Hi,” the woman said, looking more uncertain now that they weren’t out in the open. Her husband looked similarly guarded, but they were here, that was all that mattered.

“Uh, come in,” Mulder said, finding his voice.

He stepped aside to allow them entrance, and Scully immediately stood from her seat on the edge of the bed, wringing her hands in front of her.

“I promise we’re not here to take him,” he assured them, closing the door behind them. “As much as we wish we could.”

Once the door was secure, he went to stand by Scully, placing a hand on her back.

“We were just passing through, I couldn’t believe it when I saw him sitting there in the pool.”

The woman nodded, still a little tense, but wanting to believe him.

“Small world,” her husband said, standing protectively next to his wife and child.

Mulder nodded.

“Look, there’s not much information we can give you. For his safety and yours, this is the way it had to be.”

“I always wondered where he came from,” the woman said. “I thought maybe a teen mom, or someone who just couldn't take care of him, but, you—”

“He was always wanted,” Scully spoke, finally able to speak for herself. Her voice came out strained, gasping for air between words. “I prayed for him for so long.”

Mulder's hand found hers, giving it a squeeze to lend her some of his strength.

“He was our miracle.”

The woman looked down, saddened by this news.

“But you were right,” Scully continued, steadying her voice. “We couldn't take care of him. Our life—it isn't stable enough for a child right now. It might never be again. So, I gave him up.”

“Didn't you have a family member who could have taken him? A friend?” the man asked. “Why a closed adoption?”

Scully shook her head, looking down at her feet. How she had wished she could have sent William to live with Bill and Tara, maybe even Charlie. But it wouldn’t have been enough. It would have only endangered more people she cared about.

“That's something we can't disclose,” Mulder answered for her. “But someday, when he asks, I want him to know...” He breathed, summoning the strength to form the words. “I want him to know that we loved him... so much.” With each breath he took, tears filled his eyes, clogging his throat until he wasn't able to speak anymore.

They would always love him, for as long as they lived. Giving him up wasn't going to change that.

“Well,” William's new mom said through tear filled eyes. “I can't tell you how much it means to us to have him.” Scully bowed her head, nodding along with a steady stream of tears. “I promise to take good care of him. He'll be safe and happy with us.”

“Thank you,” Scully whispered, unable to look the man and woman in the eyes.

“We've been worried about him,” Mulder admitted, “hoping he was alright...” He checked in with Scully, reading her like he was so good at doing, before deciding it was safe to speak for them both. “I think, seeing that he is... is a huge weight lifted off our shoulders.”

Scully gave a nod in agreement, looking up at Mulder with something of a promise. A promise that they would be okay, eventually.

“I can't imagine what you must have gone through,” the woman said. “But we are so thankful. He—I don't suppose you want to know his name?”

“No,” Scully said quickly. “I—we can't. I couldn't handle the temptation.”

The temptation to track him down, just for the chance to see him again. That was a dream that could never be.

“What did you call him?” the woman asked, and Mulder squeezed Scully's hand again, letting her know it was okay. It was a common enough name, there couldn’t be any harm in telling her the truth.

“William,” she answered. “His name was William.”

To hear it spoken aloud after all this time was a relief. It had been almost taboo the past six months, too painful a word to be uttered. But now, there was something freeing about letting his name hang in the air.

Letting go, Mulder realized. They had to let him go.

“Well...” the woman began again, smiling at them reassuringly. “William is such a bright and curious child. He loves building towers out of blocks and throwing things at it to knock it down. He—He has this stuffed fox he takes everywhere. They're practically inseparable. His first word was 'mama'. He likes watching baseball and hockey with his dad. He—He's everything we could have hoped for, and more. So, thank you. Thank you for making such a beautiful child for us to love.” Her eyes shone with happiness, the kind which Scully wondered if she’d ever felt. “I knew you had to be remarkable people, because he's a remarkable child.”

“And now we know where he gets those lips and that hair from,” the father added, lightening the mood as much as possible, under the circumstances. “He's covered in sunscreen, must be your genes,” he said, nodding at Scully with a smile. And wonder of wonders, she laughed, a sudden, unexpected thing, and leaned into Mulder's side.

“We should let you go,” Mulder said after a moment, hating that it had to be done. “We'll need to be heading out soon.”

“To where?”

“We can't tell you that.”

Will's adoptive father's eyes met those of his biological one, and a look of understanding passed between them.

Adjusting her hold on William, the woman spoke, glancing between them as she did.

“I wouldn't feel right if I didn't give you a moment with him.”

Scully's head snapped to attention.

“You've already sacrificed so much,” she continued, “And I trust you. You're doing what's best for—for William. I know you have his best interests at heart.”

Mulder wished, wished, wished he could honestly say it was in William's best interests to be with him and Scully... but it wasn't. The truth of their reality was such that it could never be. Not through any fault of their own as parents—but because of external forces working against them, desperate to tear them apart and leave them with nothing.

But they had failed.

Because what they had was more than nothing. They had each other. And though they would have to live with the knowledge that a part of them was missing, maybe after today they would be able to make peace with what they do have. To live life to the fullest given the circumstances they've been forced to survive in.

In truth, he hadn't felt this hopeful about the future since the moment Scully first placed his son in his arms. There was still a mountain of hardships to surmount, but it didn't seem quite as impossible as before. And it was all thanks to a chance encounter with their son, at the precise moment they needed him most.

“We'll leave you be,” Will's mother spoke, checking with her husband to make sure he agreed. “If you need us, we'll be downstairs having some coffee.”

Scully's brows slanted in worry. “You don't have to go, it's okay,” she said, wanting to stop them.

“You deserve some time alone,” the woman said kindly, shaking her head. “I can see how much you need it, dear.”

Scully's chin wobbled, dangerously close to another round of tears.

And then she was coming toward them, William perched on her hip. She deposited him right into Scully's disbelieving arms, and Mulder immediately felt his throat close, the sight one he'd seen almost every night in the most heart wrenching of his dreams.

This was what he'd hoped to come home to after his time in the desert. This was what kept him sane between bouts of torture in a prison cell. To see it now was equal parts fulfilling and painful.

“I can give you something, a guarantee we won't run off with him,” he choked out, working to free his wrist from his moderately expensive watch. William's dad reached a hand out and stopped him.

“We trust you,” he said with a sad smile. “We'll be back in an hour. Please, take all the time you need.”

And with that, they left the room.

As soon as they were gone, Scully's head dropped to rest against the strawberry blond locks of their son, and she let out a sob.

“William,” she breathed, pressing her lips to his head. He seemed unfazed, and part of Mulder wondered if he still remembered her. If deep down, he knew this was the woman who had once fed him from her own body, sung him to sleep in an off-tune melody, soothed him when he had nightmares...

It wasn't outside the realm of possibility.

The same couldn't be said for him, however.

“I can't believe this, Mulder,” Scully cried, her tears falling into his downy-soft hair. Mulder led her back to the bed, sitting beside her with their son on her lap. “Did you hear what they said? He's so much like you, watching sports on TV, knocking his blocks down... He'll be throwing pencils at the ceiling in no time.”

That brought a small smile to his face, and he leaned to his right to press a kiss to Scully's forehead, his hand falling into place on their son's back.

William leaned away, taking in the new faces with a curious tilt to his head.

“Hey, bud,” Mulder said, offering him a finger to hold. For all the time he'd spent thinking of what he'd say to his kid if given the chance, he was coming up short now that he was face-to-face with the reality. “I missed you so much,” he managed to say, “And look how much you've grown!”

William reached out, holding his hands up in front of him, and Mulder's heart leapt. Glancing at Scully for permission, he slid his hands under his arms, lifting him to his chest and nuzzling him close.

“Oh, Scully,” he said, beginning to cry again, feeling the weight of William on his chest, real and tangible. “Sometimes I thought it was all a dream. But we have a son.”

It was hard to think of him out in the world, when he was hardly more than an idea. But now—he had face to put to the name, a personality to remember. He had a son.

She nodded, watching them with a watery smile. He pulled back just to look at him again, to memorize those chubby cheeks and the way he smelled. The precise shape of his eyes, their color, still the same as his mother's.

“I'm so glad we stayed here, Mulder,” Scully whispered. “To think I tried to talk you out of it...”

“Fate was working its magic, Scully,” he said, cutting her off. “This was meant to be.”

For the next hour, they played on the floor together, using Mulder's keys as a toy to hold William's attention. He was walking now, and took turns toddling between them, excitedly holding the TV remote in one hand and squealing when they praised him for successfully making it without tripping or falling.

For a while, they could almost forget this wasn't real. That they weren’t on borrowed time, already risking things they shouldn't be for this blissful moment of being a family.

Mulder got to see Scully as a mother. She saw him as a father. Finally, they had the chance to step into those roles, feeling fulfilled in ways they never could have imagined. It went far beyond any truth that once lay hidden in the X-Files. Nothing in that office of theirs could have given them purpose like this. Only each other, and the life that was formed out of the love that was sparked right there in the basement of the Hoover building so many years ago.

Mulder had always wondered how it would sound to hear the words “da da da” come from a child's mouth, and to know they meant him. Though his babbling wasn't intentional, merely a repetition of the same syllables “da” and “ma” over and over again, he was soaking it in. Committing it to memory. Praying—because only something like this could drive a man like him to prayer—that his son would think about him. Would think about his mother. That he'd grow to know and understand and appreciate the heartache they suffered at giving him away.

That maybe he'd love them too, despite never knowing them.

And maybe.

Maybe.

One day, they'd see each other again.

It was getting late. Scully could tell it was past William's bedtime. She laid him on their bed, and laid down beside him on her stomach, content just to look at him and be near him for however much time they had left.

Mulder joined her on the other side, resting a hand on top of William's gently rising and falling belly.

“I love him more than I ever knew was possible,” he whispered, and noticed as Scully wiped away a tear.

“It hurts, knowing we have to say goodbye.”

Mulder nodded, reaching a hand over William to rub circles on Scully's back.

“But not as much as it hurt before.”

Mulder remembered how Scully screamed, when he first found her in that dirty, abandoned house in Georgia.

“Don't take my baby. Please don't take my baby.”

It was different now.

This time, it was on their own terms. Their curiosities were satisfied, the things they always would have wondered about.

Who he resembled more. What his voice sounded like. His smile and his laugh when he was happy. The way he scrunched his face when he wasn't.

But above all else: would he be okay?

And now that they knew without a doubt that he was? They could let him go.

As much as any parent could let go of a piece of their soul, their own flesh and blood.

He would always be a part of them. They would always wish things could have gone differently. But at least now, Mulder had had a chance to say goodbye. At least Scully wasn't being forced to leave him with little warning, worrying that she was abandoning him to an unknown fate.

A blanket of peace fell over this humble, outdated hotel room. And for the last few minutes they would spend as parents together, Mulder and Scully counted themselves lucky. For this time was a gift, far more than they could have ever hoped to receive.

The same knock from earlier sounded, and a heavy feeling settled in Mulder's chest. He dragged himself away from the bed, while Scully lifted the sleeping William into her arms and held him close.

“How did he do?” their son's mother asked, looking perfectly at ease in a way that calmed and reassured him.

“Great,” Mulder answered. “He—He's perfect.”

The time had come. Scully knew it too. They'd already stayed longer than they should have. He knew there was a long night of driving through pitch darkness ahead of them, and he really, really didn't want to go.

But he had to do what was right for his son. That was all he ever wanted to do, as a father. He just didn't want to be the one to break Scully's heart all over again.

“I guess this is it,” Scully said, sounding calmer than he would have expected. He knew her, though, and he could see the emotions brewing beneath the surface.

It would be a tearful night for both of them.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” she said to William's new mom, stepping fatefully toward her. But before she could pass him over, she paused, looking down at him for the last time in her own arms. “William?” she spoke, her voice strained. “Mommy loves you.”

“Daddy loves you too, baby boy,” Mulder said, never having referred to himself as such before, but wanting to know how it felt.

He cupped the sleeping child's head, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and then another, not able to convince himself that each would be the last.

“I'm so sorry, William. Be good for your mom and dad, okay?”

Scully leaned against him, her strength beginning to wane.

“Goodbye,” she said, kissing him desperately all over, playing with his socked foot and each of his tiny fingers. “I want to believe I will see you again someday.”

As they passed him over, together this time, William's new parents smiled tearfully.

“If—If he suddenly gains an interest in Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster,” Mulder began in a worried, cautionary tone, “just buy him some picture books. He'll be okay.”

Though it easily could have been a joke, no one laughed. In fact, the man and woman nodded, taking his advice to heart. He felt better knowing their son would be accepted, no matter who he grew up to be. The child of the FBI's most unwanted was sure to be a bit of a loner.

“And tell him he'll grow into his nose. Sort of,” he added, this time eliciting a small smile from Scully.

“I promise, we'll tell him every day how loved he is,” the woman vowed. “I'm glad we met you.”

“I'd call it a God-given miracle,” the man said, and he reached out a hand to Mulder to shake. “Stay safe,” he said, then catching sight of Scully's necklace. “We'll be praying for you.”

She nodded, unable to speak.

Mulder's arms suddenly felt empty. He could see Scully felt the same, wrapping hers around her own torso just for something to hold. He enveloped her in an embrace, holding tight to keep both her and himself from chasing after them.

“Bye,” the woman said over her shoulder, her worried eyes unwilling to turn away from the sad couple they'd met. She gave a small, consoling smile, and lifted William's pudgy hand to wave goodbye.

Mulder and Scully waved half-heartedly in return, smiling as genuinely as they could, and watched as they disappeared through the door.

Once they were gone, Scully turned into Mulder's chest and held tight. His cheek rested on top of her head, and they swayed, silent but for the sound of the ocean nearby.

“We're gonna be okay,” Scully said at last. “Mulder—”

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes with sincerity and love.

“We're gonna be okay.”

#x files #txf #xf fanfic #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #msr #msr fanfic #post-series #the truth #william mulder #jackson van de kamp #chance encounter

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i-prefer-west-side · 6 months

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BIRTHDAY BOUQUET

Post-series

She doesn't mind that her husband is out of town on her birthday - she'd rather have him home, of course, but the book tour did not cooperate this year - and the FaceTime call she wakes to is both sweet and sexy, with promises of more that night.

Her relaxing morning takes a turn when she realizes she's running late for her seminar, so she almost misses Eduardo when he calls her name. She turns back to him, an apologetic smile on her face that turns to confusion when he hands her a coffee and a card.

"Mr. Castle sent this," he explains with a wink. "Happy Birthday, Mrs. Castle."

She doesn't bother telling him to call her Kate, instead enjoys the warmth that spreads through her every time she hears "Mrs. Castle." She has to wait until she's sitting in the seminar to read the card, and her eyes well with tears at the sentimental words from Rick.

The surprises continue throughout the day: another coffee timed with the first break, lunch from Remy's delivered, a bottle of water in the afternoon with a cheeky note to stay hydrated. Each one is accompanied by a card, each more sentimental than the last, so by the time she leaves that afternokn, she's about to book a flight to Orlando to spend the rest of the week with her husband, work be damned.

She has to run by the precinct, though, and when she spots the elaborate, K-shaped flower and macaron display on her desk, she grins. She could have guessed that being out of town wouldn't stop Rick from spoiling her.

"How was the seminar?"

She spins around at the familiar voice, and she refuses to be embarrassed that she rushes into Rick's arms, tugs his mouth down to hers. "Your signings?" she asks when she pulls away, her hands gripping his shoulders.

He gives her a crooked smile and shrugs. "My schedule was clear tonight. I have to go back in the morning, but I couldn't sit around in a hotel room while my wife celebrated her birthday without me." he explains.

She smiles, her chest swelling with love at this man who would move heaven and earth for her, but settled for a quick trip. "Well, I'm not complaining."

"Good." He grins. "Now, I made reservations-"

"Cancel them," she interrupts. When he just raises a brow, she trails her finger down his shirt and hooks it in his belt. "I want something else for my birthday."

#Castle fanfic #Fluffy Friday #Post-series #Beckett birthday

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portraitoftheoddity · 1 year

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“I have a lead on Vash.”

It’s the first thing Meryl says as she slides into the booth at the back of the small diner where she arranged for them to meet by radiogram, not bothering with any of the niceties of small talk or helloes after over a year of not seeing each other. Wolfwood can appreciate that about her -- she knows he knows perfectly well that she wouldn’t call him here just to shoot the shit. They have one topic of shared business, and she’s getting right down to it instead of wasting his time.

“Where?” he asks, schooling his expression and keeping his voice flat. He’s trying not to get his hopes up, but feels his chest tighten nonetheless.

“Small town about ten iles north-by-northeast of Lost July,” she answers, pulling off the reflective sunglasses she’s taken to wearing and folding them on the table. “One of my sources was talking with a freight hauler who does deliveries there, and he mentioned a blond man with one arm, so I put out feelers--”

“Lotta amputees in the world,” Wolfwood mutters, that flicker of hope sputtering with the growing sense that this is likely to be yet another wild thomas chase. “Doesn’t mean it’s him.”

“So I put out feelers,” Meryl repeats, a touch louder, purposely ignoring him, “and it turns out the guy in question goes by Eriks, and he turned up looking beat to hell just a few weeks after the July incident and got taken in by a local family.” She meets his eyes, and he can tell she’s almost buzzing with excitement. “All the physical details line up, the location lines up, and so does the timeline.”

Wolfwood exhales raggedly, reaching into his suit pocket for his cigarettes. “So, what-- you want me to go check it out? See if it’s really him?” Deal with the disappointment if it isn’t? He doesn’t say, as he pulls a smoke from the pack. The idea that Vash would just sit on his ass in a small town for two years instead of traveling Noman’s Land in search of self-flagellation following what happened in July just doesn’t track with what he knows of the guy. And despite how little time they spent together in the grand scheme of things, Wolfwood thinks he had a pretty good read on Vash the Stampede.

“I think we should both go,” Meryl declares, then presses her lips together into a line in the way Wolfwood’s learned she does when she isn’t being fully honest.

His eyes narrow, the cigarette hanging, unlit, from his lips. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She squirms slightly in her seat, and for a moment Wolfwood is looking at the fresh-faced rookie that hit him with her truck once more instead of the self-possessed reporter he’s watched Meryl grow into. But then she takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, and the rookie is gone. “Word is that ‘Eriks’ is an amnesiac with no memory of his life prior to two years ago. Could be a cover, to escape his past, or he might have had head trauma from July and genuinely not remember, which would explain why he hasn’t turned up--”

The whining drone of the diner’s overhead fan is suddenly impossibly loud in Wolfwood’s ears. His hands ball into fists at his sides, nails digging deeply into his palms as he struggles to focus on what Meryl is saying. But he’s only half listening, mind iles away over half a sand ocean--

“--So I think if both of us go, we have a better shot of helping him remember,” she concludes, looking determined. “If we leave now and take the truck, we can make it in just under--”

“No.”

He cuts her off, unlit cigarette falling from his mouth and rolling across the tabletop. Meryl stops and blinks a few times.

“Oookaaay, I know you’re not a fan of the truck,” she begins, but he cuts her off once more before she can continue: “We’re not going.” He pulls his sunglasses down so he can look her dead in the eyes and impress on her that he’s not fucking around.

For a moment, she looks gobsmacked. Then, her brow furrows in anger. “What the hell do you mean we’re not going?” she hisses, “it’s Vash! And if he doesn’t remember anything--”

“If he doesn’t remember anything, there’s a damn good reason,” he argues.

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, a traumatic brain injury! Which makes sense given what he survived, but--”

Wolfwood slams a hand down on the table, hard enough that several other patrons glance disapprovingly their way. Meryl jolts in her seat, finally shocked into silence. “Shortstack,” he growls, “you told me how messed up Spikey was after Jeneora Rock. About how long he wasn’t eating before we crossed paths, all because he blamed himself for what wasn’t even his fault, when he saved a lot of those ungrateful shits, right?”

“...yes?” she responds, cautiously now.

“And how exactly do you think Needle-noggin’s gonna react when he finds out that his crash landing wiped an entire city and its population off the map?” he hisses, keeping his voice low, but no less full of venom. “That his shithead brother probably got vaporized in the process? You think he’s gonna thank us for that knowledge? You think he’s gonna be happy we filled in that blank and told him the entire planet wants his head on a damn platter?”

Meryl is frowning still, though it’s more thoughtful than angry. “He deserves to know who he is,” she insists quietly.

“He deserves better,” Wolfwood snarls. “After all the shit this world’s put that spikey-headed idiot through, he deserves better than to be reminded of who he is in the worst damn way, and I’m not gonna be the one to tell him just so I can watch him blow his damn brains out to escape the truth that he got made into a weapon, into a monster--”

His voice cracks, throat closing painfully. He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until Meryl takes his trembling hands in hers, eyes wide. “Nicholas,” she says, “breathe.”

He struggles to inhale through a windpipe that’s suddenly narrow as a straw, equal parts mortified and feeling like he’s going to be sick. “I’m not gonna... be the one to tell him,” he mumbles wheezily as Meryl shifts her chair over, resting a small hand on his back. “Not again.”

“Okay,” Meryl agrees quietly, rubbing circles on his back like he’s a damn little kid again (he can’t find the breath to tell her to stop). “You don’t have to. I promise.”

He does his best to get a hold of himself, squeezing his eyes shut and banishing the image of Vash’s eyes widening like Livio’s had, right before--

He draws in a shuddering breath. “You’re still going to, though,” he says, shoulders slumping in resignation.

Meryl makes an uncertain sound. “I... maybe. You do make a point, that it would be a lot to handle.”

Her hands slip back into her lap, and she chews her lip thoughtfully while Wolfwood recovers his abandoned cigarette and fumbles for his lighter, hoping the nicotine will help settle him.

“Maybe we can just... observe,” she offers after a few long moments where he’s finally succeeded in lighting up and pulling familiarly acrid air into his lungs. “Check and see if it’s him, if he really doesn’t remember, and... if he’s okay.” She looks down. “If he’s happy.”

“If he’s happy,” Wolfwood repeats gruffly, exhaling smoke, wondering what that would even look like -- Vash with a smile that wasn’t forced or tinted with sadness.

“And if we decide we’d do more harm than good by telling him,” she continues, “we can walk away. Deal?”

He considers it. It wouldn’t be the first deal he’s entered into involving the Humanoid Typhoon; but it might be the one whose outcome he’ll be able to live with.

He shakes on it, and tries to bury his dread.

#trigun: stampede #fanfiction #post-series #tristamp #trigun stampede spoilers #angst #nicholas d wolfwood #meryl stryfe #minific #lena writes #lena's trigun nonsense #got a worm in my brain about how Wolfwood might react to Vash not remembering himself after the Livio thing and then this happened

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awkwardpenguinproductions · 1 year

Note

Feel free to ignore if this is too spoilery but when DotY Zuko becomes Firelord would he make sign language a required part of the Fire Nation school curriculum?

Absolutely, but probably not immediately or through his own initiative.

The first few years after the Comet are spent housecleaning the Fire Nation Imperial Government and rebuilding international relations. I imagine the Gaang flying hither and yon trying to keep the war from restarting because everyone hates the Fire Nation (and like, with good reason, but not really conducive to world peace, y'know?), and Zuko himself is too busy trying to demilitarize his country and dodging assassination attempts to focus on such benign matters as educational policy.

Once things settle down, Zuko can now focus on the internal matters that have so far been neglected, and by now I imagine he has a somewhat less bloodthirsty government to work with. With the War Council mostly neutered and its funding cut substantially, departments such as Education can come into focus, and Zuko is careful to hire ministers willing to take initiative for the betterment of the people and the country. One of these ministers is a native of the Outer Island of Wei Jian, whose younger brother had sent her a letter the summer the war ended about a mysterious new student in his class who claimed that Fire Lord Sozin had actually ambushed the Air Nomads instead of fighting a standing army in honorable combat, and played the tsungi horn like a man possessed, and even threw a dance party in a cave outside of town and then disappeared without a trace! This minister, a lowly clerk at the time, had taken it upon herself to find out the truth about the Great Comet attacks, and in so doing made it her life's mission to rehabilitate the Fire Nation's educational content and policy. Being appointed to the Fire Lord's Education Council makes this minister's career, and after a crash course in YHL to ensure that she can understand her Lord, makes sweeping reforms in how Fire Nation children are taught, both in methods and content.

A few years pass, and after these reforms are settled into common practice, this minister, now fully fluent in YHL and delighting in being able to chat with the off-duty Yuyan Archers who continue to litter the Palace, gets the bright idea to propose the addition of Yuyan Hand Language to the available language courses taught at the higher educational levels (others of which include High Earth Court, Imperial Fire Tongue, and both Northern and Southern Water Dialects). This catches Zuko by surprise, and after some thought says that if our intrepid minister can get a curriculum approved by the Yuyan Tribe Elders, then he'll approve it. She does just that, shocking just about everyone, and within a few years of her proposal Yuyan Hand Language is added to the list of language courses at the secondary levels.

Within ten to fifteen years of the first class, Yuyan Hand Language is second only to Fire Common in languages spoken in the Fire Nation.

#ask me stuff #atla #atla fanfic #dragon of the yuyan #post-series #(both canon and fanfic series just to be clear)#fire lord zuko #might flesh this out a bit more and add it to the spinoff series #but no promises

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loyaltyfallen · 3 months

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Cas googling how to celebrate birthdays because he never really had the time or opportunity to celebrate the Winchesters or Jack and he really wants to give Dean (who probably hasn't celebrated since he was 4) a proper 45th birthday.

#Post-series #the most caring man (dean)#a more profound bond (destiel)

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aishitara · 7 months

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it begins!

i'm trying my hand at suptober again this year, friends! come on and join me if you like. 😊

big thanks to @winchester-reload for running this challenge yet again! 😘

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jackiestarsister · 6 months

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Updated my Carmen Sandiego short story cycle! Now featuring Shadowsan and others' reactions to the newest member of the Callaway family!

#Carmen Sandiego fan fiction #Carmen Sandiego fanfiction #Carmen Sandiego fanfic #Red Crackle #Shadowsan #grandpa Shadowsan #post-series #JackieStarSister

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deancaspinefest · 1 year

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Everywhere

Author: LoversAntiquities | Artist: sidewinder

Posting on Tuesday February 14

Sam pulls Dean off the rebar. Dean wakes up, and Castiel is still gone. Nearly six months after Castiel's death, Dean finds himself staring down the barrel of addiction in a futile effort to relieve the pain from an injury that refuses to heal. Though, after a hunt gone wrong and one last bad decision, Dean finds himself nearly Baker Acted in Florida, forced into a recovery he doesn't want to face and memories he can no longer bury. Halfway across the country, Castiel finds himself along the Oregon coast, seven months after Jack sent him back to Earth. When he embarks on what was meant to be a journey to discover both himself and Dean’s past, a dream sends him careening back into Dean’s path, to face a world he never wanted to imagine. While Dean comes to terms with his grief, Castiel scours the country, searching for any sign of him. What he finds is Dean living out his retirement inside of a rehabilitation facility—and what Dean finds is the love of his life, brought back to him.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

“How long have you thought about suicide?” Glancing down at his slip-on shoes, Dean lets out a breath, down to the depths of his lungs. His hands feel like bricks, lead weights in his lap that simultaneously ache to move and long to sit still. His right hand, he sinks his fingers into the leg of his sweatpants, staving off the tremor that no medication can cure. The couch might as well be concrete, cold and lifeless and offering little help to his already aching spine. Only conventional painkillers in this place—not the good stuff, the stuff he’s been hoarding in his duffel for months. Right now, all fifteen plastic orange bottles sit in a disposal bin at the Panama City Police Department. Good riddance, his more rational brain thinks, while the other half begs for salvation from a craving he can’t scratch. A craving they won’t let him scratch. And for once, he can’t help but feel grateful for it. “Maybe I should rephrase that.” Mrs. Carlisle sits back in her cushioned chair, her ankle propped up over her knee. She looks nice today, her sunset red hair barely touching her shoulders, her glasses framing her green eyes, shining under the overhead fluorescent lighting. Sometime between last night and this afternoon, she repainted her nails, dark purple replaced with blue and bright orange. “How are you feeling today?” Another breath. Death rubs his eye with his trembling hand. “Better, maybe,” he says, every bit the truth. Better than he has been in a while, but not by much. “Haven’t been glued to the toilet today.” Mrs. Carlisle nods, her lips neutral. No scorn, no amusement over his pain. “It’s good to see you out of your room, as well. I know we’ve only been talking for a little over a week, but compared to our first session, you’ve come a long way.” Not long enough. “Just feel like there’s…” Dean waves his good hand, the other planted beneath his thigh. “Feel like I can’t get the words out. Like I’m not here.” Her lips turn downward. She scribbles a note onto the pad in her lap, then looks up. “It’ll take a while to adjust to the medication. Are there any symptoms you don’t think you can tolerate?” What a loaded question. “Can’t tolerate anything,” he huffs and leans his head back. “But I’m… I’m fine. I’m dealing with it. Haven’t gone blind yet, so I guess that’s a plus.” Again, Mrs. Carlisle scribbles something. Whatever she’s noting, he doesn’t want to read. “The purpose of counseling isn’t solely to help you ‘deal’ with what you’re going through. It’s meant to help you be mindful of it so that the weight doesn’t solely rest on your shoulders. Yes, you’re dealing with it, in your words, but it’s how you learn to cope that determines the outcome.” A sigh. “You saying I should think positive thoughts?” “I’m saying it wouldn't hurt,” Mrs. Carlisle chuckles.

[continue reading on Ao3 on Tuesday February 14]

#Destiel Fic #Destiel Art #Destiel Fanworks #DeanCas Fic #DeanCas Art #DeanCas Fanworks #Pinefest Previews #2023 Dean/Cas Pinefest #Author: LoversAntiquities #Artist: sidewinder #Rehabilitation #Hurt/Comfort #Post-Series

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digimon-adventure-nightmare · 2 years

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@takariweek

Day 7: Post-Series

#takari week #takari #Digimon #Hikari Yagami #Takeru Takaishi #takari babies #wings au #Survival of the Fittest #day seven #post-series #The Romulus Complex is already set post-series #but this is post-Romulus #fanart #illustration

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fluffyartbl0g · 1 year

Note

Thank you for the unreality tag lmao. I thought I missed a chapter and was very, very confused as to what could have possibly happened.

No problem :>

#ask #post-series #@roydeezed #<<< thanku for playing on to my silly joke T - T If no one did then i wuda been too embarrassed to face tumblr ever again WAHHHHHH #<<< this is seperate from the ask btw i just needed everyone to appreciate this guy

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television-overload · 9 months

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Field of Dreams (X-Files fanfic)

Mulder's favorite movie inspires him to fill his seemingly endless free time with a special project shortly after moving into the Unremarkable House.

I was reading a bunch of fics about dad!Mulder and baseball, and had the sudden realization that my favorite baseball movie of all time is so Mulder-coded, that it would 100% be his favorite move too, full stop. And thus this was born. It seems all my X-Files fanfics are going to be accidents, none of them planned.

Read on AO3

She should have known this was coming eventually.

The well-worn VHS had been sitting on the coffee table for the last two weeks, in the living room of their new, unremarkable house.

Kevin Costner. James Earl Jones. Ray Liotta. Baseball and dreams and ghosts and time travel and the healing of broken father-son relationships...

It was his favorite movie, but for reasons so personal to him that he never spoke of it, instead claiming that Caddyshack or Plan 9 from Outer Space was his top pick if anyone asked. She'd never even known he had it until she woke one night to find him downstairs watching it alone in the dark, his face lit up by the flickering images on the screen. He said nothing, but allowed her to sink into the cushions of their shared couch beside him, curling into his side. They watched it together in silence. No words needed to be said, after all. She knew him well enough to understand what this movie meant to him. As the credits rolled, he flicked the TV off and the living room of their creaky house was enveloped in darkness once again.

He'd been lonely here at home. He tried not to let it show, but she knew anyway. It was only recently that they'd finally been able to settle down, purchase a house out in the middle of nowhere while she put her medical degree to good use. But while she was away, he was left alone with his thoughts for hours at a time, nothing but the peaceable silence of the Virginia countryside to keep him company.

There were certainly signs she should have picked up on. Dirt under his fingernails. A splotch of grease on the corner of his sleeve. The smell of gasoline on his hands when she came home from work and was welcomed with a kiss.

He wasn't sitting idly in his office all day, that much she knew.

But it wasn't your run-of-the-mill yard work he was busy with, either.

He seemed happier. She tried not to question it. For the first time since they'd moved in, he seemed more like himself, and she saw a future where they could be happy here, establishing a comfortable routine and finally getting started on living a somewhat normal life.

She came home one day to find Mulder a couple hundred feet from the house, wrestling an overgrown chain link fence with his chosen weapon of a pair of bolt cutters. He waved at her with a smile, and she felt her heart flutter. She wouldn't ask what he was up to, not yet. When he was ready, he'd let her in on his secret.

A week later, he was in the small shed behind the house, drenched in sweat but seemingly gratified at the work he was doing cutting wood planks with a hand saw and sanding them down to perfection.

Some days he wasn't even there when she pulled into the driveway, and though she missed the way he would run up to her like a puppy to welcome her home, she was glad he'd found something to pass the time that made him happy. She secretly appreciated the flush of color on his face and sweat stains on his t-shirts when he finally made his way back to the house in time for dinner, bounding up the stairs for a quick shower before joining her at the table. It was a side to him she didn't see often before, what with his white-collar job and Armani suits. He'd even acquired a thin layer of facial hair in recent days, having forgotten to shave, and she couldn't bring herself to be mad at his new rugged, manly look. In fact, she quite enjoyed it.

Scully was napping on the couch, exhausted from another long day of work, when she felt a hand on her shoulder shaking her awake.

"Scully, wake up," a soft voice spoke, "I wanna show you something."

"What's that?" she slurred, her eyes blinking open blearily. His hands cupped hers and pulled her to her feet, steadying her on her wobbly, half-asleep legs.

"Come on," he said, and he tugged her toward their back porch door.

The first wisps of crisp fall air danced across her face as she stepped into the backyard, following Mulder with her hand clasped comfortably in his.

"Where are we going, Mulder?" she finally asked. They'd passed the boundary of what she traditionally thought of as their backyard, and were now traveling down a trail through the tall, wild grass that filled their sprawling property.

"You'll see," was all he said, but she saw the gleam of enjoyment in his eye and the way the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

The sun had begun its retreat to the horizon, the longer days of summer beginning to fade into the shorter ones of autumn. The sky around them was painted in vivid oranges, yellows, and pinks, the aftermath of a brief storm that had passed through. The earthy, fresh scent of the air filled her lungs, and she was once again in awe of the peace they'd finally been able to find, after all they had been through together. She squeezed his hand tighter.

As they came up over the hill, she saw it.

Freshly turned dirt, darkened with moisture from the rain, in the shape of a diamond. The grass was mown short, weeds removed until it perfectly mirrored the well-manicured outfield of any respectable baseball stadium. There were wooden benches on each side of the field, set up in raised tiers so that hypothetical onlookers could see above the heads of those in front of them. And the chain link fence had been modified and built into a decent impression of a backstop behind home plate, which appeared to be made of a burlap bag of sand. Beyond the outfield, the wild grasses and flowers grew up tall, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Scully felt a tear slip from her eye, and she quickly lifted a finger to wipe it away.

"Did a ghost tell you to build this, Mulder?" she asked, the hitch in her voice betraying the emotions that laced her joke.

He smiled and pulled her into his side. She hadn't noticed the baseball jersey he wore before, but it brought back fond memories.

"Yeah, actually, but it turns out the Lone Gunmen don't have an ounce of athletic skill to spare, so it got boring pretty quick."

She let out a watery laugh, wiping more forcefully at the moisture on her cheeks before turning back to him.

"Well, are you gonna show me around?"

He grinned and took off, walking backwards toward the field with a spring in his step. As they approached the field, this field that he had built, he paused to grab something out of a dirt-encrusted wheelbarrow that sat adjacent to the tall grass. From behind his back, he produced a baseball glove and a wooden bat, offering both to her.

"You pitching or batting first, Scully?" he asked, the fire of purpose, of passion in his eyes for the first time in a long time.

She smiled and grabbed the bat, which he used to drag her giggling toward the field.

"Up to bat first is Shoeless Dana Scully, coming out of retirement after 5 years for the opening game at this unremarkable field!" Mulder narrated, the playful tone of his voice sending her back in time. She dragged her feet exaggeratedly to home plate, lifting the bat above her shoulders as Mulder took his place on the pitcher’s mound.

"Fire away, poor boy," Scully called, earning a flashing smile from the man with the glove. She had thought that somewhere along the way, between dingy motel rooms and nights spent sleeping in their car, he had lost that boyish look he sometimes had. But there it was, that carefree, life-loving look of wonderment that had only made her fall deeper in love. Her stomach did a flip.

Mulder drew back in a windup before firing a fastball right over the plate. It whooshed past, clanging into the rattling chain link fence before Scully could even blink.

"What was that, Mulder?" Scully protested, raising her palms to the air in question.

Mulder laughed, kicking the dirt with his dirty sneakers before looking back up at her.

"I know your secret, Dana Scully," he said, mischief glinting in his eye. "You were on your brother's little league team as a kid. I found the pictures in that album you keep hidden in the closet."

Scully's jaw dropped and she let out a laugh.

"You've been holding out on me, slugger."

"Well, that was a long time ago," she reasoned, doing an impressive job of hiding the fact that she was guilty as sin.

"Uh huh, I'm sure," he nodded, tossing the ball a couple times in his right hand. "Let's see what you got, babe."

An eyebrow raise.

"Like Babe Ruth."

She rolled her eyes.

Accepting her fate, Scully got in her batting stance and prepared to hit the ball. He whipped one at her, and she made contact with a satisfying crack! sending the ball soaring into the outfield.

Mulder nodded his head up and down, doing a circle around the pitchers mound as he cracked a sunflower seed between his teeth. "Yep, that's what I thought. So you mean to tell me all these years I could have been talking baseball stats with you? Scully, who's your favorite team?"

Scully rolled her eyes and dug the end of the bat in the ground, tracing shapes in the dirt. "I never actually liked baseball, Mulder, I only played cause I refused to let Bill do anything without me."

"Are you hiding any other spectacular skills I should know about? Do I need to build a magical basketball court next?"

"Magical, Mulder?" she said, raising a familiar skeptical eyebrow in his direction.

He shrugged and gestured around him. "What? This feels pretty magical to me," he answered with a wink, all that natural charm he possessed coming out in full force.

She shook her head, laughing softly at this side of him that she had missed.

"I think it's safe to say I'm not hiding any basketball skills," she spoke, gesturing at her 5'3" form.

Mulder reached down to grab another ball from the bucket beside him, idly passing it between his bare hand and his glove.

"Good, because this was a lot of work."

Dusk slowly turned into night, the cool air turning cold as they took turns batting and pitching, until they'd exhausted their stash of baseballs. They'd be lost to the darkened fields until the morning, when the sun would again illuminate the landscape.

As Mulder led her back to the house, flashlight lighting the way before them, the words from the movie echoed in her ears, as if from a disembodied voice. "Ease his pain."

She wrapped an arm around his waist, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. His hand moved in small circles on her lower back, warming her against the chill that had settled in.

Whatever regrets they had, whatever dreams were broken beyond repair, they had this. They had each other. And even if this is how things always would be, nothing more than the two of them and this unremarkable house, she would be happy. And so would he.

"Is this heaven, Mulder?" she asked, her voice soft and pensive.

Mulder smiled and pressed a kiss to her hair.

"I think it just might be."

------

Anyway, the only way Field of Dreams could be more Mulder is if an alien showed up in it. I mean, it has ghosts, time travel, baseball, and difficult father-son relationships. What more could you want? Go watch it if you haven't. Even if you're not a baseball fan. The end literally makes me weep every time.

I may come back for a follow up, if the vision strikes me. One word: Jackson.

Now what are you still doing here, go watch the movie!

Tagging: @today-in-fic @randomfoggytiger @cutemothman

#txf #x files #x files fanfic #my fanfiction #field of dreams #baseball #fox mulder #dana scullyl #pre-IWTB #post-series #Spotify #msr

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