#when she thought he was dead she was carrying one more mulder | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

numinousmysteries · 5 months

Text

His Heritage

@eightnightsofmulder

@today-in-fic

Eight Nights of Mulder Day 2: Heritage

[on Ao3]

December 2001

Mulder is 1,700 miles from home on the first night of his son’s first Hanukkah. But his foot is heavy on the gas pedal and he’s quickly closing the distance. He didn’t contact Scully before deciding to return. She would argue and tell him it’s too dangerous, but she’s wrong. The danger is being so far apart. The only risk now is this temperamental jalopy, that he paid cash for in New Mexico, giving up the gun before he crosses the final state line and makes it home.

When he returned from the dead to a very pregnant Scully, his first instinct was to run. He couldn’t be a father. It seemed possible a year ago when they tried IVF but that was before he was taken, before he lost months of his memory and showed up deckled in scars from injuries he couldn’t remember suffering. She was flourishing with life and he still hadn’t shaken off the cold of the grave.

He was far too damaged to take care of a helpless infant, to be any sort of positive influence in an innocent child’s life. His own father wasn’t much of a role model and he feared he’d follow in Bill Mulder’s footsteps, putting his quest before his family. Scully didn’t agree. He gave her more than one opportunity to leave him and cut her losses. He hoped the strength of her nurture could overpower the dysfunction of his nature. But she didn’t leave. She ignored his wisecracks and his attempts at disinterest. He tried to push her away but she kept coming back. After hearing what she’d gone through when he was missing, then dead and buried, he understood that she wasn’t going to let him go without a fight.

That fear evaporated when he saw his son for the first time. Red and screaming in Scully’s arms, her own face white and nearly lifeless, hair plastered to her cheeks with sweat. In that moment, it all became clear. He loved this child and would die to keep him safe. His fear was replaced by a primal urge to protect. He lifted up Scully, exhausted and bleeding and clinging to their son, and carried them to the helicopter without thinking. He only had one imperative now: To love his son.

He thought he was acting on that obligation when he left at Scully’s urging. But seven months later, he realizes he’s wrong. Fueled by bitter gas station coffee and instinctual need, he drives through the night, devouring the miles that separate him from them. Adrenaline and yearning render sleep unnecessary.

On the second night of his son’s first Hanukkah, he finally makes it home.

He knocks lightly on her door, then hears her soft, barefoot steps on the other side. The shadow of her feet darken the doorway and he knows she sees him through the peephole. He hears her stepping away from the door and sliding open the drawer to the small side table in her entryway. She’s retrieving her weapon, and he doesn’t blame her. Then, she unbolts the door and is standing in front of him.

She looks tired, gaunt with deep hollows around her eyes. She’s thinner than she was even before the baby and her skin is so pale it’s nearly translucent. He imagines he doesn’t look much better himself. The months apart weren’t kind to either of them.

“Is it really you?” she asks, taking a step back, her eyes wide with terror and hope.

He wants to reach out and hold her close to him, to feel the shape of her body and inhale her scent, but he doesn’t want to scare her.

“The one and only Fox Mulder.” He gives her a tentative smile. “We used to share an office, rarely agreed on anything, but managed to swap enough genetic material to create one perfect baby boy who I’ve missed desperately. Sound familiar?”

She doesn’t walk towards him as much as fall into him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head in his chest. “Mulder,” she whispers against the fabric of his wrinkled t-shirt.

He’s been awake for over 36 hours and he’s beyond unkempt. He’s long crossed the line between stubble and bearded and hasn’t showered in three days, but she doesn’t seem to mind as he presses a kiss to the crown of her head and pulls her in tighter. He feels her birdlike bones through her clothes.

She pulls back to look into his eyes. They’re both crying and smiling now as he leans in to kiss her. Her lips are slightly chapped, the way he knows they always get in winter, and he parts them with his own to deepen the kiss. She tastes like tea and tears and home. He wants to stay like this forever, but there’s someone else he needs to see.

“Where’s William?” he asks, his face still close to hers.

“Come,” she says, leading him by the hand. “I was just putting him down.”

He follows Scully into her spare bedroom that’s now been transformed into a nursery. When he left, William was still sleeping in the bassinet next to her bed and most of the nursery furniture was still unassembled. He hates thinking that she did this on her own. William lies in a blonde wood crib in the middle of the room. He’s gazing up at a mobile of floating moons and planets through heavy eyelids.

“Can I?” he asks, reaching down to pick up the baby.

Scully nods.

More than half a year has passed since he last held William and he’s shocked by how much he’s changed. The boy is heavier in Mulder’s arms. As he’s lifted up by unfamiliar hands he becomes more alert. He holds his head up on his own, reaches out to grab his father’s face, and smiles a big, gummy smile with a hint of pearly white teeth breaking through. He has a dusting of light hair and his mother’s bright blue eyes.

“He’s incredible,” he whispers to her.

“I know,” she says, wiping away tears.

He’s spent seven months imagining this moment and his only regret is that it took him so long to come back.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” she says.

“You never would have let me,” he says, and she doesn’t argue.

“When are you leaving?” she asks.

“I’m not,” he says definitively.

“Mulder,” she sighs, the pain evident behind her eyes. “You can’t stay. You know that.”

“No, Scully, I don’t,” he says. “There’s been no credible threat or any evidence that my being here puts us in danger. It’s killing me to be so far away from both of you, and if you try to tell me you don’t feel the same way I know you’re lying.”

“It’s not that simple,” she says, bringing her hand to cup his elbow.

“It is,” he insists. “It’s exactly that simple. I love you, I love our son, and I need to be here with you. You know we have a better shot fighting off any threat together than we do apart. We’ve been a good team for nine years, Scully. Let’s not break up the squad just yet—especially when we’ve got this promising new rookie.”

She laughs softly but hot tears are running down her cheeks. He leans in to kiss them away, still holding William in between them.

“Unless I’m cramping your style here.” He smiles

“Never,” she says with a sharp exhale, catching her breath as she cries.

“Tell me everything about him.”

They make their way to her couch and William falls asleep in his arms as she tells him everything he’s missed. William sleeps through the night and can sit up on his own. He eats oatmeal, mashed up bananas, and applesauce, and she wants to try peanut butter next to make sure he’s not allergic. He isn’t crawling yet but can roll over on the floor and reach for toys. It’s all equally mundane and miraculous.

It’s been over an hour before he takes his eyes off her and the baby long enough to notice the menorah on her kitchen table. She has two candles lit, plus the taller one in the middle, the shamash.

“What’s that, Scully?” he asks, taking one hand off William’s warm back to point to the menorah. “You go and convert while I was gone?”

“It’s your heritage,” she says.

“Oh Scully, you didn’t have to do that,” He’s surprised by how choked up he feels. He hasn’t owned a menorah in his entire adult life.

“I was so scared he’d never get the chance to know you,” she says, “and I wanted something he could share with you.”

“And you went with a menorah instead of a scale model of the Starship Enterprise?”

It earns him a warm smile. “Maybe next year,” she says.

He watches the candles burning, translucent wax slowly seeping down their sides. For the first time in months, he feels like he’s in the right place at the right time. He’s done running. His family is here and he isn’t going anywhere.

He’s not scared of hurting his son. There’s so much good he can pass down to William—how to read a box score and see an entire game unfolding in a string of numbers, how to spot constellations twinkling in the night sky, how to make Scully laugh. It’s not a terrible heritage afterall.

#eightdaysofmulder #eightnightsofmulder #8dom #txf #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #msr

44 notes · View notes

slippinmickeys · 7 months

Text

Proof of Life 6/?

1. It is a long road that gets bumpier every day. The thought of food makes her nauseous. The thought of work makes her sick. She doesn’t change out of pajamas, doesn’t leave the apartment, except when forced. Her hair is now roughly the same stringy mess as it was after weeks in captivity.

The network has retained a lauded psychiatrist and Scully meets with her several times, but doesn’t say much. Scully relays how Murray died, what she felt when the rebels put their hands on her. The doctor, who insists that Scully call her Karen, carefully tells her that Mikey is missing and presumed dead, his camera and equipment having turned up in a shot-up warehouse on the edge of the city. She tries to help Scully process her grief, but can tell that she is withholding something: Mulder, like a shadow standing in the corner of the room with them, a ghost only Scully can see.

Scully doesn’t want to share Mulder with her, with anyone. He’s hers, she thinks. Hers. Karen brings him up once, but Scully stays completely silent, keeping her face carefully and stonily neutral.

When she gets home and she closes her eyes, she pictures Mulder laying back in the rumpled Hilton bed, sucking his fingers clean, a sated look on his face. The more she thinks of him, the less she’s present.

She touches herself one night when Ethan is asleep beside her, but her gummy fingers can’t reproduce his touch.

He’s somewhere in the world, she tells herself. At least he’s somewhere out there. But then so was his sister, her picture on the side of a milk carton.

The world can be dark and cruel. The world is a very big place.

***

She can hear Ethan on the phone, hushed whispers. “She’s not really eating.” “I’m not certain she even wants help.” “It’s like she’s still in that hotel room. I don’t know what I can do to get her out of it.”

The last one actually makes Scully laugh out loud. Little do they all know. It’s not that she’s mentally stuck in room 1055 at the Hilton. It’s that she’s stuck outside of it. It’s that she wants to go back.

***

Her mother gets her in a pair of pants and she washes her hair just so she doesn’t have to hear about it.

“You look peaked,” her mother says, her hands wrapped around a tea cup, the waitress sashaying away from their table. Maggie’s head is tilted to the side, appraising.

“I’m not certain that helps, mother.”

Maggie’s eyes narrow and then relax. She looks down at the milk swirling in her Earl Grey.

“I know it’s a process, Dana,” she says. “But I wish you’d let us help you. Or at the very least attempt to help yourself.”

Scully sighs.

“Ethan says-“

“Oh fuck Ethan,” Scully hisses, the words coming out more vicious than she intended.

Instead of shock or offended pearl-clutching at Dana’s outburst, her mother’s face wilts in sympathetic grace. She reaches out a hand, her fingers cold, her aging skin like fine paper.

“I know you're afraid,” she says. “I know you’re afraid to tell me. But you have to tell someone.”

2. Mulder gestures at her jacket. “You a reporter?”

She nods, slips it off. It’s far too big. It was given to her to fit over the flak jacket she wears in the field. A flak jacket the rebels have taken, along with everything else she carried. The room feels small and she can sense the men who march back and forth outside of it.

“You?” It feels odd to make small talk.

He holds up the camera. “Photojournalist,” he says.

“Who do you work for?”

He shrugs. “I’m freelance. This month, it’s Newsweek.”

She isn’t sure where to put the jacket, what to do with herself. He looks so relaxed and comfortable that she feels like she’s trespassing.

“Listen,” he says, no doubt sensing her discomfort. “Mi casa es su casa. Please make yourself at home. I’ve been here for a few days, but it’s not like I’m paying for the room.” He quirks a smile at her and she relaxes a little, throws the jacket over the back of the room’s only chair.

He pulls his knees up, sits up a little straighter.

“Are you… okay? They didn’t hurt you?” His face is cut like a Roman bust, all nose and character.

She wants to tell him about Warren. About Mikey, who she hopes is still alive.

“They didn’t hurt me,” she says instead.

He looks relieved. “They drop off food every couple of days,” he says. “The water in the bathroom works, but just barely.” He makes a move to stand and she flinches, which causes him to freeze. She feels stupid, but she hasn’t come out of flight or fight yet, her amygdala controlling her higher functions.

“I swear on my life, Dana Scully,” he says quite seriously. “I won’t hurt you, either.”

For some reason, she believes him.

3. In the taxi on the way to the studio, she brings up something that has bothered her since he said it.

“They didn’t release me,” she says.

“What?” Ethan asks, perplexed. He has been staring out through the window, lost in thought.

“You said…When we were on the phone, right after we were rescued, you said that the network paid the rebels a lot of money to release us. But the rebels didn’t release us. The Navy did. The rebels are dead.”

Ethan doesn’t seem to have an answer, turns back to the window.

“You keep saying ‘us.’”

It wasn’t just me in that room, she thinks, but Ethan knows it. She thinks he finally understands.

The cab smells like fake pine tree and B.O. Odd that they didn’t send a town car.

“We’re almost there,” he says, dejected. The window he’s staring through is streaked with rain, the outside world smeared like a watercolor.

4. She’s weary of her own pain. It’s all very tedious, even to her.

She awakes one night suddenly from the hard grip of a dream, her stomach a tight knot, her pajamas soaked with sweat. There is something happening to her, something not right.

She stumbles to the bathroom. Behind her, Ethan breathes deeply once and rolls onto his side.

When she stands up from the toilet and looks down, the bowl is bright with blood, clots sliding down and pooling in the bottom. It has been three months since her last period, but she has been underweight, under pressure, under water; her body as uncooperative as her mind.

In the morning, still wracked with a backache like a metal hand clamped around her spine, she calls a friend from med school, gets an appointment first thing.

***

“Were you raped?” Rebecca asks her, no nonsense, peeling off her nitrile gloves and depositing them in the exam room trash can.

“Was I…?”

“You’re having a miscarriage, Dana,” her friend says, with a little more empathy, rolling her little exam stool back over to the table where Scully is pulling her feet out of the stirrups.

“I know you were…” Nobody can really bring themselves to say ‘held hostage.’

“No, I… No,” Scully says. “I wasn’t raped.”

Rebecca tries to talk to her, but there is something happening. The numbness she has been feeling begins to shed from around her heart like a calving glacier; the pain, the hurt, the apathy all slough off and are replaced, not by anger or sadness, but by a blooming, unbridled and pure conviction.

When she gets home, she walks up to Ethan, her strides so quick he’s actually startled.

“I’ll do the interview,” she says, a little aggressively. He stares at her a long moment before picking up the phone.

5. Morocco, sun bleached, Moorish influence writ large. She treads ancient Amazigh paths, walks across bright patterned tiles soft with heat. She’s wearing white, not just for the weather, but for the purity of it; she feels cleansed of a burden and born anew.

There are tall stools in front of an old zinc bar, a row of dead soldiers. Overhead a ceiling fan rotates lazily, swirling the hot, sticky air.

“You’re a hard man to find,” she says.

“Not hard enough, apparently.” His speech is slightly slurred. He’s older than she thought he’d be, grizzled as a possum.

She swings into the seat next to him, motions to the bartender. On the tabletop in front of them, next to all those empty beers, sits a felted hat all wrong for the climate. She doesn’t speak again until there are two new bottles in front of them, already blanketed in condensation.

“Marrakesh is certainly a choice,” she says, taking a pull.

“I like to haggle in the souks.”

“That where you got those gloves?”

He is wearing fingerless gloves; leather, worn in the palms.

He finally turns to look at her and must be startled, as he begins to blink rapidly.

“Do you know who I am?” she asks.

He nods, a dry swallow dipping his Adam’s apple.

“Where’s Mulder?” she asks. Simple, direct.

His forehead crumples.

“I fucked up,” Frohike says on a hiccup. “I fucked up and I almost got him killed.”

Scully nods silently. There’s no refuting that one simple fact.

She turns on her stool to look out the entrance of the bar, where a wall of red clay and chalk runs just beyond it, the ramparts circling around the medina of the ancient city, the fortifications the same color as her hair.

“There’s one part of that particular narrative that you’re failing to realize,” she says.

The little man turns to her as one might twist to gaze upon the divine.

“If he hadn’t been there,” Scully starts. “If he hadn’t been taken, too,” she goes on. “I’m not sure what would have happened to me. I’m not certain I would have survived. So really”—she picks up his hat and hands it to him, turning to look him in the eye—“what you did was save my life.”

Frohike gazes up at her like he’s witnessing a miracle. His eyes are watery, red-rimmed, his expression full of awe. He takes his proffered hat.

“I need you to help me find him,” she says.

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #msr #au #war correspondent/photojournalist AU #WIP

49 notes · View notes

randomfoggytiger · 7 months

Text

"My Religious Convictions Are Hardly the Issue Here"

(Fictober, Day 20)

Today I tried to tackle a personal nitpick of Scully's religious episodes: that her faith was portrayed as more of a burden than a reprieve or source of hope.

*****

“Mulder, I think there’s something wrong with me.”

He’d opened his apartment door after two whispery knocks, saw Scully standing there with wide, red eyes, and swept her inside before she could get two words out.

Nosebleed? Not enough terror with her fear-- and he hated, was grateful, that he could differentiate her fears. Scully didn't appear to be in pain, seem nauseous, or exhibit any other physical symptom: she slid her coat off, walked somberly to the couch, and sat down without taking her shoes off. Absentminded, sticking to routines. A scatterbrained Scully was never a good sign.

The case had been… hers. He’d dropped in halfway through because of her request, thought her blind spots were inhibiting her logical deductions, and tried to help the only way he knew how: by managing. He’d noted that she didn’t protest.

The last girl-- Roberta Dryer-- died, anyway.

The last time they'd talked was in the car driving away from the crime scene.

“What happened out there, Scully?”

She’d shaken her head, shivering, staring blankly ahead. Didn’t take his coat. Repeated his words during his own crisis of faith: “I don’t know.”

Mulder sat down, wondering if Scully wanted his opinion or his final vote.

*****

“Scully?”

He could never sit long with silence, she mused. To Mulder, silence was darkness, was brooding, was the final gasp of sound after his sister had been swept away.

“Y’know, I think silence was invented for crazy people,” he'd joked-- half-joked-- once. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Agent Mulder”-- they’d been newly partnered then, she remembered-- “I do my best thinking in silence; and I have to keep up with your spooky theories." When was the last time they’d joked about his reputation, or hers?

“Scully?” Antsy now, on the verge of some discoveries of his own.

She wet her lips, quietly cleared her throat, sighed out her tremors. “Mulder, do the dead come to me because I can’t let them go?”

*****

He was stunned-- felt his mouth dry up and the hairs on his neck stand, electrified.

“Emily appeared to me again… in the church.” Scully’s passivity broke: her brows drew down, her nose began to splotch, a tear began to dangerously rim her lower left eyelid. “She asked-- she begged me.... ‘Mommy, please let me go’.”

Mulder scooted further towards her, arms open to let her cry it out on his shoulder; but she remained rigidly in her seat.

“And I wonder if… if maybe… they’re…” neither needed to directly name her father, her sister, her daughter, “not at peace because I won’t let them go. Maybe they keep coming back because I can’t accept they’re gone. Do I… am I?”

Scully looked piercingly at his face, crumpled and bleeding tears and horrified.

Of course not, he wanted to insist. Scully you know that doesn’t make sense, he wanted to yell. But his eyes fell on her necklace, a splinter of one of her tears collecting on its angles; and Mulder didn’t know what he could say that wouldn’t offend those raw beliefs. She’d let him express his doubts, swallowed back her hurt when he practically spat them; and was here now, tattered and ripping apart.

*****

It wasn’t hard to miss that Mulder-- bewildered, lost, and hesitant-- had locked onto her cross. Scully could practically hear his gears turning, shifting, jamming as he slammed up against the symbol of her faith, one he'd tried to reinterpret after carrying her necklace around for the months she'd been taken. He’d wanted to forget it had a meaning before he came along.

“Mulder.”

His head snapped up, caught. His eyes were less lost, more frustrated. Not at her, but--

“Do you think my faith holds me back?”

Fox “the truth is all I have” Mulder blanked.

Yes, yes he did.

“I… maybe you believe it does.”

That brought her up short, too.

*****

They both weighed each other in the silence, eyes locked and faces carefully guarded.

Then Scully looked out his window, trying to gather strength from the perversely glowing sunshine; and Mulder looked down, carefully stringing together his next sentence.

*****

Scully spoke first.

“Mulder, every time you’ve been drawn into my faith it’s been communicated to you through the language of only its most ardent followers. Penance, saints, true believers, the kingdom of Heaven-- words that, when taken out of their strict contexts, lose the power of their original intent.”

Her partner sat, attentive, conceding her point while not relinquishing his.

Fair enough.

“My journey of faith is not unlike yours: my childhood experiences were put behind me as I grew up and lived life. But they came back to me and challenged me, and I believed again-- not like the blind or zealots do, without question, without skepticism.”

His arms had lowered and stayed on the couch when she’d rejected them earlier (too overwrought to say her peace without cracking at his compassion); so, she leaned forward a little, nudged his hand goodnaturedly. “‘I have the same doubts as you do’. ‘You taught me that’.”

Mulder dropped his mouth with a quick, delighted hee. “Two for two, Scully. You have a recording of my greatest hits?”

“I indulge in them along with my daily proverbs. Wouldn’t want to read the sections on fools and their follies without a list of examples.”

His delight was tempered with a desire to escape her biblical allusion. “Face it, Scully, the only thing you truly worship is your hair dryer.”

Not his best joke, though it was a perfect opportunity to snatch, reverse, and score her own layup. But Scully had a point to prove, and let her easy victory pass. Banter would have to wait.

“My point is, Mulder, that I am as skeptical of my faith as you are of your beliefs. I live my life on my own terms through the dictates of my own conscience; and I am just as disturbed as you are when religion is weaponized against the people who practice it in peace.”

“So then why….” Mulder dropped off, letting her fill in the blanks. Why the tears at my apartment door? Why the catastrophic self-doubt five minutes ago?

“I think….”

What did she think? Scully thought she came here to hear what Mulder had to think. Scully thought she wanted to hear that she wasn’t crazy. Scully thought she wanted to hear opinions from someone unbiased.

Picking the most biased, “crazy” person I know to do so. Good going, Dana.

“I said once that the dead are speaking and that no one is listening. While I was in confession this morning,” she appreciated that Mulder didn’t flinch, “I realized that I was afraid God was talking and that nobody was listening. And--”

“And you’re wondering if you're the one not listening?”

Yes. “I think so.”

*****

Mulder didn’t now and knew he never would believe what Scully did-- not the way she did. Loose Catholic though she was, his partner carried weights and burdens parallel to his own-- his truth, her belief; his conviction, her faith-- but she corded hers together with science and miracles and he with the supernatural and unexplained.

He also had a sneaking suspicion that the weights Scully tied together were largely separate from her religion; and that she mistakenly linked them as naturally as her cross and its chain. In her own very Catholic family, she was the odd one out: Maggie Scully believed in her faith and her visions, Melissa had grown mystical branches from her childhood roots, and even Bill believed in his faith alongside his and Tara’s IVF. Scully herself stated she believed he-- an unbeliever-- would join her in a beautiful beyond while the two of them were salting away in the Norwegian Sea.

The dead she clasped in her hands, carried on her back, held in her heart Scully now believed were joining God in casting judgment on her-- demanding she accept the Almighty’s Plan and let them go.

“Scully, does your faith allow for freewill?”

She looked at him, searching for the second head he must have grown. “Yes.” Translated: you already knew that.

“Do you believe they came to you out of judgment, or of their own freewill?”

She was tearing up again, torn between his idea and her doubts.

“And you know them, Scully--” he talked right over the momentary flash of scientific denial creeping at her mouth, “--and I knew… Melissa. And Emily. And both of them were….” Mulder paused, searching for the right word. “Decided.”

That earned his first laugh: a small whoosh of relief and acknowledgement, but he’d take it.

“I believe they moved heaven and earth to help each other, to help you-- just as you’d move heaven and earth to help me.”

*****

Scully was afraid to ask but had to know. “My father?” she exhaled through shaky breath.

Mulder didn’t know him, never met him, never even knew about his visitation in her coma. He had memories from the Luthor Lee Boggs’s case-- sharp rebukes and pale, determined warnings and baffled questions when she chose not to pursue the truth-- and that was it. As Scully intended it to be.

He sank further into the couch, glancing down at his knuckles as they flexed back and forth loosely. “Scully, I… I never told you that I saw my father, too. After he’d died.”

She sat up, forced herself not to search the shadows in her periphery. “What?”

“I saw him after I blew up in the train car.” New Mexico. “He came to me while I was recovering. Apologized. Told me Samantha wasn’t with him.”

I saw you, she thought. Shuddered. Noticed he looked up abruptly to assess how much she believed him. Knew he never remembered that particular visitation.

“I wasn’t dead, Scully-- I was between it and life. Dad had unfinished business with me-- to talk, not to punish. I’d bet your father meant the same.”

*****

They contemplated in their separate silences.

*****

“Maybe I’m afraid. Death is so final-- I chose it for a career, to give the dead their voices. To correct the wrongs and injustices they faced. And I moved away from it into the field, so I could more directly stop death from occurring in the first place.”

He sat up, reflecting on his partner’s admission. “Do you think you’re visited because you’ve failed to give them closure?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know what to think.”

There’s Scully. Time to ease off of what Science Scully deemed impossibilities. “Scully, even in your faith death isn’t final-- there’s the afterlife, angels, the New Kingdom--”

“Now who’s reading their proverbs over breakfast?”

“It helps balance out my Lucky Charms.”

“Life cereal, Mulder. 'My first religious joke' always involved Life cereal.”

“I’d probably know that, Scully, if there weren’t other very interesting substitutes to read over breakfast.”

The Scully eye roll. Progress, progress.

“Death isn’t the end, Scully. Even if there’s nothing beyond this mortal coil-- even if everyone hits the ground and stops running-- they leave bits of themselves behind, coming back to us from wherever their soul rests. Even the strictest scientist can read the map of their bodies and put their life’s story into words.” This time he nudged her hand. “To give them answers. To give them peace.”

*****

“I’ve asked them.”

Scully watched Mulder’s eyebrows fly upward. “You asked them?”

“Yes. I’ve asked them what they wanted.”

“You interrogated them.”

She sputtered, paused, stopped. “They wouldn’t tell me.”

He was unfazed, leaning forward to spring from the couch. “Of course not-- they’re Scullys. How many times have I asked you what you saw and you never gave me a straight answer?” He shambled off towards the kitchen. “Water?”

“Mulder, those are two completely different--.” She stopped again. “Water.”

*****

“I think the problem is you want a straight answer. Something explainable or clean cut.”

She didn’t acknowledge this point, of course; but Mulder knew she was listening. “And I think you thought your faith was as clean cut as your science. But how many unexplained things have we seen, Scully? How many people that science has yet to begin to understand let alone explain? And how many more unknowns will you and I find? I think it’s unfair to cut off the possibilities because they don’t fit your expectations-- to them and to yourself.”

He saw Scully retreating from this theoretical trail: she’d take his reassurance, not his logic, and move forward with that. She’d probably even have another crisis of faith-- draw away from and back to it-- as her security waxed and waned.

Scully, the tide. Scully, the skeptic. Scully, the self-doubter. Scully, the ride-or-die only to him.

Mulder was aware of how much faith she placed in him-- won from trust and leaps of faith and long years being mocked and proven right. He was also aware she was aware that his own limited broadband couldn't afford to carry her burdens as well as his own. They both ran away from internal crises; but his legs were longer, his stamina more intense, his focus more honed, and it allowed him to go greater distances before collapse. He could run back, try to support her, even cheer her on-- but he hadn’t yet figured out how to relieve the pressure from his partner's shoulders.

Yet somehow, someway, his efforts always seemed to help. At any rate, Scully always showed up to his apartment first during a crisis; and that, he figured, was a tell of some sort.

*****

They hadn’t touched on her deeper questions-- God, judgment, purpose, failure-- and neither wanted to return to it. Instead, they were content to return to the couch, waters in hand, and recharge while watching whatever channel they landed on.

Together and apart, different and alike.

As it should be.

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event

#txf #fic #Fictober #2023 #Day 20 #“My Religious Convictions Are Hardly the Issue Here”#the irony of the title #mine #this was long and late #but it got done!!!!!!#another theme I'm weirdly returning to this fictober #that and Looney Tunes #All Souls #S5 #Scully #Mulder #talking afterward

48 notes · View notes

sisterspooky1013 · 2 years

Text

Terra Australis, Chapter One

Not rated | Read it here on AO3

Bone deep, splintering cold. Beyond gooseflesh, beyond chills. Aching, painful frost that slowed his reflexes and his mind. He and Scully seemed to get alternating bursts of energy, passing the will to survive back and forth like a compass. This way to living, to warmth, to reprieve. Just a few paces farther, though the expanse of white before them felt limitless and vacant. He scanned the bleached horizon for the yellow beacon of the snowcat as his stiff, unfeeling feet plunged into the snow over and over. Scully slumped against him, lifting her own useless legs in attempted steps, but in truth he was carrying her, tucked against his flank like a sidecar. Her lips were bluing and her eyes droopy. They didn’t have much time.

His head was down, his legs so numb that it necessitated watching them move to land solid steps. Lift and step. Lift and step. Just keep going. Scully murmured, fumbling her grip on his collar as she sought his attention.

“Mulder,” she eked out from a raspy, raw throat.

He lifted his head and felt a surge of hope as he saw the garish lemon body of the snowcat less than fifty yards away, appearing as a mirage in the sea of flat white. They clambered towards it, finding strength in the promise of shelter, if not warmth.

Mulder climbed up onto the tracks and hauled the door open, the air from the insulated cab feeling tepid in comparison to the harsh elements. Squatting down, he hooked his hands under Scully’s armpits and lifted her up onto the tracks, then hoisted her into the cab and climbed in behind her, slamming the door.

The abrupt silence swelled in his ears. He hadn’t realized how loud the air outside had been, whipping against their wind battered cheeks as they focused on the task of not dying. Maneuvering around Scully, he slumped into the driver’s seat and placed his hands on the steering wheel, pausing to calculate their next move.

“H-heater?” Scully pushed out through chattering teeth, and he felt the ache of failure in his chest.

“I’m sorry, Scully. It’s out of gas,” he answered, and she closed her eyes.

Sending up a prayer to whatever God might grant him an audience, he turned the keys backward in the ignition and heaved a grateful sigh when the dash lit up. The battery wasn’t dead. He flexed his fingers, rooting for sensation and dexterity before he plucked the handset of the CB radio off the dash.

“Hello,” he said, not even bothering to try and hide the desperation in his voice. “Hello, can anyone hear me? We need help.”

He released the button, turning up the volume the highest it could go. A few wavering squibbles of radio frequency burbled out, but nothing more.

“Mayday, mayday,” he tried again, glancing over to Scully. She looked like she was sleeping, and a jolt of fear surged through him at the possibility that she was dead, before he saw the rise and fall of her down coat as she breathed.

“This is Base Station Gamma. Please identify yourself. Over.”

He startled at the voice that suddenly echoed in the cab, tinny and warbled. The handset fumbled through his frozen, clumsy fingers and dropped to his lap, and he scrambled to retrieve it.

“Hello, this is Special Agent Fox Mulder, I rented a snowcat from you earlier today. We ran out of gas and my partner needs medical attention. Please, we need help.”

“What is your location, Agent Mulder? Over.”

He consulted the slip of paper he’d pinned to the dashboard, reading off the coordinates of the location he’d almost made it to; the place he’d found Scully. There was a painfully long delay, so long that he thought they’d lost connection. Scully’s breath came out in shallow puffs through her quivering jaw.

“Agent Mulder, your coordinates are wildly off from where we expected you to be, so it’s no wonder you’re out of gas,” the recognizable voice of the man he’d met that morning lectured. “There’s a snow storm coming through in about six hours and I’m afraid we can’t get out there until it’s passed, over.”

He felt tears thicken his throat. Scully wouldn’t make it that long, not without a heat source.

“Please, we need shelter of some kind. We’ve both been exposed to the elements, I-” He looked over at Scully again, the tendrils of hair framing her face dusted in a thin layer of frost. “I don’t think we’ll still be alive when you get here.”

Another agonizing silence followed and small, gentle flakes of snow began to pepper the windshield.

“Agent Mulder, there should be a can of gas strapped to the back bumper of the snowcat. It’s not enough to get you back to base so please don’t try. It should be enough to get you to another, decommissioned satellite base. I don’t think you’ll find much there, but it’s a roof over your head and there should be some blankets. I’m going to give you the coordinates when you’re ready, over.”

It took longer than he would have liked for him to successfully pour the gas into the tank, pleading with his trembling hands not to let any spill. When he turned the key and the engine roared to life, he let out a whoop so loud that Scully’s eyes snapped open, scanning the cab of the snow cat with disoriented confusion.

“Hey, we’re gonna be okay,” he assured her, taking her clammy fingers in his hand. “Let’s get it warmed up in here, huh?” He offered her a smile and her eyebrows lifted gently in an unsuccessful attempt to return it before her eyes fell closed again.

As the air pouring through the vents went from icy to warm and then hot, he held his hands in front of them and felt a renewed clarity enter his mind. He was still absolutely wet and cold, but the icy edge of frostbite had abated. Scully’s cheeks remained pale and her body lethargic. He couldn’t waste any more time.

He had no idea how many minutes or miles passed as he steered the snowcat over the glacial landscape. Each second seemed to offer both hope and despair: one step closer to shelter as well as to Scully’s eventual surrender to hypothermia. When the coordinates he’d scrawled on the paper came close to those he saw on the dash, he had to slam on the brakes to avoid crashing into the very place they were in search of. The gray steel exterior was camouflaged by a thick layer of frost and towering snow drifts, a puny orange flag mounted to the roof nearly invisible in the now heavily falling snow. Unsure what he’d find inside, he left the snowcat running as he went on an exploratory mission, hoping he would be able to transport Scully from one warm location to another. Before leaving the now toasty cab of the vehicle, he leaned over and pressed his lips to her temple, his eyes widening at the chill that remained on her flesh. The heat was having barely any effect on her.

The man on the radio had assured him that he’d find the base unlocked, a fact that seemed odd but was also very logical. This wasn’t a place you could find yourself at by happenstance, and even if he were to want to steal any of the contents, where would he take them? It required a bit of muscle to force apart the ice-coated frame from the door itself before he found himself in a small room. One side was lined with a long, vacant table that had likely hosted computer equipment. There was a wood burning stove adjacent to a towering pile of duraflame logs, a small bathroom with a composting toilet, and some shelves that served as a makeshift kitchen.

He immediately went to the stove, prying the rusted door open with a screech before he inserted two of the logs, then started searching for a source of fire. Finding most of the dozens of drawers empty, he was starting to consider whether he had the materials to start a fire by friction when he found a small book of matches next to a can opener and a pair of scissors. Inside, all but three of the matches had already been torn from the book. Three chances. He went to the stove and lifted one corner of the paper surrounding a log, positioning it for the best chance that it would catch. He tore one of the matches from the book and folded the cover back, pinching the match between the strike pad and the cover before he pulled it out forcefully. A flame swelled and immediately died, along with a good portion of his hope that he’d be able to get a fire going. With the next match, he held it close to the log as he lit it, hoping that if he did only get a momentary flame it would be enough to catch the paper covering the log. The flame from the match licked at the ink-coated paper but didn’t catch before it, too, died.

One match left. One more chance.

He sat back on his haunches and took a steadying breath. He was reminded of a time he and Scully were stuck in the woods overnight, and she’d tried to start a fire using the gunpowder inside a bullet. Unsuccessful, they’d huddled together for warmth as he made a stupid joke about being naked together in a sleeping bag. How idiotic he’d been, dodging her invitation to have wine and cheese. How cowardly and presumptuous. He’d known for years that Scully was the only person he’d ever want to spend his life with, and yet he’d almost let her slip away so many times. He’d let a million perfect moments pass where he should have told her how he felt, even at the risk of rejection. It had always felt like not quite the right time. He’d always assumed he’d have another chance. What if she died out here, in the middle of nowhere, so far from her family and the comfort of a warm bed? He’d never forgive himself.

Tearing the last match from the book, he readied it near the log and tugged it forcefully against the striker. The flame swelled and then petered out to a small blue bubble, flickering listlessly against the paper surrounding the log. He pulled it away a bit, trying not to smother it, and watched as it regained volume, licking at the paper until it caught. He held his breath, afraid to accidentally extinguish it, and kept his hand in place as the paper was engulfed. Please please please, he recited in his head over and over, begging the log to accept its assignment. Slowly and without any big production, the log began to burn. A small, puny fire blossomed into a crackling mass of heat as the second log ignited and filled the drum of the wood stove with orange and yellow. Checking to be sure the flue was open, he closed the door and held his hands near the cast iron shell as it absorbed heat from the fire and pushed it out into the room. Next, he located a stack of wool blankets and laid them out on the floor near the fire, as well as a small, caseless pillow.

When he pushed open the door to retrieve Scully, he was met with a blast of snow and wind so harsh he stepped back inside for a moment to steel himself. Pushing it open again, he alternately squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of the wind as he made his way to the snowcat, which was blanketed in white save for the yellow beams of the headlights he’d left on. When he dropped into the driver’s seat, he found that the engine was off, though thankfully the cab was still moderately warm. The gas must have run out while he was inside.

Scully was just how he’d left her, cool to the touch and breathing shallowly, her head dropped against the back of the seat. He felt preemptive guilt for taking her back out into the snow, for exposing her battered body to the chill again, but he had no choice. He gently lifted her out of the seat, situating her in his arms in a cradle-carry before he used his foot to shove the door open, wincing as a blast of snow blew the hood of his coat back off her head. He moved as quickly as he safely could, crossing the several feet from the snowcat to the door of the base in a small set of agonizing seconds. Once inside, he set her down on the floor before he turned to pull the door closed. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed an empty bowl from a shelf, blowing the dust out of it before he scooped a large mound of snow to melt into drinking water.

Looking at her curled on her side where he’d set her, he felt overcome with inadequacy. This was Scully’s part, her role. How to bring her back to life, or how to keep her life from slipping away, was not something he felt equipped to do. His mind furiously scanned its index of conversations they’d had and things he’d read regarding exposure to the cold, finally coming up with a short list:

Once shivering stops, hypothermia has set in.

A hypothermic body cannot regenerate its own heat, it needs a heat source.

He sprung into action, counterintuitively removing the clothing he had tugged onto her body not long ago. It felt obscene and inappropriate, undressing her like this while she was unconscious, but he knew that if she were awake she would have directed him to do the same. He averted his eyes from her naked body to the best of his ability, but he couldn’t help but notice how pebbled her flesh was, and how her nipples were puckered into tiny purple stones. Next he stripped off his own clothes, laying all the articles out over a chair near the wood stove so that they might dry. When he was down to his boxers he hesitated; should he keep them on? They were damp and cold, and something damp and cold would only hinder her recovery. Sending an apology up into the stratosphere, he stripped them off as well.

Gooseflesh blossomed across his skin in the chill of the room, which was very slowly warming under the heat of the fire. He opened the drum of the stove to verify that it didn’t need another log before he dropped to the floor and draped himself over scully, enveloping them in several of the wool blankets. He gasped as her chilled skin met with his, ignoring his instincts and forcing himself closer. He wrapped his legs around her hips and felt his scrotum pucker and tighten as her icy pelvis tucked between his legs. He was marginally aware that their genitals were nearly pressed flush, but it wasn’t something that he could afford to think about right now. The peaks of her nipples poked against his sternum as he tucked her head under his chin, pulling the blankets as tight as he was able to.

Once he had them fully intertwined, legs and limbs wrapped snugly so that as much of his body heat as possible was radiating against her skin, he was overcome with exhaustion. Resting one hand at the base of her neck and the other on her hip, he felt sleep overtake him.

An indeterminate amount of time later, he woke to her trembling violently in his arms. For a moment he was afraid she was having a seizure, but quickly realized she was shivering. Relief washed over him; shivering was good. Shivering meant her body was trying to generate heat, that it hadn’t given up.

Slipping out from under the blankets, he went to the wood stove and inserted two more logs as the first two neared their end of life. He checked his boxers and found them still damp, so he once again sidled up to Scully stark naked. This time, it didn’t feel like hugging an ice cube. She felt warm and pliant, the soft swell of her breasts pressed against his chest disturbingly intimate. When he’d sufficiently cocooned them and her shivering had lessened, he tried not to notice the heat radiating against his thigh from between her legs and the poke of her pubic hair. He wrapped his arms around her and told himself it was purely functional, purely for survival.

But this was his Scully. The smell of her breath coming out in little shivering pants was familiar, the taper of her waist one he’d felt a million times over suit jackets and bathrobes. This was the woman he had literally gone to the ends of the earth for, alive and naked in his arms. While he was able to stop his body short of becoming aroused, there was no denying that it felt good. Her shivering subsided as the room swelled with heat from the fire, and once again he drifted off.

He woke to fingertips gently tapping on his pectoral. He heaved a sigh, feeling content and comfortable, snuggling closer to the warm little body he was wrapped around.

“Mulder?”

The tiniest of whispers, hesitant and unsure. Realization came to him in small increments: that was Scully’s voice, and this was Scully’s body he was wrapped around. Scully’s naked body, and his naked body wrapped around it. His eyes shot open, though there was virtually no light. When they’d arrived, small porthole windows had allowed in the midday sun, but it was now blotted out either by snow or darkness. The next increment of realization revealed his pronounced nocturnal erection resting leisurely on her thigh, and embarrassment burned his cheeks even before he was able to arrive at his next realization: Scully was alive.

“Hey,” he croaked, afraid to move.

“Hi,” she returned, her breath tickling his clavicle.

“How do you feel?” he asked, realizing yet again that his hand was resting on her rib cage, millimeters from her breast. Still, he stayed exactly how he was.

“Um, okay, I guess,” she answered. “A little confused.”

Of course she’s confused, he thought. She fell asleep in a snowcat and woke up to find your boner stabbing her in the leg. Thankfully, it was already waning under his shame.

“Mulder…where are we?”

A smile stretched across his mouth. What must she think? The last thing she remembered before he freed her from the ship was probably being in his hallway, about to kiss.

“Antarctica,” he answered, keeping it simple so he didn’t overwhelm her.

A silence followed, her fingers still flitting gently at his chest, toying with the patch of hair there.

“How did we get here?” she asked, and he could hear the fear in her voice. More lost time, a nightmare she seemed to live over and over.

“What do you remember?” he asked, and she shifted a little in his arms, their now sweaty skin sticking together in a way that was familiar and intimate.

“I don’t know,” she said uncertainly. “I remember coming to your apartment. Talking in the hallway. After that it’s a bit fuzzy.”

“Do you remember being stung by a bee?” he questioned, trying to discern if she recalled their almost-kiss.

“No,” she answered flatly, discouraged.

“Where does your memory pick back up?”

“There was...something in my throat. It hurt. And I remember you pulling it out. And being very cold. I don’t know, it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t seem real.”

Still holding her, naked, in his arms, he told her with minimal detail about the sting, about the ambulance and the moment he realized someone had taken her. He told her about how he came to find her, the snow cat running out of gas and how he found her underground. How they saw a spaceship.

“I don’t remember that,” she admitted, an edge of defensiveness to her voice.

“Maybe you will, with time,” he reasoned.

She heaved a sigh, her expanding chest pressing her breasts against him.

“I’m starving,” she admitted, and guilt kicked him in the gut.

“I don’t know if there’s food here, I didn’t have a chance to look,” he answered.

“Is there...do we have clothes?” she asked, and he felt his cheeks flame.

“Yes, and they’re probably dry now. I’m sorry, this was...a medical necessity,” he offered as explanation for their nakedness.

“I know, Mulder. You did a good job,” she reassured him. “You did the right thing.”

Peeling away from her, he sat up and felt the cool air in the room slide over his skin. It was very, very dark, and he wished he had thought to look for a light source before they hunkered down. Scully stayed under the blankets, having no mental map of the space, as he felt his way to the chair where he’d laid their clothes out. He located his boxers, slipping them on before he brought pants, socks, and his coat over to Scully.

“Here,” he offered, blinding fumbling until his hand made contact with her shoulder. “Sorry, there aren’t any underwear.”

He heard her soft chuckle and smiled, feeling them return to something resembling normal, even given their circumstances. They were a team again, figuring this thing out together.

After they’d each dressed again in stiff, air dried clothes, he felt around where he recalled seeing drawers and shelves, looking for anything that might prove helpful.

“There will be someone here to get us when the snow storm passes,” he explained as he rooted around. “I have no idea what time. But I also don't know what time it is now, so I guess that doesn’t matter.”

“Good, that’s good,” she replied, though he could tell she still felt unnerved and detached from reality. There was still so much she didn’t know, much of which he couldn’t fill in for her. There would always be mysteries for them both surrounding what happened to her. He wished it were an isolated event.

His hands landed on a shelf and he felt his way over amorphous shapes. When he identified the distinctive form of an aluminum can, he remembered seeing a can opener in the drawer where he found the matches. Several minutes and several stubbed toes later, he sat down on the floor next to Scully with an opened can containing an unknown substance, and a spoon.

“Could be Campbell’s, could be Alpo,” he joked as he placed it in her hands. “But calories are calories, right?”

She hummed in agreement, and he listened to the soft tink of the spoon against the can and the wet slurp of whatever was inside before Scully made a little sound of displeasure.

“Chili,” she supplied, unimpressed, but he could hear her scooping up another bite. “Remind me never to eat cold chili again.”

“Noted,” he replied, moving to the area he’d left the bowl of snow and taking a large drink before he brought it to her and she did the same. It tasted dirty and left a film in his mouth, but they couldn’t risk further dehydration.

It was odd, sitting in the darkness listening to her choke down half-frozen canned chili, but also comforting.

“Here, you should eat,” she said after a bit, feeling for his hands and wrapping them around the can.

“No, it’s okay. You take it,” he objected, unwilling to divert any rations from her.

“That was more than enough for me,” she insisted, “I don’t know when I last ate but I feel full just from that little bit.”

He acquiesced and forced down the remnants of the can in big bites, not breathing through his nose.

“I may never eat chili again, hot or cold,” he deadpanned as he set the empty can on the counter, delighting in the titter of her laughter.

He moved to the stove, carefully locating the handle to the door in the dark and pulling it open with a rusty creak. The logs inside were near the end of their life, emitting only a small ring of light just outside the opening to the drum. He retrieved two more logs, calculating that there were enough to last another day if needed, and waited as they were engulfed by the dying ones. The light from the drum increased, and he looked over to where he knew Scully sat. She was cross legged on top of the wool blankets, drowning in his coat. Her hair was messy but her eyes were bright, cheeks red and rough from the cold and the wind. A small smudge of sauce from the chili clung to the corner of her mouth and he sighed, leaving the door open to watch her for a beat. She turned and met his eye and a slow smile bloomed on her mouth, setting off a flutter in his belly. Knowing he needed to conserve the heat and make the logs last, he pushed the door closed, plunging them back into darkness.

He crawled back over to her, sitting in front of her with his legs crossed, knee to knee. Feeling before him until he located her shoulder, he found his way to her face and brushed away the smudge of chili with his thumb, then licked it off his finger.

“I remember the ambulance,” she offered without preamble. “And just before. In the hallway. I remember more.”

His heart lurched, picking up a quick, steady beat.

“What do you remember?” he asked, unwilling to assume.

“Did you...you kissed me,” she said softly.

“No,” he corrected, wondering if her inaccurate memory were a happy one or not. “Almost, but no.”

“Oh,” she replied, sounding disappointed.

“I was going to,” he added, to be sure she understood that he wasn’t relieved to have been waylaid. “I wanted to. But the bee...and then you were gone.”

“Oh,” she said again, this time much more hopefully. She heaved a sigh. “I’m really tired,” she said with some regret.

“Okay, let’s go to sleep,” he suggested, rearranging the blankets around them.

Disappointed that he no longer had an excuse to huddle close, he lay on his back beside her, their shoulders just barely touching. There was a tension hanging in the quiet, something unsaid. He was about to ask her what she was thinking about, to attempt to uncover the source of the tension, when she rolled onto her side and rested her cheek on his chest. Snaking his arm out from under her, he wrapped it around her back and pulled her closer. After a beat, she shifted her hips toward him and draped her leg over his. There were now layers between them, down coats and heavy pants, but it felt more intimate than it had when it was naked flesh. Because they had both consented to this, both wanted it and sought it out. Dropping a kiss to the crown of her head, he listened to her breathing until it grew deep and even before he followed her into sleep.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #fight the future #x files #x files fanfic

75 notes · View notes

scullysexual · 3 years

Text

fic; s3 one shot

I ended up taking an unintended break from fic while I took a break from fandom. I did plan on writing in that time still but it just never happened. Anyway, after than jumping straight in with my old fics, I thought I'd ease myself back in with this lil pointless oneshot.

@today-in-fic

- - -

To Make The Fish Happy

Her appearance outside his apartment is unexpected yet welcome. Scully stands outside his door looking sheepish, uncertain. Lately they had been growing closer, two years of a building partnership that has required them to bond more so than most other partners. Still, Saturday house visits were rarely on the list. Unless it was an out-of-town case, they would bid each other goodbye Friday evening and not see each other again until Monday morning.

Yes, Scully’s visit was unexpected.

In her hands she holds a small cardboard box.

“Can I come in?” she asks.

“Of course.”

Mulder lingers near the door, hands thrust casually (though far from it) into his jogger pockets. Unfortunately, Scully had chosen the wrong time to come around; cups, plates, take-out packages litter his coffee table, X-Files piled high on the spare seat of the couch and there’s a smell in the air. Mulder doubts it was the most welcoming place to be in.

Yet, if it bothers her, Scully doesn’t say so. She turns around to face him, holding out the box she carries.

“I was in the pet store picking some bits up for Queequeg when I saw it.” Mulder approaches, taking his hands out of his pockets and reaching for the box.

“It reminded me of you and with the tank being so bare it might make the fish happy,” Scully says in way of explanation. Co-workers usually don’t buy each other presents out of the blue, special occasions maybe; a birthday or forced Secret Santa, but never on a random Saturday in March. Mulder finds himself warmed by the gesture.

He rips the tape with his house keys, unfolds the box and takes out a fish tank ornament wrapped in bubble-wrap to protect it from whatever journey it has in store.

Mulder laughs when he sees what the ornament is, not surprised by why it reminded her of him. A disc-shaped silver UFO crashed into a pile of sand. Roswell. Mulder smiles, it might just make the fish happy after all.

“Thank you,” he says and Scully smiles.

Mulder stands, headed over to the tank. He places the ornament in the water, throws in some fish food while he’s at it. The fish, weary at first, slowly begin to warm to it.

“I think they like it,” he says with a smile.

“I think they do too,” Scully agrees.

They share a smile.

“Would you like to stay for a bit?” he asks. He hadn’t intended to, the words just sort of fell out of his mouth, but it seemed like such a short visit for what he knows is a long journey.

“Sure.”

He tidies away the mess, opens the window, moves the X-Files out of the way- they have no present case needing their attention, they’re not needed and settle down on the couch. They talk of fish, how and why he decided on fish- Simply because they’re quiet, he explains, require barely any work yet it’s nice to come home to something living even though he’s usually welcome home by a dead fish when cases drag on for too long. Scully laughs at that, asking why then does he always have the same number of fish regardless?

“I just replaced them when they die,” he says. Eight mollies, most nameless except for one, one he finds himself talking to the most, the one he’s secretly named Scully.

The next Saturday Mulder finds himself craving for her company again, outside of work and work-related things. He goes to the pet store in the morning and by afternoon, he’s found himself standing outside Scully’s apartment door, a dog harness between his hands and a sheepish look on his face, his presence unexpected yet welcome.

#the x-files #the x files #txf fic #x files fanfiction #one shot #season 3 #early msr #scullysexualwrites

129 notes · View notes

gaycrouton · 3 years

Text

Ray of Light

For the first time since being back, he felt the heaviness weighing him down start to fade away. The fog had lifted and he could see the life he’d actually come back to — one where the love of his life was carrying his child. Not a life that had gone on without him, but one that desperately needed him there.

Alternatively; Mulder and Scully's first time after he's returned.

angst and pregnancy smut | discussions of trauma | msr | 7k | ao3 | dedicated to the wonderful @sclly

Before Mulder had been abducted, he was finally in a relationship with Scully, or at least that's what he thought of it as. They didn't use the words dating or boyfriend and girlfriend, but they spent every night together, they were intimate in every possible sense of the word, and he'd never felt more loved in his entire life.

When he returned, she was pregnant, had a new partner at work, and on his first night back she drove back to her apartment and left him alone.

Looking back, he knew she was respecting the fact he said he needed time to process everything, but she had no idea how much it added to his confusion. He was uncertain of where he stood with Scully, so he buried himself in his work since it's where he felt most secure, despite her protests. Mulder knew people thought he was being rude, hell even he did at times, but every time he looked into Scully's eyes, he saw nothing but worry and sympathy.

Yesterday he'd broken into the census bureau with Agent Doggett, only for it to be a bust. They'd been laying low at Scully's apartment ever since, and the awkward tension between them just kept mounting. He tried to think of what to say, only to end up feeling like anything he said would come across as curt, and he wanted to avoid saying something else that might hurt her. The last thing he ever wanted was him coming back from the dead just to continue making her sad.

The first thing he noticed about his apartment was that it didn't look like the apartment of a man who'd been missing for months. It was spotless. Cleaner than he'd ever seen it. It made his heart ache thinking of the Scully who was so firm in her convictions he'd come back that she had clearly spent a lot of time making the apartment look great for his return. It made him feel even worse thinking of what response she'd imagined he'd have upon seeing it, only to be met with pure apathy.

As soon as he realized the molly was dead it just felt like a cosmic kick while he was already down. It might've just been one fish that could easily be replaced for $2, but that particular fish was part of a pair Scully had given him early in their partnership when she wasn't sure what he'd like as a gift. She'd been shy and sweet when she presented the black and white duo swimming together in a bag. "These were the only two left and I didn't want to split them up." He'd put them in the tank and, while the black one blended in with the others he had, the white one always swam around and reminded him of her. Now he couldn't even have that.

Despite the lack of communication happening right now, and how much work had been put into making him feel like his space was ready for him to come back, he still found himself staying at her apartment most nights. That first night he spent alone in his place was filled with dream after dream getting tortured — saws going into his chest, his skin being pulled from his body, the pain he could still feel resonating in his bones like a phantom limb. He'd wake up every few hours to the sounds of his own screams resonating off the empty apartment walls. There was always a pause where he waited for her to roll over or for the sounds of her footsteps to rush down the hallway, but it never came. The only thing that brought him comfort was that the bed smelled like her.

It didn't matter how clean his apartment was because that was never what he was coming back to. Scully was his home, and without her, he felt lost. Yesterday he never made a move to leave and she never asked him to. He wasn't sure if he was welcome in her bed, so he purposefully stayed up later than her and passed out on her couch. As had been their rapport as of late, she didn't say anything, but he could tell from her hurt expression that he'd made the wrong decision.

Luckily he could always trust Scully to know how to be his ray of light whenever he managed to lose his footing in the darkness.

"I know how you feel," she murmured lightly while sitting next to him on the couch.

It was so out of the blue he wasn't sure what to respond. The show they'd been watching had gone to commercial break and, apparently, so had them pretending everything was normal. He turned to her, wanting her to know he was giving her his full attention.

"When I came back, I um," she paused, her fingers starting to play with the silken edge of a maternity pajama top. "I felt so out of place within my own life. I felt like I didn't know how to be myself in a world that had gone on without me."

The irony was not lost on him that what he remembered most of those few months after she came back was how frustrated he'd been with her pushing herself. She'd taken a mere week off to recover from they didn't even know what injuries, and she was demanding to work as if all was fine. Mulder recognized it as a diversion tactic, it was more comfortable to focus on work than to process trauma, but he'd gotten frustrated with her, and here he was doing the same thing. The only difference seemed to be she knew from experience it didn't help.

"It took me years to feel like I'd caught up. I still have a hard time grappling with those months I was gone, and that I'll never get that time back. All the things I might've done in that time that were robbed from me. I remember when three months passed since I'd been returned, when I'd been back as long as I'd been missing, I still didn't feel fully like myself. Every external factor was the same, it was just me having a hard time adapting."

He listened to her, entranced by her admission. When he asked how she was doing back then, he'd gotten a lot of 'fines,' and he ended up not asking anymore in fear he was prying and annoying her. To hear her speak so candidly about her experience made him want to go back in time and hug the young woman who felt like he did now. He knew he was empathizing as best he could back then, but now having experienced what it's like, he realized there was no way he could have fully understood the depth and complexity of her emotions.

Scully turned to him with a deep breath and took his hand in her own. "I couldn't imagine coming back to every aspect of my life being different. I at least had the comfort of familiarity when I returned, and I could assimilate back into my old life while trying to process my trauma. I'm sorry if I was rushing you earlier when you said you were having problems processing and figuring out how you fit in."

Her ability to articulate what he was feeling was a relief, and almost eerie. Mulder knew he should say something so she didn't feel like she was talking to a brick wall, but she was saying it better than he ever could and he had missed the sound of her voice.

"I guess what got me through your absence was imagining your return," she admitted, confirming his earlier belief about her being at his apartment which now felt like a diorama of her grief. "I hate it when you're sad, so I didn't want to imagine you that way. It was wrong of me to cling to an image of you who'd come back and react like everything is fine when I know firsthand how unrealistic of an expectation that is to meet."

Mulder knew it was a sensitive question to ask, but he wanted to know. "How did you get through it when you thought I was dead? When it didn't seem like there was a possibility of me coming back?"

Scully's hold on his hand tightened as her face crumpled slightly. He squeezed her hand and stroked the skin on the back of her hand encouragingly. "I tried not to think of how you looked laying in that field," she stated, her voice quivering before a sharp staccato inhalation.

Shit. He hadn't even thought of the fact Scully might have seen his body like that. It made sense she'd want to see it and confirm for herself, Scully was a scientist who needed proof above all else, but he'd imagined her mourning his body on an autopsy table in the comfort of her own domain. Not that she'd seen him in whatever state he was crudely discarded in.

Mulder didn't think he could ever voice to her what he would have done if the situation was reversed and he had found her body dead in a field.

He could tell from her response that it was an image that had traumatized her, something that would no doubt haunt her for the rest of her life; but she managed to close her eyes, take a deep breath, and turn to him to continue.

There would never be a moment in his life where he wasn't astounded by her strength.

"I spent a lot of time in Karen Kosseff's office, and I just tried to focus on staying alive for the baby," she said, putting her other hand on her stomach.

His attention was drawn to the hand rubbing her stomach and that familiar knot of jealousy formed in his throat, threatening to choke him. Someone else had granted her the miracle he wanted to give her and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't even know if it was his place to be upset about it or if he was overstepping. The first time she'd done IVF, when she'd asked him, he felt included — like no matter what, he'd be a part of her and the baby's life. But clearly, she did it again and it made him feel like he hadn't actually needed to be a part of the process. That his involvement wasn't expected or, even worse, truly wanted.

While their conversation had made him feel better, it was that bump underneath her clothes that made him feel like he wasn't invited to a part of her life he wanted to be in more than she knew. Mulder wanted to tell her he'd raise the baby like his own if she'd let him, but the thought of her saying no felt like the last thing he could take right now.

"You can always touch me. You know that, right?" she asked softly off his look.

His hand itched to reach out, but it stayed in his lap. "I'm glad the IVF finally worked for you," he replied, putting all his effort into smiling to show he meant it.

Smiling looked like the furthest thing from her mind. "What?" Scully replied, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"What?" he repeated, confused by her confusion.

Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth as she bit it in concentration, a look of pain passing her face. "Mulder," she stated hesitantly. "Do you really believe this baby isn't yours?" she asked, hurt she was trying to hide leaking through her words.

Mulder shook his head, dumbstruck. "How could it be?"

"You were right," she shrugged. "I just couldn't give up on a miracle."

"I thought the in-vitro didn't work?" he replied.

"You do remember all the sex we were having before you were taken, right?" she deadpanned. "I trust you got the birds and the bees talk?"

"It's mine," he whispered in shock.

"It's yours," she confirmed with so much conviction his knees would have given out if he was standing. Then, with a layer of vulnerability, she added softly, "You didn't really think…"

Mulder's mind was reeling, but he could still tell she was hurt by his unspoken implication that she'd move on so quickly after how long it had taken them to get together, but he just hadn't known.

"I thought you tried in-vitro again. I thought maybe you asked someone else," he answered weakly, the statement out loud sounding ridiculous to his own ears.

"Who else do you think I'd ask? Skinner?" she asked.

He wasn't going to admit it, but he'd considered it. When he was in the hospital he saw how protective Skinner was of her, how close they seemed to have gotten since he'd been gone. Retrospectively he could see that they likely didn't have many people they could turn to when they were looking for him, so it made sense they would have gotten closer.

"I thought maybe an anonymous donor," he answered with a grimace.

"I could barely get out of bed when you were taken, let alone decide it would be a great time to have a baby," she replied. "Though I will say, I'm glad I had a part of you with me to get me through this. I'm not sure how I would have handled it if I wasn't so concerned with keeping myself healthy for the baby. If I even could have."

Mulder couldn't handle thinking about that, so he focused on her delicate hand resting in his own, the hands that had healed him in more ways than he could count. He pulled it up to his lips and kissed her fingers, inhaling the smell of her lotion as he reveled in the feeling of her skin on his lips once more. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I-I just thought since it didn't work that time and then I saw you pregnant that maybe it was my fault it failed in the first place. I didn't mean to make you feel like I resented you. I never did for a second. I was just depressed that the life I'd been wanting for you and I was happening without me."

Her fingers tightened around his as he pressed their joined hands to his heart. "You're here now," she replied with an encouraging smile.

For the first time since being back, he felt the heaviness weighing him down start to fade away. The fog had lifted and he could see the life he'd actually come back to — one where the love of his life was carrying his child. Not a life that had gone on without him, but one that desperately needed him there.

He looked down at her swollen stomach and felt a smile break out on his face. Scully was pregnant with their baby. The words didn't even feel real. It felt too good to be true. She tugged his hand towards her and brought it to her stomach, pressing it against her bulge while splaying out his fingers. When Mulder looked up, she was smiling back at him and he realized how much he'd missed seeing that. He had never touched a pregnant woman's stomach before, and he was shocked at how firm it was. "What does it feel like?" he asked, astonished.

"At times, lovely, but most of the time I'm exhausted, feel disgusting, and look like an elephant," she chuckled.

He looked up at her and took note of how long and shiny her hair looked and how she truly exemplified that pregnancy 'glow' he always heard people talk about. She was absolutely radiant.

"You're beautiful, Scully," he murmured firmly. "Always."

He watched as tears immediately pooled in her eyes and her lip quiver. "Hey, hey, hey," he replied, scooting over and wrapping an arm around her to pull her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into the crook of his neck, pressing kisses to his skin after littering it with her tears. She smelled like cocoa butter and her skin felt unimaginably smooth. "Are you okay?" he murmured into her shoulder.

Scully pulled away slightly with a chuckle and shook her head. "Yeah, I've just been so emotional because of the hormones and I've hated how things were between us and I'm just so happy you're here," she explained, her voice quivering near the end. Without a moment's hesitation, he closed the gap between them, pressing his mouth to hers as if the mere act could be his benediction — a plea for an absolution only she could give.

She met him with equal fervor and for the first time in days, he was home, he finally felt alive.

It was different, kissing her while she was pregnant. It took more maneuvering than he was used to, but he liked it. Every time her stomach grazed his, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and overwhelming affection for her. "I missed you," she whispered against his lips between kisses. "So much."

He let his hands roam through her hair as they kissed, amazed at how thick it was and how the longer strands felt weaving like water in and out of his fingers. Mulder was surprised at the tonal change, but he figured it made sense. They deserved this little piece of heaven after the hell they'd just been through. Being in her arms was exactly where he wanted to be.

Somewhere between Scully pulling on his shirt and their legs shifting against each other, they ended up with Scully laying on her back on the couch while Mulder hovered above her. He was being mindful of not putting any weight on her stomach as he began kissing one of the tendons of her neck, smiling as he felt her pulse thrum under his tongue. A shiver went down his spine as he felt her rake her long fingernails sensually down his back. He moved to the other side of her neck and kissed the vibrations of her moan.

The moment he registered something tickle his inner thigh, she already began palming him through the front of his grey sweatpants, eliciting a hearty groan. He felt his eyes flutter shut in ecstasy as she deftly moved her wrist, stroking him firmly through the fabric. "Scully," he rasped between clenched teeth, burrowing his face into her neck while pumping against her hand.

"Mulder," she rasped.

He pulled away to look at her and watched as she turned away and coughed. Realizing her rasp was out of a lack of breath and not lust, he sat back on his legs out of concern he'd been pressing on her. "Are you okay?" he panted.

She reached out for his arm and he pulled her up into a sitting position. "Yeah," she nodded with a smile. "The baby just smashes my lungs if I'm on my back for too long."

"Do you want to stop?' he asked, rubbing her arms.

"Absolutely not," she replied firmly before she all but pulled him off his feet and led him by the hand to the bedroom.

"What they say about pregnant women's sex drives must be true then, huh?" he teased, following behind her with his own bounding footsteps.

Upon entering her room she turned to him with a mock-severe look, "You have no idea."

Her intensity and the hunger in her eyes made his cock twitch. Mulder pulled her to him, pressing his arousal to her stomach. "I think I can help with that," he murmured.

He brought his hands up in between them and started undoing the buttons of her nightshirt, noting how her nipples were protruding against the fabric. When he'd done research after she initially brought up in-vitro and having a baby, he learned about how much more sensitive women's bodies became. Out of curiosity, he let one finger stray from his mission to flick one nipple teasingly.

His eyes widened with the intensity of her gasp. "Sorry, my breasts are sensitive," she chuckled breathily, confirming his suspicions.

"I didn't even know that was a possibility for you," he teased, knowing he'd made her come from breast play alone before. Not wanting to neglect the other side, he let the back of his index finger graze over the other pebbled nipple and watched as it seemed to become impossibly harder, her breath almost becoming labored from just that.

This was going to be fun.

When the last button was undone, he raked his fingers up her body in between the flaps of fabric. He gently touched the darker line that was running up the middle of her stomach, only pausing to lightly touch her now protruding belly button.

She laughed huskily and did a little pivot sway away from him. "That tickles," she chastised playfully.

He chuckled along with her as he went to her shoulders, sliding his hands under the fabric so that it slid down her arms behind her, fluttering down in a heap at her feet. The sight of her standing shirtless while pregnant in front of him was enough to take his breath away.

It was initially almost imperceivable, but he saw her hands instinctively go to cover herself, only to hesitate and join self-consciously in front of her stomach. At that moment it struck him that it hadn't been a one-off comment in the living room: she really felt insecure about herself. She was trying to hide it, her trust for him feeling like the greatest honor, but he could still see it in her demeanor change. "You have no idea how sexy you are," he praised when he caught her eye.

"Mulder, you don't ha-" she began with a slight shake of her head.

"Don't," he whispered. Mulder raised his hands and cupped her jaw in his palms, coaxing her to look at him fully and see his sincerity. "I love your body. You're carrying our baby, and I'm in awe of you. Scully, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my entire life, and that most certainly hasn't changed. I don't want to see you doubt yourself."

He was glad to see he hadn't lost the ability to make her blush since he'd been gone. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were misty again. "Thank you," she mouthed, her voice a ghost of a whisper. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, each cheek, and the tip of her nose before finally resting on her lips, hoping to convey his earnest adoration.

Scully's tongue slid into his mouth to deepen the kiss as her hands wrapped around him, sliding up under his shirt to play with the skin of his lower back. His hands slid away from her jaw and one entangled itself in her hair while the other reached around to cup the back of her neck.

However, where he anticipated meeting the slightly raised line of where he knew her little implant scar was, he felt something that felt significantly more raised. His eyes shot open as he pulled away, all other thoughts temporarily forgotten. Scully had a slightly chagrined expression on her face as her eyes tentatively peeked open.

He didn't wait before walking around her, gently moving her hair aside so he could have a better look at the back of her neck. The ghost of the white little scar he was anticipating had suddenly become paired with a raised, red, and angry scar next to her old one, only this one was far newer and deeper.

This was one of his favorite spots on her body. The tiny little scar was a reminder of her strength. He liked to kiss and touch the spot he knew held the miracle that helped keep her alive. Seeing this new wound right next to it made his heart race and his body go numb. "D-did someone cut out your chip?" he asked. Immeasurable guilt started to fill him at the knowledge that someone hurt her while he wasn't there. That someone tried to take something so important. Would her cancer come back?

She turned around quickly and reached up to mirror the centering touch he'd just given her as she cupped his face with her hands, her fingers gently scratching the fine hairs near his ears.

"No. No one tried to cut out my chip," she replied firmly.

"But did they inadvertently do so? What happened?" he asked, falling into his reflexive habit of becoming one-track-minded where Scully's safety was concerned.

"It's still there. I had them x-ray me when I got to the hospital. I promise, I'm okay," she pressed. "I can fill you in on all the cases you missed later, okay?"

There must've been something on his face that made her realize he'd be focused on it until he got a little more assurance than that. With a sigh, she stroked the skin of his cheeks and stated, "I initially had a hard time letting myself trust Doggett so I went on a case alone and some cultists tried to make me a host for their God. I'm not going to go into details right now because it's gross and I'm trying to have sex right now, but Doggett found me and I had to have him cut something out of me because we were running out of time. I promise it's not as bad as it looks."

"Doggett did that to you?" he repeated, the image of the man cutting her burning into his mind.

She rolled her eyes and looked at him pointedly. "I think you missed the part where I said I told him to. He saved my life, Mulder." She moved her hands down to rest on his chest, roaming his muscles with clear appreciation. Then she looked up at him with big eyes while teasingly pouting her lip. "I don't want to talk about Doggett or cases right now. I've missed you so much and I thought about this for months. Please don't make me wait anymore. I promise I'm okay and I'll fill you in on everything later. Just be here with me," she pleaded.

Mulder could never say no to her when she asked like that, so despite his curiosity, he smiled and nodded. They were in no rush, they had plenty of time. He'd ask questions tomorrow.

Tonight was for her.

"Okay," he replied, tucking an errant hair behind her ear.

"Good," she smirked triumphantly, a devilish gleam twinkling in her eye. "I don't want to be the only one half-naked anymore," she demanded.

His hands slid down her body and he smirked when he felt goosebumps arise in their wake. "You're right, you should be fully naked," he replied, tugging on the elastic waistband of her pajama pants. She let him slide the silk shorts down her legs, no underwear much to his delight, and she was visibly shivering in excitement as he palmed her bare hips in his hands as he stood back up.

Not wanting to dismiss her wishes though, he quickly rid himself of his shirt and his sweatpants so they were both standing nude. "Get on the bed," he commanded lowly.

She hummed in appreciation and crawled onto the bed, the roundness of her stomach visible between her thighs as she made her way up to the headboard and her arousal glistening prominently. She was so wet it was already leaking onto her inner thighs and he felt proud to have been the cause. His erection that had weaned when they were talking about her injury had sprung back in full force upon seeing her fully naked again. God, he missed her.

Despite his arousal and excitement, he couldn't help but feel robbed of the opportunity to see these developments occur over time. Mulder wished he could have seen her body slowly change and develop as new life grew inside her. Suddenly he painfully related to her earlier sentiment regarding feeling indignant about the time that had been taken and all the moments he was robbed of. He wanted to hold her hair back when she had morning sickness, he wanted her to jump his bones anytime she wanted because of her hormones, and he wanted to be there every time she had a moment of doubt that told her she was anything other than beautiful so he could tell her how wrong she was.

They'd made love quite a lot in their short time together between her coming to his bed that night he got back from England and his being abducted, but as far as intimate relationships went, it was all still relatively new. He had only just started feeling confident he was proficient in the body and pleasure of Dana Scully. He'd been cataloging every freckle, memorizing every moan and gasp in the hopes of recreating them, and now he felt out of practice. Her body had changed and he was determined tonight to worship her and become reacquainted with her. He wanted to know the intricacies of Dana Scully both inside and out.

Mulder wanted to take his time. Crawling onto the bed after her, he approached her sitting form and kissed her while on his hands and knees. He knew there were going to be many new pregnancy-related changes, but now he was going to look out for any new scars or injuries that happened since they were last together. He just wanted to know so he could start to create a new future. Her skin was pale and delicate, her veins pale and blue underneath her skin like the blue lines on pulpy parchment. He wanted to use his tongue to write odes on her skin, he wanted to fill the spaces between the lines with 'I love you's, pink scrapes of his stubble, hickies left in his mouth's wake — he wanted her body to be a diary of his love. It was his goal to replace the memory of harsh, cruel hands and evil intentions and leave behind nothing but reassurances of his love and affection for her.

He pulled back, enjoying the way her body leaned forward instinctively to keep them connected, and watched as a content expression crossed her face. Her eyes fluttered open and she grinned impishly at him.

"What positions work best for you?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied in amusement. "I've never had pregnancy sex before."

"We're like virgins," he joked.

"Oh absolutely," she deadpanned, placing a hand on her severely pregnant stomach for emphasis.

Mulder snickered before he maneuvered onto his back, his cock bobbing in the air emphatically. He was adjusting himself when he felt Scully's knee come to nestle against his hip, her other going over him so she was sitting on his lap. Pausing his movements, he watched as she grabbed his erection and brought it closer to herself. However, instead of easing up on her knees and guiding him inside of her like he thought she was doing, she rocked back and forth while pressing his cock against her folds, rubbing his head against her clit with each movement.

"Fuck," he moaned, his hips inadvertently snapping up from pleasure and causing her to moan at the unexpected contact.

She continued her ministrations until her knees had his hips in a death grip and her movements were becoming erratic as her orgasm built. Mulder watched as she lifted herself up, but he pivoted his hips before she could sink onto him.

"Wait," he rasped.

"Mulder," she whined, dragging out his name as she pouted.

The sight amused him, and he nearly gave in. "There's something I need to do first," he explained.

"Do you have to do it right no-"

"Scoot up here and grab the headboard," he instructed.

Her pout quickly turned into a smile and an enthusiastic, "Oh!"

Doing as he instructed, she made her way up his body until she was straddling his face. "It's weird not being able to look down and watch you," she remarked once she braced her hands against the headboard.

Utilizing the way her stomach eclipsed his head underneath her to his advantage, he latched his mouth onto her clit without warning and added suction. "Shit!" she gasped, her body jerking in surprise. He reached his arms around her thighs so she was locked in place as he ran his tongue along her seam. She was so wet the mere contact had already drenched the lower half of his face. Her labia was swollen red from arousal and if her movements a moment ago were any indication, she was close to coming already.

He plunged his tongue inside of her and curved it so he was pressing against her inner wall, alternating between the pointed tip of his tongue and the flat of it when it was relaxed. He licked his lips and savored the taste of her. It was distinguishably Scully, but slightly different, sweeter, than he remembered. Even though his arms were around her thighs, she was still squirming as best she could. Knowing going back to her clit was what was going to send her over the edge, he swirled around it teasingly. Once, twice, then he latched on with suction while flicking the pointed edge of his tongue mercilessly against her clit.

A gasp tore from her lungs and was immediately followed by her panting his name with so much reverence it sounded like a prayer. Mulder felt her thighs start shaking and quivering against him with the power of her orgasm, and he didn't stop until she jerked away from him and placed a hand on his shoulder to signal she was too sensitive.

Scully adjusted herself so she was back in her original position, only stopping once to give him a deep kiss on the mouth. Mulder was too focused on what she was going earlier to notice much more, but now that she was sitting on his lap in the glow of the lamp, he realized her breasts were fuller now. Sitting up without dislodging her, he brought his hands up to cup them, playing with their weight in his hands. Scully's eyes shut in pleasure as her head rolled to her shoulder, leaning forward into his touch.

Mulder bent his head down and flicked his tongue over a pebbled nipple before taking the darkened areola into his mouth and sucking. "Mmm," she moaned, squirming against him in desperation for any contact. His cock was grinding into the flesh of her ass as she ground her clit desperately into his pubic bone.

He let go of one nipple to take a few deep breaths before moving onto the other one to give it the same attention. One hand was resting on the curve of her hip, stabilizing Scully, while the other rubbed her other breast and sternum. Mulder was so focused on playing with her, that he didn't fully register her grab his forearm so she could bring his hand to her face until he felt her lips clamp around his thumb. He felt his cock throb at the feeling of her hot, wet mouth sucking on his thumb.

Mulder released her breast with an audible suction as he looked up at her. If he let himself, he could have come from the look in her eyes alone. Scully kept her gaze even as she swirled her tongue around his thumb lewdly. He playfully bent it in her mouth and watched as her lips opened into a breathy chuckle. Pulling his hand away, he lowered it so he could spread her saliva around both her nipples, blowing a stream of cool air on them to make her shiver. He watched her nipples tighten in front of him before resting his hand on her inner thigh so he could swirl his thumb around her swollen clit.

"I want you," she gasped as she swiveled her hips to compliment his ministrations.

"Like this?" he asked.

"No," she mused. Then with displeasure added, "My knees are starting to hurt."

"Try laying on your side," he suggested, easing himself up as she got off him.

She laid down and faced the wall, presuming he was going to spoon up behind her. "What're you doing?" she asked when she saw him at her knees.

"Face the other way," he replied, straddling her bottom leg while bringing the other to rest against his hip. This way she could lay down on her side and wouldn't have to exert herself as much.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked.

While she was still laying on her side, she was pivoting slightly so she could face him. "Yeah," she replied while rubbing her top leg against his encouragingly.

He reached down and grabbed his shaft, rubbing the tip tauntingly between her folds before slowly easing himself into her. He watched her face to make sure he wasn't hurting her, but all he saw was an expression of content bliss. "You feel so good," she sighed, tilting her hips to give him room to go deeper.

"Jesus, Scully," he groaned in ecstasy as her walls clamped down around him like a vice.

One of her hands went to one of his legs and she began grasping at him, seemingly just wanting to touch him in any way she could. "More," she demanded.

As much as he wanted this to last for as long as possible, he was in no condition to deny her. He began pumping his hips against her, feeling her walls stretch to accommodate him as he slid in and out of her. Her breasts were bouncing tantalizingly and he watched as she brought her other hand up and began cupping herself, moving from one breast to the other haphazardly.

Leaning forward slightly, Mulder let his hand roam across her stomach, feeling the way it moved with each thrust. It was an odd experience, but insanely erotic at the same time. He repositioned his knees a little bit so he could angle his hips to try to hit her g-spot. Mulder had been pretty proficient at finding it before, but he felt his spongy head rubbing against the grooves of her front walls and he hadn't heard her telltale gasp yet.

He rocked his hips a little differently, trying a little farther back, and he saw her body tense as her breathing hitched. There it is. "Please don't stop," she begged breathlessly, her hands moving to grab fistfuls of the bedspread. He picked up the pace, hitting the same area repeatedly with the tip of his cock while sounds of pleasure flew out of her mouth mindlessly. "Yes. Need. Please. So good. More. Mulder," variants of those words at different volumes and tones with intermittent moans.

He felt a coil start to tighten in his abdomen and he knew he was close. Scully was too as she reached around her stomach to rub her clit with her middle and ring fingers. "That's it, Scully," he praised, locking eyes with her while their mutual bliss grew.

With one quick snap of his hips, he watched as her eyes widened and her jaw dropped open as her body trembled with her orgasm. It was clearly taking a conscious amount of effort to keep her eyes open, and he was grateful for it because seeing her come undone was the single most beautiful and erotic thing he'd ever seen. The visual combined with the feeling of her spasming around him caused him to come right after her.

Scully stroked his hair as he caught his breath. "You mean so much to me," she mused out loud, her hand moving to cup his jaw while her thumbs carefully brushed over the scars on his face.

He still felt self-conscious about them, even though he knew it was silly and Scully herself said they'd heal soon. Trying to ignore his insecurities, he bent down to kiss her before he moved so that he was spooning her from behind, pulling a light blanket over them as he put his arm around her.

"Thank you, Scully," he murmured into her hair.

"I think you're the one who deserves the thank you. My knees would have given out a long time ago," she replied, placing her hand on top of the hand he'd placed on her stomach.

He chuckled lightly before shaking his head. "I wasn't talking about that, though I think you deserve some appreciation anyway," he remarked, kissing the crown of her head.

"Then what for?" she yawned.

"Everything," he stated simply.

He felt her about to say something but he interrupted her with a gasp when he felt something press against his palm. "Did you feel that?" she replied excitedly, her hand pressing into his and moving it slightly.

"Was that-"

"The baby kicked," she replied, the smile audible in her tone.

"Did it hurt?" he asked, it felt pretty strong against his hand, he couldn't imagine the internal version of that.

"Not really. It's oddly comforting unless it's on my bladder," she replied. "It's probably going to happen again."

They both laid in silence together for a moment in anticipation, only to simultaneously disrupt it with excited laughs when the baby kicked again. "That's amazing," he replied in awe.

"It really is," she mused in kind.

"Do you know what it reminds me of?" he asked.

"You better not say-"

"- the movie Alien," he replied, smiling when he heard her amused sigh.

He rubbed her stomach gently, both to touch Scully and to start trying to connect with the kid. "Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?" he asked.

"Maybe, but I won't tell," she lilted cheekily.

"That's evil, Scully," he tsked, nudging her lightly with his knee. "I guess it doesn't matter. No matter what, the minute their little arms can hold up a bat I'm going to teach them how to play ball. You can help me since you've received top-notch training from the best," he declared.

Instead of responding, she turned so that she could look at him, and he realized she was crying. "Hey, hey. It's okay," he stammered, moving to stroke her hair and wipe away her tears.

"I'm so relieved you're here. I missed you so much and I was so scared I was going to have to do this alone," she sobbed, clutching his hand like he was going to disappear again if she let go.

Mulder felt his throat start to tighten in sympathy and he held her tighter while kissing her temple. He'd suffered so much when he was taken, but so had she. They were only ever going to get through the emotional scars if they were together. "I'm here, Scully, I promise. I'm yours forever."

#x files #x files fanfic #msr #mulder #scully #fanfic #pregnancy #three words #angst

91 notes · View notes

misslilli · 2 years

Text

Felix Felicis

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

Chapter 45 - The First Date

[ DS ]

Wednesday finally arrives and I’m so giddy with nerves that I’ve spent a good part of the school day misplacing keys, remotes, books and pieces of paper around the classroom. The kids have had a field day watching me frantically trying to find them again, thrown into a fit of giggles when I'm looking for my reading glasses to read them a book for a good five minutes until they have mercy and point out they've been on my nose the whole time.

It only gets worse when the girls and I get home after school and the time for Mulder to pick me up inches closer and closer.

“D, will you stop pacing please! You’re giving me anxiety!” Sarah looks up from the kitchen table where she sits laminating flash cards.

“That’s a really poor choice of words, S. But she’s right, you need to stop obsessing, D!” Alex joins in on the conversation while Sarah has the decency to look sorry.

I’ve been pacing the living room like a caged tiger for a while now, freaking myself out thinking about the date later today. I’m so terribly nervous, I’m about to go out of my mind. I turn and take another pass across the floor, voicing my thoughts out loud.

“Guys I’ve been looking forward to tonight for such a long time and now that it’s finally here, I’m right back where I’ve been before, freaking myself out with the What ifs?.”

“D, you know that you’re not back where you’ve been before - it’s okay to be nervous, the lead-up to this was massive and it took you guys a freaking long time to get here. But you said it’s going really well, so what gives?”

“I don’t know, feels like the stakes are really high and you know I’m not good at dating. What if I’m really boring? What if he is? What if we can’t actually carry on a real conversation? What if he realizes that I’m not actually all that special? What if he ends up only wanting me for… you know, carnal pleasures?”

“Okay that’s it!” Holly throws her pen down onto the couch table with such force, it bounces over her graded homework before rolling off the table. I jump a little at her frustrated exclamation.

“If you don’t pull your head out of your ass soon, I’m having you committed. Do you even hear yourself? What if he’s just in it for the sex? I don’t even want to dignify this bullshit with a response but you seem to need it: If he just wanted sex, don’t you think for a guy like him, there’s easier ways to get that than pining and waiting for you for months? Driving 2 and a half freaking hours just to see you for a while? The phone calls? And the ex-wife thing? Who does that with someone who they just want to have sex with?"

Alex puts her arms around me, hugging me tight. "Holly is right, D, although she could've worded it a little differently… Keep your head on straight, he's done nothing to earn your distrust, right? I'm not saying you should go into this blindly, but don't ruin a good thing just because of Steven!"

"Listen to the wise words of Miss Alex, D. Take it one step at a time. First step: Have you decided on what you're going to wear to knock his socks off? Come on, I'll help you decide, and then we'll have to do something about this." Sarah gestures to the frizzy messy bun on top of my head with a look of distain that makes me laugh, grateful once again to have wonderful friends like them to make me feel better and a little less anxious.

————

[ FM ]

I’ve changed outfits several times over the last few hours, should I wear a suit, no that’s too formal, a t-shirt is too casual and I wouldn’t be caught dead in a polo shirt.

Having been out of the dating game for quite some time, I have no real date clothes. Also, I have absolutely no idea what to do or say and I'm terrified I'm going to say the wrong things or crack a dumb joke because I'm so nervous that has her running for the hills. Sorry, Mr. Mulder, I don't have a rose for you tonight.

Glancing at the time and torn briefly between waiting a few more minutes so I don't appear too desperate, arriving early, I grab my keys and wallet and try to calm my nerves on the drive along the deserted beach road that leads to her house.

My hand is a bit too shaky for the cool demeanor I'm going for tonight as I ring the doorbell and I send a quick prayer to the God I don’t believe in that it’s not one of her friends who opens the door. I’m nervous enough as is, I don’t want to have to make awkward smalltalk with them.

We're still in that awkward dating limbo where you've established that you liked kissing but it's not yet established if you greet each other with one too, so you just stand there, holding your breath nervously until one gathers up enough courage to either move in or not. Even then, you might bump noses or cheeks or worst case chins or, and the most feared of all, the turned cheek for a pretentious European air-smack or two.

————

[ DS ]

Jesus Christ, this is awkward, if we were going to spend the whole date standing on my front step shuffling our feet like shy teenagers, I would've worn more comfortable shoes than four inch heels. It's also a perfectly good waste of the emerald silk dress Sarah's picked out for me or the white dress shirt I spy with my little eye underneath that coat that stretches across his chest just right. I've pretended not to stare quite a few times and oh I've pretended even more times I'm not itching to run my fingers over that chest.

"Just do it! Kiss him! What are you waiting for, man?" The sultry voice in my head belongs to the little devil that has just appeared on my shoulder, the one with the too short skirts and words that sound suspiciously like my friend Holly. Its counterpart on the other shoulder, so innocent in her white long dress, looks positively horrified at the suggestion.

"Nooo you can't just do that, we're a lady, after all!"

"Well maybe you are, I'm the fun one to listen to around here!"

At the appearance of these two characters, I'm almost certain that it has finally happened, this is it, I've finally gone insane.

I'm saved from further thoughts on how to decorate my private padded cell when he does finally decide we can't stand here forever and moves in for a quick kiss and I can hear the whoops from one shoulder and the shy giggle from the other one in my head.

"You look very beautiful tonight, Miss Scully!" Both of them swoon at the compliment and so do I, it's been so long since I've heard a man say it and actually mean it, if you don't count little Felix, he's not stingy with compliments. But it hits different from someone who gives you butterflies with the shy boyish smile on his handsome face.

The cheap seats on my shoulder are quiet during the car ride, thankfully, because my mind is too busy trying to figure out where we're headed.

“So, where is this mystery place you’re whisking me off to tonight?”

“Impatient, are we? It’s a surprise, like I’ve told you the other thousand times you’ve asked me over the past week!”

"Ooooh a man of mystery, how very exciting! We like that!"

The little angel crosses her legs primly with a wary expression on her face. "Let's just hope he doesn't take us to a deserted place to murder us for now, shall we?" I try to cover up my snort at her ludicrous idea with a cough, oh this is going to be fun, I just hope I don't slip up and actually answer out loud, that would be awkward.

Our destination turns out to be a small cottage at the end of a long driveway, situated right on the edge of a cliff and I realize with a gasp where we are. “I love this little Italian place, how did you know?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets, isn’t that what you told me?”

The location combined with my company for tonight couldn’t be more perfect. My eyes follow him on his way around the car to my side, taking in his tall, lean figure in his suit.

I’ve known this for a while, yet it still takes me by surprise to find that Mulder in a suit is my personal kryptonite, from the way it clings to every curve and dip as if sewn right onto him to the way the fabric stretches over his firm butt, begging to be touched. As he walks in front of me to the door, it takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to reach out and feel if the fabric is as soft under my fingers as it looks.

The skin on the back of my neck tinges as he takes off my coat to hand off to the waiting staff member and when I turn to look over my shoulder, I catch him checking out my ass in that dress. He thinks he’s being so subtle about it and once he realizes he’s been caught, the tips of his cheeks blush just the tiniest bit and I catch myself thinking it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

————

[ FM ]

I’m more than a bit embarrassed to having been caught staring but I just can’t help it, we’re taking things slow but I’m not made out of stone, that dress elicits a domino-effect of images and reactions in my mind even I can’t control. Shaking my head to clear away one particular image of unraveling it by the simple pull of a string in the back, I follow her and the waiter to our table, sliding into the chair across from her.

“Would you like to get started with some drinks?” The waiter puts the wine card in my hand and I run my eyes over the list but I don’t know heads from tails when it comes to selecting the right kind.

“Do you prefer red or white, sir?” I guess my confusion must show on my face and I glance across the table for help, handing over the menu with a sheepish smile.

“I clearly have no idea what I’m doing, I’ll be fine with whichever one you choose.”

Our hands brush when she takes it from me and I almost jump at the spark from a simple touch, wondering if I’m the only one who can feel it.

Her brow knits in concentration while reading over the selection and I find myself uncharacteristically focused on the way her tongue traces her cupid’s bow deep in thought. Heat trickles down my spine as I imagine those lips doing something entirely different and I try my very best to ignore the warmth that spreads through my body.

Take a deep breath, in and out and focus on something else - I’m suddenly very interested in reading the label on the bottle of olive oil on our table. Extra-virgin, very funny.

“We’ll have two glasses of the Chianti Classico please and a bottle of water, con gas.”

“Certo, signora, parli Italiano?” I look up to catch the small smile on Scully’s lips and the way she raises her shoulder just a little while replying something I can’t understand, I had no idea she spoke Italian.

“So, you like Italian and you speak the language, how come?” I lean closer, dying to know more details about her enigmatic personality.

“I don’t know why, but I’ve always loved everything Italian, the food, the wine, the melodic sound of the language. I guess I’ve picked up a few phrases along the way, but I’m not actually fluent or anything. Actually, those phrases get me into trouble regularly with the Italians, because they get very excited thinking I understand them and start talking to me in a fast flurry of words while I actually have no idea what any of it means.” She smoothes her fingers over the napkin in front of her a little shy at her admission and the small smile still plays around her lips. “Do you speak any languages?”

“Yes and no. I took Spanish in high-school but I can’t order a taco in Spain to save my life, I’d probably starve to death!” That one elicits a laugh from her and it’s one of those laughs that’s like a ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds on a rainy day.

————

[ DS ]

It’s probably for the best he doesn’t, that lisp will make any man seem like a little kid with a speech-impairment, even one as attractive and built decidedly un-boyish as he is. Our wine glasses arrive and I’m thankful for something to grab onto as we clink our glasses together with a chime that can only come from obscenely expensive glass.

The heavy Chianti deliciously warms my stomach, it’s a good one, and I think it’s not only the wine that raises the temperature, it’s also the way he licks it off his lips with a satisfied smile. I’m so focused on his face that I don’t notice the water glass that gets in the way of my elbow and topples over, spilling sparkling water across our table and onto his lap.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Here, let me help you with that!”

Jesus, I'm such a clumsy idiot,

"Yeah, if you're this clutzy with your wine glass, guess he'll rethink letting you near any other valuable body parts!" Oh shut up, devil.

————

[ FM ]

Slightly panicked, I manage to shake my head at her offer to help me out with my situation. Absolutely not, you’re not coming anywhere near my pants with that napkin of yours!

“It’s alright, it's just water, it’ll dry in no time.” The icy water actually helps with clearing at least part of my brain, so I guess I should be thankful for her clumsiness.

The conversation flows easily over our steaming plates of pasta and I’m delighted to discover several other things about her, one of which is how she doesn’t share food when she threatens my wandering hand with her fork. With a careless remark, I've gotten myself right into a discussion about psychology and I want to kick myself, if she's not bored out of her mind yet, I've got some theories up my sleeve that'll make sure she's asleep in a couple of minutes, tops.

————

[ DS ]

This is going so well, it’s almost hard to believe that I was so worried about tonight being a total bust. I’m delighted to find out that aside from his attractive outside, there’s a sharp mind and a sense of humor that I find even harder to resist. He doesn’t shy away from challenging my ideas as we debate the validity of Freud’s theories on dream interpretation vs. the ones of his scholar, Jung.

"Just agree with everything he says, guys don't like a challenge, nice and agreeable is the way to go here!" The angel is on the edge of her seat, dating advice ready at her hands.

"Oh get out of here angel! Disagree with everything he says, you're not the little woman that needs him to form your opinions, show him who's boss!" Devil waves her fists in the air ready for a fight but I ignore both of them, choosing the middle way.

“I think Jung was right about dreams being the bridge between the unconscious and the conscious mind, not as a way of repressing desires or outcomes, but rather a tool to help the person come up with a solution to a problem they may face in their conscious state of mind.”

“I have to agree with Freud in that one, we can learn more about a person through their unconscious mind as opposed to their conscious - people often don’t act out their deepest desires because of considerations of reality and morality!” I raise my eyebrow at him, spearing the last piece of cannelloni with my fork.

“That’s what it always comes down to with Freud, isn’t it. Sex and repressed desire.”

"Ha! That's it! Talk about sex, this is good! Might give him ideas on how to end this date!"

"Oh no no no, we're not ready for that yet, stop giving out stupid ideas!" I have to agree with Angel on his one, immediately regretting the murky waters I have steered myself into with my stupid mouth.

————

[ FM ]

I’m not particularly fond of Freudian theories, because of this exact reason, but right now, I can’t help but agree with him. Until now, I didn’t realize I could find an intellectual connection to be just as stimulating as an actual physical one nor did I expect to ever be turned on by a conversation about the ancient theories of two psychologists. But alas, here I sit, awestruck by someone who is not scared to voice her opinions even if they don't coincide with my own.

“Freud was single-minded like that, I’ll give you that. Not everything is about sex, contrary to what advertising would like us to believe. Speaking of advertising, did you catch the Bud-ad with the puppy and the horse at the Super Bowl?” I really, really need to steer this conversation into a different direction before the topic and the way she bites her lip trying to come up with a response makes me forget all the words in the English language.

—————

[ DS ]

While I really enjoy sparring with him with our words, this particular topic of conversation makes me slightly uneasy and my mind is torn between wanting to uncover more of his way of thinking and changing the topic to a safer one. It’s as if he can read my thoughts and makes the decision for me.

Time just flies right by until a glance at the watch reveals that it’s time for us to call it a night, it’s almost close to 7:30.

“Guess we better head back Cinderella, before my ride transforms back into a pumpkin! I had a really good time tonight.” There’s something about the way he smiles at me that manages to raise the temperature of my blood while the light touch of his hand on mine sends goosebumps up my arm. My body is just as conflicted as my mind, it seems.

His hand that never leaves the small of my back as he guides me back outside is so comforting and familiar, I can’t help but lean back into it just a little.

I’m not used to this level of gentleman-ness, so there’s an awkward scramble of who gets to open the door that makes us both chuckle.

The date-night ends as it began on my front steps and I get wrapped up in the most perfect good-night kiss I can imagine, chaste but with a little teasing nip on my bottom lip before he gets back in the car, leaving me standing there wanting more.

More of nights like tonight, more of him, more of everything.

On that, even Angel and Devil can't help but agree for once.

#xf #the x files #xf fanfic #msr #felix felicis #awkward first dates are awkward

24 notes · View notes

atths--twice · 3 years

Text

The Three Words We Should Have Heard

Mulder is leaving the hospital after his resurrection and the atmosphere is tense. How will they move past this moment and return to how they were before?

I saw a tweet from a friend a few days ago and it got the wheels turning. I had to write a little something to fill the "what the car ride home from the hospital must have been like in Three Words."

I know, of course, that for most MSR Philes, we saw the title and immediately thought of something else. But, this show is not the one that does that, not the way we may want to see it. It cloaks it in looks between them and roundabout conversations.

Well, that's not what fanfic is about. 😊 So... hope you enjoy this story.

Scully stood in Mulder’s hospital room as she waited for him to change, rubbing her stomach and feeling a sense of equal parts happiness and sadness.

He was alive. Recovering… quite quickly and wholly, to everyone’s surprise. Yet… he was not himself.

Can you blame him? she thought, shaking her head. You were gone. You know how it feels. Well…

She looked at the bathroom door and sighed, knowing what he had been through was very different from her own experience. All she had to do was look at him to see it. His scars, though healing, made her heart ache.

“You okay in there?” she asked softly, stepping closer to the door.

“Uh… yeah. Just a bit a slow,” he said, his tone flat and she sighed, her eyes closing briefly.

“Do you… do you need any help?” she asked hopefully. He was silent and then the door unlocked, the sound of it like a knife in her heart.

How many times had he changed in front of her? Stripping down, without giving it a thought, as she had turned around to give him some privacy.

But this time he had not only left the room, he had locked the door. And they had been the only ones in the room.

Jesus…

The door opened and he stared at her, his shirt halfway on and his pants unbuttoned.

“I uh… guess my fingers didn’t seem to get the memo about healing.” He tried to joke, but it fell flat as he sighed and looked down, shaking his head.

The scars on his chest took her breath away for a second, but stepping toward him, she forced herself to smile and helped him get his other arm in and pulled his shirt down. He sighed again as she buttoned and zipped his jeans, her hands moving to his hips for a second. He raised his eyes, looking at her, and the empty sadness in them made her want to weep.

“I don’t know if I can do the shoes.”

“I can help-”

“Scully, no. You’re…” She stared at him and he was unable to maintain eye contact, moving to the bed and pressing the call button for the nurse. He did not look at her as they waited for the nurse to arrive, her hand on her stomach as the baby rolled inside of her, as though sensing that something was off.

The door opened and a nurse came in with a smile, Scully unable to reciprocate it, as Mulder explained quietly about his shoes. The nurse nodded and grabbed the socks and shoes, helping him to put them on and then tying them for him.

The baby moved sharply, and she swallowed a cry, not wanting to draw attention to herself. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mulder’s head turn toward her, before turning away again.

The nurse helped with his jacket and to gather any items he had, which were not many. They were placed in his bag and then the nurse left to get a wheelchair, despite his protests.

“I don’t need a goddamn wheelchair,” Mulder said as the nurse left, sighing deeply.

“Standard hospital policy,” Scully said quietly and he shook his head. “Plus you couldn’t put your shoes on without help. He’s just making sure you’re okay.” He stared at her, his eyes again unreadable, nodding as he looked away.

Tears sat below the surface, just as they had since she heard he was alive. As though she was waiting to wake up any minute and discover it was all a dream. A horrible realistic nightmare where he was snatched away from her when she had been given a miraculous second chance with him.

The door opened again and the nurse came in with the wheelchair, breaking the silence that hung heavy between them. He helped Mulder into the chair, smiling at Scully, who attempted to smile back, but knew she had failed.

“Here you go, sir,” the nurse said, handing him his bag as Scully stepped forward to take it.

“I can take it,” she said, but Mulder looked at her, holding tightly to the bag.

“I’ve got it,” he whispered and she sighed, nodding at the nurse that they were ready to go.

They walked out of the room and down the hallway, the nurse greeting people as he passed, but neither of them speaking. She had her hand on her stomach again, the baby moving wildly inside of her.

At the door, she put her hand gently on Mulder’s shoulder, telling him she would be back with the car and he nodded without saying anything. As she moved her hand, she noticed that the baby had calmed significantly as soon as she had touched Mulder.

Or it was coincidental, she thought as she walked away, not wanting to imagine anything was different about the baby. Too much was already unknown without her adding to it.

Babies move and then they stop. That’s all it is, Dana, she told herself as she arrived at the car, opened the door, and got inside.

Driving back to Mulder, she parked the car and started to get out, but the nurse stopped her as he opened the passenger door, telling her he would help Mulder.

“I don’t need help,” Mulder said angrily, standing up and getting in on his own, sighing loudly as he put on his seatbelt.

The nurse placed the bag on the backseat and nodded to Scully with a sympathetic smile. She nodded back and started the car, driving away from the hospital and glancing periodically at Mulder who remained silent, his jaw clenched.

She slowed down and then stopped at a red light, sighing loudly as she looked out the window. Glancing quickly at him, she saw his head was turned, looking out his own window. His hands were clenching and unclenching in his lap and she wanted to reach over and touch him, but she knew she could not.

He was wound tightly and she felt if she touched him, he would explode.

The light turned green and she continued on to his apartment, the silence in the car deafening.

“It’s different,” he suddenly said. It was said quietly, but it startled her, causing her to jump and her heart to pound hard. “Things. The weather. It’s…” He sighed and shook his head, falling silent once again.

She found she could not speak, did not want to speak, if she was honest. She was hurting, sad, and not too surprisingly, she could feel anger slowly beginning to build.

Things. Yeah… they were different.

Pulling up to his apartment, she parked the car and got out. Walking around to his side, she took his bag from the backseat and waited for him.

“I can take that,” he said, reaching for his bag and she moved it away from his grasp and shook her head. “Scully, I can-”

“I’ve got it, Mulder.”

“But, I can…”

“It’s a bag full of clothes. Half full, at that. I can carry it, Mulder.” She smiled at him and he nodded with a deep sigh as he began to walk toward the building.

She followed him across the lobby and to the elevator, his pace slower than usual, his eyes looking around, though he continued to remain silent. Waiting for the elevator, she once again wanted to take his hand, to touch him, to connect them.

But she did not.

Neither of them spoke as the elevator arrived at the lobby. As they stepped in, he placed his hand on her back and for a second everything felt normal. But as they turned around, he dropped his hand and put them into his pockets, his eyes on the ground. She closed her eyes as the elevator rose to his floor, swallowing down her tears.

He sighed as they got out and walked down his hallway. She took out her keys, the jingling sound of them loud in the quiet of the hall. Finding his on the key ring, she readied it as they arrived at the door. Placing it in the lock, she unlocked it and stepped inside.

Closing the door, they stood in the foyer as he looked around, and she wondered what thoughts were going through his mind.

“Must feel good to be home,” she said softly, finally breaking the continuing silence.

“Mm, yeah,” he hummed, barely audible as she looked at him.

Carrying his bag into his bedroom, she took a second to steel herself as she heard him moving about the apartment.

“Something looks different,” he told her as she walked back into the room.

“It's clean,” she said, looking around and trying for a bit of humor. He chuckled, but it did not sound right.

“Ah... that's it,” he replied with a smile, again rather awkward and forced.

She fingered her keyring as she watched him looking around, her tears still just below the surface. He bent close to the fish tank and she drew in a breath.

“Missing a molly.”

“Yeah,” she said with a nod, her hands now in her pockets, the keys still held in her right hand. “She wasn't as lucky as you.” He let out a breath and sat on the edge of his desk.

“Mulder…” she said and for a second she thought he might not look at her. But then he turned his head and his sad eyes were on hers again. “I don't know if you'll ever understand what it was like.” He held her gaze, taking a deep breath. “First learning of your abduction... and then searching for you and finding you dead.” He looked away and nodded, not looking back at her. “And now to have you back and...”

Her voice broke as she smiled, tears threatening to spill over, not knowing how much more she could say. There were words she had hoped to say, planned to tell him if given the chance, but now…

“Well, you act like you're surprised,” he joked, with another awkward smile. She released a breath and attempted a smile, but it did not feel genuine.

Looking down, she tried again to bring forth the words she wanted to say. The ones she had rehearsed in her head.

“I prayed a lot,” she said with a smile, remembering the days and nights of pleading with God. “And my prayers have been answered.”

“In more ways than one,” he said, staring and gesturing at her stomach.

“Yeah,” she agreed as she looked down, trying to find the words to tell him all that had happened… her worries and fears.

“I'm happy for you,” he said, and it felt wrong as though something was missing. “I think I know... how much that means to you.”

To her? How much it meant to her? she thought as she raised her head and stared at him. For her?

He did not know. She had not told him, that was true, but how did he not understand? How could he not know that this baby was not only her happiness, but theirs?

His gaze lingered on her stomach and she wanted to release the dam of tears pressing behind her eyes. He smiled slightly as he looked down, and the words she ached to tell him, that the miracle he had spoken of had come true. But the words stuck within her, though she tried, her lips moving, but no sound coming forth.

“Mulder…” Was all she could utter before he interrupted her.

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to be cold or ungrateful. I just... I have no idea where I fit in right now.” He stared at her, imploring with his eyes for her to understand. “I just, uh... I'm having a little trouble... processing... everything.”

He looked away as she stared at him, weighing the words she desperately wanted to say with the ones he could handle hearing at the moment. She nodded and looked down, forcing a smile as she wiped away her tears.

“Scully…”

“I understand. I do.” She looked up at him and he sighed, holding her gaze as he nodded.

“I suppose you would,” he agreed quietly, his eyes dropping to her stomach again and she bit the inside of her lip.

“I should go,” she whispered and his head flew up, staring at her with confusion. “Or I could stay…” He continued to stare at her and then he stood up, his hands in his pockets.

“I should umm…” he said, looking around and she chuckled softly. “It’s too damn clean in here.” She smiled and he answered with one of his own, the awkwardness lingering just a bit.

“I’m sure you’ll have it back to it’s cluttered ways in no time.” He nodded as she ran her fingers over the keys in her pocket, suddenly needing to flee, to put some space between them. “Um… there’s food in the fridge, fresh sheets on the bed. I uh…”

“You didn’t have to-” he said, his eyes on her stomach, before raising them to hers. “I could’ve done that… well, the bed at least.”

“I’m pregnant, not an invalid. It’s not going to hurt me to change the sheets. A little awkward, but…” She shrugged with a soft smile and he sighed with a nod.

“Thank you,” he whispered and she hummed her reply.

Silence again filled the apartment. So much she wanted to say but the weight and thought of it was too much. She needed to leave. They both needed some space to be able to get past this awkwardness.

“So… I’ll uh… I’ll let you get settled. Talk to the fish, as I know you like to do.” He glanced at them and smiled slightly with a nod. “Like I said, there’s food in the fridge.” He looked back at her and nodded slowly with a sigh.

She turned around and walked towards the door, tears threatening to fall, but she kept them at bay as she got to the door and paused. Turning around again, she saw he was standing by the dining room table, his eyes on her.

“I’m…” he said quietly and she shook her head.

“I know. It’s okay.” She smiled and reached for the doorknob. “Call if you need anything.”

“Scully,” he whispered, coming to stand in front of her. “I need… some time. I just…”

“Mulder, I understand.”

They stared at one another and he sighed deeply. She wanted to hug him, to hold him, to stay… but they needed space right now. Settling for squeezing his upper arm, she nodded and opened the door.

Walking down the hall, she did not turn to look back, not wanting to know if he was watching and not wanting him to see her tears.

_____________

Four days. Four days of ups and downs, snarky comments, accusing eyes, and dismissing what she had to say. They were short with one another, out of sync, and she was tired of it. She had taken it in stride, but tonight she was angry and he was going to hear about it.

He had been missing. Tortured. Dead. This was all true, but that did not mean he had the right to treat her the way he had been.

Tonight that was going to change.

She knocked on his door, her knuckles rapping sharply, as she waited for him to open it. Not hearing him shuffling around inside, she knocked again, her annoyance rising.

Sighing, she took out her keys and unlocked the door. Stepping inside, she closed and locked the door, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Sighing, she took off her shoes, and walked towards his bedroom. The door was open a crack, a single light on, as she pushed it open wider.

She heard the shower running as she walked further into his room. His bed was unmade, the sheets tangled. Clothes littered the floor, his running shoes next to the bed, a dress shirt on the edge of his bed. Picking it up, she held it to her nose and breathed in, closing her eyes as his scent hit her senses.

The shower stopped and she opened her eyes. Setting his shirt down, she took a deep breath. The door opened and he walked out, a towel around his waist, his body and hair still damp.

“Mulder…”

“Fuck, Scully!” he shouted, stepping back and letting out an exasperated breath. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

“Jesus Christ. You know, phones work well. You could have just called.” He shook his head as she continued staring at him.

“I’ll wait for you in the living room,” she said, walking out the door, not giving him a chance to respond.

She paced the living room, her hand on her stomach, as she waited for him. The door creaked as he walked out and she turned to look at him. He opened his mouth to speak and she put up a hand.

“I have some things to say and you’re going to listen. You’re not going to interrupt me, you’re just going to listen. Okay?” she said and he took a deep breath. He stared at her and then nodded in agreement. “Good.” She let out a breath and licked her lips.

“I know it wasn’t easy for you, on you… I know it. I know that you’ve been through a trauma that you’re just beginning to piece together, to understand, but…” She shook her head and took a deep breath. “Of all the people to be angry with, to take out your frustration, I should not be one of them. None of us should. But me most of all. I don’t deserve to be treated that way.”

“Scully-”

“Listening only, remember?” She raised her eyebrows at him and he nodded with a heavy sigh. “I know that for you it’s different, I know. I know that feeling, as I’ve experienced it myself.”

“I know.”

“Mulder,” she said, ignoring his interruption, hot tears filling her eyes. “Every day you were gone, I felt like a piece of myself was lost. Every possibility of finding you… I… we finally did and you were dead. Dead.” Her tears spilled over as she remembered that day and she closed her eyes. “You will never… never know the pain I felt watching as you were lowered into the ground. Mulder…” She sobbed in a breath and covered her mouth as she shook her head.

“Scully…”

“I was alone… Mulder…” She began to cry harder and then he was holding her. She clung to him, crying into his chest, as he stroked her hair and whispered her name.

As she calmed, she wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him as close as her pregnant belly allowed. The baby moved and Mulder pulled back, staring at her stomach. The look on his face caused her to laugh as she wiped her tears.

“Did that hurt?” he whispered, reaching out to place a hand on her stomach, but pulled it back, unsure. She shook her head, taking his hand and placing it where the baby had moved.

“No. Not exactly. But it does take me by surprise sometimes.” The baby rolled again and he looked up at her, his eyes wide.

“Whoa…” He stepped closer and spread his fingers, encompassing a larger area, his eyes dropping down. She watched him, the smile pulling slowly at his lips, and her heart ached.

“It’s yours,” she breathed and his eyes flew up to hers. She stared at him, searching his eyes, waiting for her words to reach his brain.

“Y… what?”

“What did you think? How did you think this happened?” She smiled as his mouth opened and closed, his hand pressing more firmly against her stomach. He shook his head and she cupped his face with her hand.

“The… procedure didn’t work… you…”

“No, the procedure didn’t work, but…” She sighed and shook her head, her thumb stroking his cheek. “I don’t know how, I really don’t… but, somehow...” She bit her bottom lip and exhaled through her nose, holding a hand over his on her stomach.

“I… we…” He shook his head and let out a sound of disbelief. His fingers grasped hers, squeezing gently.

“Yes… we,” she whispered with a nod, sighing as her thumb ran slowly over his lips and he kissed it softly.

“I…” He let out a sigh and stared into her eyes. “I’m sorry. I… I remember how it was when you were gone. I… Jesus, Scully…”

“Mulder, I know that you feel a sense of not knowing your purpose, your plan… and as much as I want you back at work, I think-”

“I need more time,” he agreed and she smiled with a slight nod and a hum.

He stepped back and placed both hands on her stomach, staring with a smile. Shaking his head, he looked up at her, and she smiled at him.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for…”

“I know and I do understand.”

“I know you do… it’s just that-” The baby rolled again and he pulled his hands away before putting them back. “I see what you mean about being surprising.” She laughed softly and nodded. “Seeing you like this the first time… I… I’m ashamed of my thoughts. My anger. I…”

“I should’ve told you.”

“Not sure how I would’ve taken it.” He exhaled a breathy laugh and she looked at him, wondering what he meant. His eyes focused on hers and he sighed. “I would’ve been happy, but also…”

“It’s a lot to spring on a guy just back from the dead.”

“Something like that, yeah,” he whispered and she smiled slightly. “Doesn’t mean I should’ve treated how I did.”

“No. But that’s going to change.”

“Yes,” he said with a smile. “Yes it will.”

Her smile grew and her gaze dropped to his lips. He leaned forward, as she placed a hand on his chest, and he kissed her softly. Another kiss and her hand moved to the back of his neck. His hands moved around her waist as he pulled her closer, the kiss deepening.

“Will you stay?” he whispered against her lips.

“If you want,” she teased, knowing full well she would not be leaving.

“I do…” he replied, kissing her again before pulling back and smiling at her as he took her hand and led her into the bedroom.

He gave her a shirt to wear, watching her undress and dropping to his knees to lay his cheek against her stomach, and place a kiss just above her navel. Her fingers ran through his hair as she cried softly, prayers of thankfulness silently sent heavenward.

They got into bed, his arms around her, her body curled against his, fitting perfectly as she always had. A couple of pillow adjustments, his low laughter in her ear, she placed her hand over his on her stomach and let out a breath.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” he whispered and she shook her head.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Not yet.”

“Hmm…” he hummed and she closed her eyes as she began to cry again. “Hey… shhh, it’s okay.”

“So close. So close to never having this again,” she cried and he held her tighter, kissing her ear and whispering her name. “I ached for you. I needed you. Oh, Mulder.” His leg hooked over her calf, locking them closer together, and he hummed as she cried softly.

Her tears subsided and she took calming breaths, the feel of his arms around her bringing her comfort. It was not a dream, he was there, alive and breathing.

“I love you,” she whispered, squeezing his hand and releasing a deep shaky breath.

“I love you too,” he whispered, his breath warm on her cheek as he kissed her. “So very much.”

There were still things they needed to discuss, questions she knew he had, and answers they would need to find together.

But for tonight, they had all they needed.

#The X-Files #XF Fanfic #Year of Prompts #Three Words #Concern #Worry #Angst #Pregnancy #Anger #Healing #Home Again #Relationship Discussions #Sleeping Together #Spooning

129 notes · View notes

deathsbestgirl · 2 months

Text

@alexmacc oh thank you!! this is a great question and i do want to preface it with i do not have any experience with infertility but i do have a lot of experience with illness & doctors. i think it's completely understandable to dislike this arc for any reason. and i'm sure the writers don't really know what they're talking about when it comes to science. but like. this is a sci-fi show and i'm not looking for accuracy. anyway, i personally kind of love it. i can't help but look at this show in "good faith." especially mulder & scully specifically.

(also!! there are spoilers that go into season 7&8)

to me, the foundation of the x files is mulder's trauma surrounding losing samantha but the journey of it is through scully's trauma. we experience hers in real time. and this one is deeply personal & relatable, like her cancer. not being able to have children is devastating, the language surrounding infertility is painful. (although i can never remember if infertility was clear at this point — when he found her ova, or in emily.) scully thought about having kids, at one point she didn't think she was cut out for it, it was a distant hope & possibility. i don't think she truly dreamt of having the typical family life beyond the way she sometimes tried to fit society's ideal, the way she had it drilled into throughout her life. but i think she always thought she would have kids eventually. she loves kids, i think she loved having siblings, she loves & values family. mulder's love & dedication to samantha is something that attracted her to him.

in memento mori, when mulder learns that scully's ova is taken from her...she's dying, going through treatment in the hospital that's making her sicker by the day. i don't think mulder could bear giving her that news, not after learning in home that she does want kids. not after her abduction, losing melissa, her cancer. so he waits. and then his hand is forced when scully finds emily and learns she's her biological daughter. scully's hurt that mulder didn't tell her, but i don't think she really faults him for it. she can barely handle the information now, learning it while she had cancer...i can't imagine it, idk how you carry that when you're dying. i don't know how you can fit that in your brain, in your grief when she's about to leave behind her family and mulder. in a way, it doesn't matter when you're dying, but she's never been able to face her abduction and she's being forced to. mulder tries to help her, encourages her to at least talk to the mufon women as an investigator if she can't handle it on a personal level. (the way her voice cracks several times in these conversations. when she says they're not all dead. scully doesn't want to believe she's dying either.) (she calls him first for a reason, she tells skinner with mulder at her side for a reason, she apologizes to skinner for making it awkward/uncomfortable...)

what makes me love it is that...mulder calls what happened to scully medical rape. he yells it at emily's doctor, demanding he help emily, rightly accusing him of malpractice, calling him & anyone involved medical rapists. and that's exactly what they are. they conduct these tests on people, steal women's ova, and use them & their children for more experiments. giving life to these children for the express purpose of experimenting on them, and ultimately killing them or letting them die. it's so sick & twisted & inhumane and you want to believe it unrealistic...but it isn't.

i just think that's really powerful. it's painfully real. it's something doctors & the government have done. and the x files so rarely calls things exactly what they are. mulder directly calling it medical rape — and once again, not forcing scully to confront it until she's ready & it's on her terms — this is a big reason i can't hate it.

i love mulder in emily. he walks into that room, sees scully with emily. sees scully's cross around her neck. he's terrified. he doesn't want scully to be hurt again, and he's afraid that's exactly what's in store for her. he knows emily wasn't born to be loved, to live. she's an experiment to this government conspiracy, a means to an end. but mulder will always do what scully asks of him, and he goes into that meeting determined to convince this judge scully deserves to be with her daughter. he lays out the facts he has, and the judge has a hard time believing it but emily is undeniably her biological daughter. the dna tests prove it.

the way mulder says everything is important too. there's no precedent for case like this. scully had her ova stolen, she can no longer have children. but somehow, unbeknownst to scully until now, emily exists. and scully wants her. it's wrong to keep them apart, to take this chance from scully, to deny this little girl a mother who loves her after she's lost the only parents she knows. scully found emily and she stayed and she fights. she learns about her illness, makes sure she gets the medical care she needs, and does everything she can to find & understand the cause so she can help her. they describe emily as having special needs because of her condition, her "illness."

scully is judged because she has an intense, time consuming, dangerous job. she hasn't had any recent long term serious relationships in the eyes of the law & adoption agency. she's single and how would she take care of emily on her own? at one point, mulder is mistaken for emily's father and he turns away. scully takes it on alone, but she isn't alone. mulder really is there every step of the way. he would do anything for scully, and he would do anything for emily. it's so painful that they can't have this. mulder finds a cure, supposedly anyway. but scully tells him she won't put emily through more tests & pain & experiments. emily wanted it all to stop, and her parents were killed because they were going to stop. scully was prepared to let emily go as peacefully & comfortably as she could. so mulder didn't tell her. another decision i don't think was easy. it wouldn't have ended. even if emily was cured, she wouldn't have been allowed to stay in scully's care. the reality of courts & the conspiracy.

in per manum, we learn scully went to doctors to treat her infertility. once she had her ova, she brought them to a doctor and in vitro might work. and she asks mulder to be her donor. another crazy, beautiful layer to their relationship. scully wouldn't want a random donor, and there's no one she loves more, trusts more than mulder. despite what he hid from her in a futile attempt to protect her. (again, i don't think she really faults him. she almost never does. it's just painful. painful that he would hide anything from her, especially something about herself. but they both know very well how scully struggles to face what's happened to her, and everything goes back to her abduction.) protecting each other is what they do, they just have different methods sometimes. and i don't think there's a way to know what's right until consequences smack you in the face. it's easy to objectively say something is wrong when you aren't the person dealing with the situation, or in hindsight. it's always more complicated when you're facing it in the moment.

like. i just can't hate it when it gives us so many incredible moments. the vulnerability, the gentleness, the compassion, the anger, the pain. it may all be wrapped up in an alien government conspiracy but the connection, the emotion, cancer & infertility, evil...it's all real. there's relief & catharsis, a freedom & safety. it gives a voice to things often buried. it's part of the beauty of the x files, to what mulder & scully do.

and then the reversal...well. i also love that but i'm gonna save it for my william arc post.

#the x files #infertility arc #mulder and scully #dana scully #fox mulder #mine #txf meta #if there's anything specific i didn't mention #feel free to ask!!#add your thoughts

17 notes · View notes

silhouetteofacedar · 3 years

Text

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 4: Man Pouts on Couch

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder is not feeling lucky.

In hindsight, he should have suspected something was off today; Scully kept looking at her watch.

It’s Friday, March 13th, and he thought it’d be cute to invite Scully out for a drink again, make a little joke about it becoming a Friday the 13th tradition. This could work, he thinks. His plan is simple; ask her out every once in a while, for some reason or another, with the intention of eventually coming clean and setting up a proper date.

At five o’clock he stands up and stretches with performative nonchalance. “Buy you a drink, Scully?” he asks, cocking his head towards the calendar pinned to the office wall, surrounded by newspaper clippings and grainy photos.

She pauses with her arm halfway into the sleeve of her coat. “I…” She falters and presses her lips together, looking suddenly guilty.

“What is it?” he asks quietly, a pit growing in his stomach.

“I’d love to, Mulder, but I actually have a date tonight.”

The earth stops spinning and Mulder is thrown off balance, hurtling through the atmosphere.

“Oh,” he says softly. “That doctor guy?”

Scully nods, not meeting his gaze. “His name is Mark,” she says. “We’re getting sushi.” She looks up at him then, big blue eyes soft. “A rain check?” she asks hopefully.

She owns him; one look like that and he’d sell his soul to buy her a cup of shitty coffee. “Sure. Another time, then,” Mulder says, gathering up every scrap of composure he has left, patching together a smile for her. “Have fun.”

He goes home and throws himself face down onto the couch.

She has a date. A real date, with a presumably mentally stable human man with a high-value job. And a daughter. A ready-made family, just add water and stir. This Mark guy probably calls her Dana, asks her how her mother’s doing, feeds her bits of sashimi with no threat of aliens or shadow governments in sight. Maybe he’ll kiss her at the end of the night, softly with closed lips like a gentleman.

What stings the most is the fact that this Doctor Mark had the balls to tell Scully outright that he’s interested in her romantically, something Mulder has yet to do.

Mulder knows he should eat, but his stomach is churning and the idea of food sickens him. He’s being dramatic and irrational; it’s just one date. But the implications are weighty, the potential enormous.

He feels bad for being upset. This is good for her; she needs to get out of the basement, connect with other rational people, find some normalcy and balance in her life.

You need those things too, he hears her say in his head.

He brushes it aside. It’s different for him; he created this life for himself. He’s a collapsed star, a black hole of conspiracy and paranoia that sucks in everything that gets too close. The last thing he wants is for her to get lost in his darkness, swallowed by the void like some interstellar debris.

She’d told him that night in Rock Creek Park that she does’t blame him for what’s happened to her, but that doesn’t assuage his guilt. He carries the weight of what she calls her choices, a load she has no intention of sharing with him, awaiting no acknowledgement or thanks.

He’s doing it to himself.

Mulder whiles away the hours on the couch, gazing up at the constellations of pencil marks on his ceiling, tossing his basketball above his head. He drops it on his face twice.

He knows it’s probably only going to make him feel worse, but he’s a glutton for punishment; so at eleven-thirty that night he picks up the phone and calls Scully.

He waits for her to answer, his heart sinking lower with each ring. She’s not picking up. Is she still out? he thinks anxiously. The guy has a kid, so it’s unlikely that they’d stay out too late unless he’s arranged it with his babysitter…

“Hello?” Scully’s slightly husky voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Scully,” he says, tentative relief creeping into his body.

“Mulder, what is it?” she asks. “It’s late. For normal people, anyway. Are you alright?”

“‘M’ fine,” he assures he. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

He hears her hum in understanding. Late night phone calls between them aren’t uncommon, after all. “Have you tried counting sheep?” she asks, not unkindly. “Or slowing your breathing down, focusing on the cadence of inhales and exhales like I showed you?”

He’s wide awake, sitting upright on his couch, still in the slacks and wrinkled button-down he wore to the office that day. “Yes,” he lies. “It’s not helping. There’s too much going on in my head right now.”

“You work too much,” she says gently. “And yet not enough, when deadlines are involved. We’ve got an impressive paperwork backlog-”

“Can we not talk about work right now?” He reaches down and unties his shoes. “Otherwise I’ll never get to sleep.”

“Right.” There’s rustling on her end. She’s in bed, he realizes.

“Did I wake you, Scully?” he asks, trying to hide his surprise.

“It’s fine, Mulder, I was only dozing,” she replies.

“Oh, how was the date?” he asks, as though it only just occurred to him, instead of being the only thing he’s thought about all night.

“It was nice,” she responds, and he drops his head onto the back of the couch in defeat. Shit. Shit shit shit shit-

“We talked about medicine, about cancer, loss. His daughter’s name is Amanda,” she continues. “Her mother - his wife - died when Mandy was only two, so he’s mostly raised her alone.”

“That’s rough,” Mulder says softly. Please don’t make me feel bad for this guy, Scully, I can’t bear it, he thinks.

“Mhm,” she agrees. “And his work at the hospital is pretty grueling, so his mother helps out a lot. I… I told him about Emily.”

“How’d that go?” Mulder asks, concerned. “It’s not the most… plausible-sounding story.”

“I was vague,” she replies. “All I really said was that I had recently reconnected with a child I’d been separated from, right before she died. He didn’t ask for details; he could probably tell it was a fresh wound.”

They’re silent for a moment.

“Do you think you’ll see him again?” Mulder asks quietly. Somehow he already knows what she’s going to say, and he braces himself for the sting of her words as they pierce his heart.

“I… I think I will,” Scully says, sounding distant. “I mean, it’s worth a shot, right?”

She deserves this. She deserves a chance at something ordinary, safe, comfortable.

“Maggie Scully didn’t raise a quitter,” he says with a watery smile she’ll never see.

She chuckles. “No, I suppose she didn’t,” Scully muses. He hears her yawn. “I’m tired out, Mulder. Think you can sleep now?”

“I’ll try,” he says. He’s surprised to feel his eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears. “Thanks for talking to me,” he adds.

“Anytime. Sleep well,” she says warmly, and the line goes dead.

He supposes he brought this on himself by keeping his feelings hidden. He waited too long, playing it safe. He wanted to gauge her feelings before he made any overt moves, and someone else beat him to it.

It’s just one date. But there’s going to be more. By the sound of it, she wants there to be more.

There’s no way he’s going to sleep well tonight.

He’s in a sour mood when he’s summoned to the Gunmen’s… den? lair? headquarters? the next afternoon, by way of one of their patented cryptic phone calls.

Byers unfastens the dozen locks on the door and lets him inside. “Mulder,” he says, ushering him in. “Good to see you.”

Mulder flops down in a rickety desk chair, exhaustion permeating his muscles. “I’m not up for being social today, boys,” he warns. “You said you had information for me?”

“We took the liberty of looking into Agent Scully’s new… uh, friend,” Byers says.

“For safety reason,” Langly adds, seeing Mulder’s lips purse.

“She’s precious cargo,” Frohike says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“How did you find him?” Mulder asks. “I didn’t even know his first name until yesterday.”

“Don’t insult us with your surprise,” Frohike mutters. “We’re experts.”

“We knew he’s a part of the parish Scully attends-“ Byers begins.

“And we knew he’s an ER doc, has a 6 year old daughter, and a dead wife,” Langly cuts in. “That’s plenty to go on.”

“I don’t need to know more than that,” Mulder says, suddenly feeling guilty. “It’s not my business.”

“Maybe not, but we have the info,” Frohike says. “Look, all you need to know is that he seems legit. Name’s Einolander, if you were curious.”

“I wasn’t,” Mulder lies, taking a sunflower seed out of his pocket and biting it pensively.

“Of course not,” Byers says, sounding completely unconvinced.

“You alright, Mulder?” Langly asks. “You look rough.”

“Of course he does,” Frohike hisses in the least subtle whisper of all time. “Scully’s dating someone that’s not him. Cut the guy some slack.”

“You guys don’t know shit,” Mulder grumbles, then backtracks, running his hands over his face. “I’m sorry. I, uh... didn’t sleep well.”

“It’s okay, man,” Langly says.

Frohike nods sagely. ”We know how you feel about her. This can’t be easy for you.”

Mulder wilts in his chair. “How did you know?” he asks pathetically, realizing the jig is up. Has he really been so obvious this whole time? Fucking hell.

“Look, knowing things is our business,” Byers explains. “And we know you. We’ve been around the block with you a few times, and nobody’s meant this much to you. Not even Diana.”

“Plus, Agent Scully is a smokeshow, and you have eyes,” Frohike adds. Byers gives him a jab with his elbow. “Hey, I stand by that,” he declares, rubbing his arm.

“Well thanks anyway, fellas,” Mulder says, standing. “I should get going. The walls in my apartment won’t stare at themselves.”

“Do you want the file we put together on the guy?” Byers asks. “We can make copies.”

Mulder shakes his head. “Keep it. Draw a mustache on his photo or something.” He picks up his coat and slings it over his shoulder. “You kids have fun.”

“If you need anything, just flag us down,” Frohike says, patting Mulder’s back before unlatching the door.

Mulder steps out the door, then turns back. “How old is this guy?”

“Forty-one,” Byers says, flipping through the file. “Five-foot-ten, dark blond hair, brown eyes. Blood type-”

Mulder holds up a hand. “I don’t want to know. Bye, guys.”

He gets a petty, juvenile satisfaction from the fact that he’s two inches taller and four years younger than Dr. Einolander. It’s short-lived, but at this point he’ll take what he can get.

Because he can’t get Scully.

#my fic #txf fic #msr #xfiles #fox mulder closet romantic #fmcr #OH SHIT YALL THE ANGST TRAIN IS PULLING INTO THE STATION #had to do it to em

86 notes · View notes

queeenpersephone · 3 years

Note

An alternate universe from the “I Want to Believe” movie where, after Mulder shaves and they meet with Agent Whitney, instead of Scully being annoyed, she tells Mulder she just wants to get home to take advantage of his smooth face.

honestly where my mind immediately went... where your mind is anon... that’s the iwtb we deserved. so have the lead up to that. (also note: i haven’t rewatched iwtb, only the bed scene and select msr scenes, so i genuinely remember none of the dialogue just vague impressions)

also sorry this is so introspective. it’s also 1am so i’m not even sure it’s introspective in a good way lmaO.

The moment Agent Whitney reaches up towards Mulder’s face, Scully is onto her.

Part of her can hardly blame the woman. Fox Mulder is a handsome man. A kind, brilliant, sexy man without ladder climbing ambitions is rare in the world Whitney inhabits; Scully would know. To suddenly be able to see a bit of sculpted jaw, that plump lower lip, would make even the most professional of woman swoon a little.

The other part of her, the part of her who took Mulder’s heart and body for her own years ago, is itching for the gun she used to carry. Without it, she steps into Mulder’s space, ignoring the way he looks down at her in surprise and warmth. Maybe she should be slightly embarrassed that she’s seeking closeness for what is probably the wrong reason, but she’s not.

Yes, Agent Whitney might be able to appreciate the clean shaven man who’s no longer hidden by a thick patch of hair. But Agent Whitney will never be able to appreciate what it means.

Contrary to her soft protests in bed, Scully has never hated the beard. In fact, the beard complements the way he wears his hair now, longer and unkept, a sign of the years he’s spent hidden away in an office in a house where his name could never be on the deed. Mulder’s never been the cleanest, most organized individual by any means, but Scully has known since they met that he takes a certain pride in his appearance: his neatly pressed suits, his shapely calves built by years of running, his steady habit of shaving daily.

Once they were on the run, however, all of that fell apart in a muddle of baggy, cheap clothes and dark circles and inexpensive hair dye. When they had settled, when Scully had gotten her job, she had pulled herself back together. But Mulder never had. There was nowhere to go, no one to see but her, and he had long stopped putting on airs for her. Would it have been nice to see him try sometime? Yes. Was she too busy basking in the fact they were alive and whole and together? Definitely.

She is somewhere between hurt and relieved that this foray back into the world that had burned them so thoroughly has catalyzed him into caring again. Because that’s what this is. It isn’t a meaningless shave, it’s a beaming message to the woman who has known him for over a decade now. This has brought him back to life. This has brought him back to life in a way she never could.

She could embrace that fear that she’s not enough, the jealousy, even though Mulder had stepped away before Whitney could come anywhere near him. She could hit him where it hurts, she could beg him to leave this all behind and come home to her, with her.

Or she could embrace the act, even if she’s resentful of the reasons.

They watch Father Joe in silence for a long moment as Agent Whitney scurries off to see if he’s given them anything new. “I know what this is doing to you,” she says finally.

He doesn’t look at her. “Do you?” He says evenly; in his tone, the words are barely a question. He knows her as well as she knows him, well enough to see her protests coming.

“I don’t want to regret bringing you out here,” she replies, watching his chest rise and fall. “This hasn’t been our job for a long time.”

Finally, Mulder looks at her. “This is the right thing, Scully,” he says, emphatic, eyes shining, and all at once, Scully resigns herself to seeing this through. Sure, this is a psychic and a priest that molests children and dead FBI agents, but her current job is seeing her long-gone son in every sick child, so maybe it’s one half dozen or the other. Regardless, she can’t leave Mulder out here alone. She can’t leave him ever, not when that light is back in his eyes.

Maybe it can chase away some of her darkness too.

“Okay,” she says, not looking at him, but her clearly unexpected response is not one he will allow her to make facing away from him. He takes her arm, spins her in.

“Okay?” He asks, shining eyes wide.

“We’ll do this,” she tells him, reaching down for his hand with one of her own and reaching up to his face with the other. “But I won’t lose myself or you in it. So we do this together or not at all.” She softens. “Can you do that for me?”

Mulder sighs, leaning into her orbit. “Yes, Scully. I promise.”

God, does she want to believe him.

She pushes the fear away and smirks instead, stopping him before he can make for Father Joe, who’s mumbling to himself a few yards away. “And Mulder?”

He turns back to her, and she fits her tiny palm to his newly revealed skin, rubbing gently. He waits for her to speak. “We’re adding an activity back to our repertoire. Tonight. No excuses.”

He grins at her, slow and sure and god she has missed that bottom lip, she can feel its impact in her low abdomen, simmering with heat. “I knew you missed the best seat in the house,” he murmurs back to her, eyes hot and dark.

“Mulder!” She chastises, even though she knows she started it, forcing back her blush as he fits his hand to her lower back and leads her over to their psychic witness. She refocuses. She promised to be present, to work this case, and she will, however much she fears what it might do to her. To him. To them.

Mulder’s hands find her back, her arm, her hands for the rest of the night. He treats her like a partner, a familiar dance that she’s missed more than she had thought. She exhales.

Maybe they will survive this case intact.

#msr #scully x mulder #txf #iwtb #mulder x scully #my writing #ficlet #anonymous #answered #sculder #the x files #i hope you like this!#thanks for sending something in #<3

67 notes · View notes

numinousmysteries · 5 months

Text

Something to Celebrate

@eightnightsofmulder

@today-in-fic

Eight Nights of Mulder Day Three: Celebration

[on Ao3]

December 1995

The case was one dead end after another. They would’ve been back with time to spare, too, if Mulder hadn’t insisted on tracking down and interrogating the missing teenage boy’s estranged father. Unfortunately, he’d been ice fishing off the grid for days with his buddies, an airtight alibi with the walleye to prove it. Once they made it back to Detroit from Billy Graff’s father’s cabin on Lake St. Clair, Billy had been found holed up in a cheap motel with his girlfriend. It turned out his younger sister had caught him sneaking out of the house a week earlier and he’d bribed her to make up a story about witnessing him being taken by a bright light in the sky for their gullible, UFO-obsessed mother.

By the time Billy was safely returned home, the snow that had been teasing the area all week began to fall in earnest. And now they’ve missed their original flight and are stuck in the Detroit Metro Airport for the foreseeable future.

Even with all the weather delays, the airport is mostly empty. It’s Christmas Eve and everyone is already where they need to be. Officially off the clock, he’s convinced her to have a drink with him at the airport bar.

“If we get out tomorrow morning you’ll likely make it back for Christmas dinner,” he says, carrying two beer bottles back from the bar to their table.

She just nods and, fortunately, he doesn’t push it. Last year was her first Christmas without her father and this would be her first without her sister. She feels guilty about leaving her mother with another empty place at the table, but she doesn’t miss facing Bill’s interrogation about her work or having to tell Maggie there are no new leads on Melissa’s murder.

“I’m sorry I brought us out here for nothing,” he says.

“You didn’t know he made it up,” she replies, staring down at her beer bottle. She understands by now that a sibling gone missing under mysterious circumstances is enough to send them halfway across the country no matter how flimsy the evidence may be. And she knows it’s too sensitive of a point to call him out on.

“Hey,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “Why don’t we have our own little celebration right here?”

“What are we celebrating, Mulder?”

“Billy Graff is home for the holidays with his family. We both made it through the case unscathed. And I think it’s still Hanukkah.” He gestures over the little battery-powered, flameless candle flickering on their high-top table. “Let’s get eight more of these and we can have our own little festival of lights.”

She doesn’t have time to protest before he’s off his bar stool, gathering fake candles from the surrounding empty tables. He comes back with both hands full and moves their beer bottles around to make room to line up nine candles in a row.

“Aren’t there supposed to be eight? One for each night?” she asks.

“Oh, Scully, you forget the shamash.”

“The what?”

“The shamash,” he repeats, acting surprised this isn’t common knowledge for his Irish Catholic partner. “The middle helper candle? The one we use to light the rest?”

“When was the last time you did this Mulder?”

“I’m pretty sure Nixon was in office,” he says. “But don’t worry. Nothing’s changed for over 2,000 years. Here, I’ll come sit next to you.”

He stands and scoots his bar stool until it’s directly next to hers. Their shoulders brush through their suit jackets, and she feels a rush of heat.

“See, you place the candles right to left, so let’s pretend I already did that,” he sweeps a hand over their improvised menorah. “Then we light the shamash, and use it to light the other candles left to right. Of course, these candles need no oil, pure or otherwise, to keep burning but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

She smiles at him. Her Jewish, agnostic partner, who believes not in God but in astral projection, psychic visions, and chupacabras is guiding her through a bastardization of a religious ritual in the middle of the Detroit Metro Airport. It’s never a dull moment with him.

“Here, I’ll show you,” he says.

He picks up her hand from the table and covers it with his. They pantomime lighting the middle candle, then using it to light the rest. Even without real flames, his hand feels warm over hers and she realizes this isn’t the worst way to spend Christmas Eve.

“Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah,” he whispers in her ear as they pretend to light the candles. “Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, she-asah nisim la’avoteinu bayamim hahem bazman hazeh.”

“What does it mean?” she asks.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” he sighs. “Bless you God, we thank you for all your wondrous deeds. Although the Yankees haven’t won a World Series in nearly 20 years, so I'm not sure exactly what we’re thanking him for.”

They’ve mock-lit all the candles now but he’s still holding her hand. She knows she should pull away but she doesn’t want to break the spell. He’s her partner and, she’s slowly starting to realize, her best friend. They don’t do this enough—simply spend time together. That’s not entirely true. They spend nearly every waking hour during the week at each other’s sides, but they’re typically debating a theory or investigating a case, not simply enjoying one another’s company. And for all the times he frustrates, challenges, irritates, and even ditches her, she really does enjoy Mulder’s company.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” she says.

He shrugs, taking his hand off hers to pick up his beer bottle. She immediately notes its absence. “That’s my first time lighting the candles since Samantha was taken. She disappeared a few weeks before Hanukkah, which kind of put a damper on that year’s festivities, and then after that, we stopped practicing.”

“I understand,” she says, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry if this triggered any bad memories.”

“No, not at all, Scully,” he chuckles. “It was my idea, anyway. Besides, we’re a lot like the Maccabees.”

She isn’t sure where he’s going with this, so she raises an eyebrow as an invitation to continue.

“We’re the underdogs fighting for what we believe in against all odds, looking for a little light in the darkness.”

He grins at her and she returns the smile. She doesn’t underestimate the significance of him including her in his quest. For so long, he’d been chasing windmills on his own but for three years now he’s had her by his side. She’s seen things she hasn’t been able to explain through science or logic, she’s had her own body manipulated by these shadowy men, and she’s lost her sister to the cause, but she never fled. She never considered abandoning him, tossing him back into the darkness alone. That, at least, is something to celebrate.

#eightdaysofmulder #eightnightsofmulder #8dom #txf #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #msr

21 notes · View notes

slippinmickeys · 3 years

Text

A Sequel: Amazon Archeologist/Scientist AU, Part 2:

You can read on AO3 here.

1. “How does it feel to have cured cancer?” asked Kathy Lee. Scully couldn’t take her eyes off the rim of the host’s wine glass; it was smeared with lipstick, and the wine contained therein had legs, running down the bell curve of the glass in thin amber stripes.

It was oddly, surreally quiet on the unnaturally blazing stage -- multiple cameras pointing at them, a team of professionals sitting in dead silence in the dark spread out below.

“I only wish I’d done it sooner,” Scully said, going off script a bit. “I think of the people that died while we were still searching, still researching, while the studies were being checked and… I just wish I’d found it sooner.”

The host’s face softened, and she reached forward and put her hand over Scully’s on the arm of the chair where it was resting. She gave it a squeeze and Hoda took over, “Up next, the group BTS is going to sing us their latest single!”

There was a dull bell that rang off to Scully’s right and the stage manager stepped forward, headphones clomped over his ears, his mic slung low around his jaw.

“We’re clear!” he called, “Sixty seconds!”

The show would be cutting to a co-host standing at a stage set-up outside 30 Rockefeller Center. Scully reached up to unhook the mic attached to her lapel, and a trio of sound technicians descended on her. In ten seconds, she was relieved of all equipment, and she was left swaying in the funnel of the Fresnels on the too bright stage.

“You did great,” she heard from her left, and the show’s host winked at her, and retook her hand, leading her to the dim cool just off stage.

She found Mulder standing before her once her eyes adjusted, just outside the reach of the stage lights, looking nervous and out of place, his hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing a turtleneck and a suit coat, looking every inch the tenured professor.

“And who’s this?” Kathie Lee asked, looking at Mulder brightly.

Scully shook herself, trying to remember her manners. It wasn’t always easy, having spent so much time in the field.

“Uh, this is Mulder,” she said, “Dr. Fox Mulder. My, um… my fiancé.”

The television host smiled warmly at Mulder and clasped his hand.

“I’ve heard the story of your meeting,” Kathie Lee said, “It’s a real pleasure.”

“I’m a big Giants fan,” Mulder said, giving her hand a firm shake, “the pleasure’s all mine.”

The host winked at him and then stalked off, and Scully exhaled, falling a little into Mulder’s side.

“I’m glad that’s over,” she said.

“The price you pay for changing the course of human history,” Mulder mumbled, squeezing her into his side and kissing her hairline. He led her off the soundstage and into a waiting limo.

2. It had been a whirlwind since the Nobel Prize Award ceremony in Stockholm. It was cold in Sweden in December — especially to a person who’d spent years in the humid jungles off the beaten paths of the world, and she and Mulder both felt out of place and perpetually in the clasp of a bone-clutching chill.

“I just want to be back in the field,” she’d whisper to him, and he would kiss her hand. With the prize money, they could buy a house, start a family — but they both would rather be in a jungle somewhere, sweating into the other’s skin on a too-narrow cot, in a too-hot clime. There was no science when they were in the cradle of the other’s hips, there was just each other. Sex made life more simple. Sex made life more fun. But sex didn’t cure cancer. Pleurotus Mulderatus did that, and the world wanted to hear about it.

3.She had a free ticket. Any university, any assignment.

“I feel pressure,” she told him, her nose pressed into his ear. “What do you do after you’ve cured cancer?” she asked, earnestly, “there’s nowhere to go but down.”

He’d taken her to Rhode Island, to his family’s cottage in Quonochontaug, creaky and drafty and smelling of mildew and old pine. No one had visited in decades and everything needed to be cleaned and aired out.

They kayaked and frolicked in the waves, drank coffee in adirondack chairs and listened to the pinched squawks of hovering sea birds. They’d find a place in the dune grass, down low where the wind wouldn’t catch them. They’d soak up the sun and then go into the cottage and make love between the knotty pine walls, their moans absorbed by the thick shag carpet laced with the grit of sand, faded drunkards path quilts nailed to the walls.

“Down is a state of mind,” Mulder would murmur into her ear, “Up is fighting gravity. You have nowhere to be but here. You have no one to impress but me.”

He would catch her lips with his own and they would sink into each other gratefully.

4.Mulder was burning pancakes in the kitchen when there was a dull knock on the screen door.

Scully was laughing at Mulder’s culinary ineptitudes when she turned toward the sound, her laugh fading when a well-done-up woman appeared on the stoop, holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare, trying to see into the murky depths of the house.

“Are you press?” Scully asked through the screen door glumly, her mood taking a nose dive.

“I’m Samantha,” the woman said, and it took Scully a full five seconds for her synapses to fire, to figure out the identity of the visitor.

“Oh my god,” Scully said, swinging the door open to admit the polished woman waiting on the other side. The door itself was swollen with humidity and didn’t shut all the way -- it caught like there was a second latch. “Come in, come in!”

Samantha had a full head of thick hair just like her brother, but it was curled and tawny, streaks of not-quite-blonde highlights running from the roots. She was wearing Lily Pulitzer pastels, and would have looked at home in a sun hat or on the pages of Coastal Living.

“You must be Dana,” she breathed, smiling widely. Scully nodded and looked around self-consciously. “God, this place hasn’t changed in thirty years,” Samantha finished, shaking her head ruefully. “Where’s Fox?”

“Kitchen,” Scully said, inclining her head toward the cooking space, though she knew Samantha knew right where to go.

“You’re using the cast iron?” Samantha said boldly and apropos of nothing, stepping into the sunny kitchen, “God, I hope you seasoned that thing.”

Mulder’s face brightened at seeing his sister, and he turned to her fully, enveloping her in a hug, a greasy spatula in one hand, held out so as not to soil her clothes.

“Like you can cook,” he drawled, turning back to the smoking pan.

“I know enough to hire a caterer,” she said, plunking down in an olive green vinyl kitchen chair, looking at ease but totally out of place in the dated decor of the cottage. “So. Who do I have to fuck to get a mimosa around here?”

“Me,” said a voice from the entryway. The screen door slammed ineffectually shut and Scully’s own sister Melissa stood awkwardly in the slant of sun showing through it, holding several plastic bags laden with glass bottles and juices, a hopeful, nervous smile on her face.

“Missy?!” Scully squeaked, and Mulder looked to the door, his face chagrined and pleased as Scully launched herself at her sister, wrapping herself in the earthy patchouli smell of the woman, the plastic bags clunking to the floor at their feet.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“I got ordained online,” Melissa said, drinking a Bellini from a yellow smiley-face mug, her feet tucked under her on a rough-hewn dining chair. “It’s perfectly legal.”

“But it’s--” Scully started, then abandoned her argument. She looked to Mulder desperately, who smiled and plunked a cup of hot coffee in front of her.

“It was only an idea,” he said, squeezing her hand and sliding an ancient sugar dish in front of her. The crinkles around his eyes had hardened in the ocean-reflected sun, lending him an air of easy humor she hadn’t witnessed much of in the jungle.

“Don’t you need two witnesses?” she asked, realizing how lame it sounded the second the words were out of her mouth.

Samantha leaned over and grabbed her hand, squeezing her fingers in such a way that made her feel bolstered and secure. “Not in Rhode Island,” Mulder’s sister told her, looking her square in the eye.

“We don’t have to do it,” Mulder said, still standing at her side, “but I thought…”

She felt overwhelmed with emotion, thinking of her father, who hadn’t lived long enough to witness her greatest achievement, which would have saved his life.

“Mom sent her wedding dress,” Melissa said, holding up a garment bag -- it was a yellowed ivory in the kitchen sun, the zipper up its middle aged and brittle.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They exchanged vows on the beach in front of the old cottage in a whipping Atlantic wind. Gulls hovered overhead and the sun was as bright as a brass doorknob, the air clearer than glass.

Samantha had read a poem by an amateur poet named Tim Pratt called Scientific Romance (Mulder having confessed to her later that night that it only seemed right to have had a reading replete with scientific notation for a wedding between two people such as themselves). Melissa had read words as old as the institution of marriage itself and they exchanged simple rings and had eyes only for each other. Scully handed her bouquet -- a small posy of wild swamp azalea and yellow flag that Melissa had picked the hour before -- to her new sister in law as she strode up the peeling wooden steps of the house. Mulder had insisted upon carrying her over the threshold and Melissa and Samantha had stood back thoughtfully, and were now sitting closely on the beach, heads bent together, talking in hushed tones.

Scully didn’t know quite what to do with herself, dressed in old lace in the heavy salt air, her left ring finger feeling as heavy and pendulous as an old bell. Mulder wrapped his arms around her from behind and told her they never had to leave.

“Nobel Laureates live in Rhode Island, too, you know,” he whispered into the hair behind her ear.

“Mmm,” she said happily, watching her sister and his dig their feet in the gritty sand.

He kissed the skin where her shoulder met her neck. “Life can be as simple as the state motto.”

“Which is?” she asked.

“Hope.”

5. She stood above the riverbank, the grass a trampled, muddy squelch. A monkey called from overhead, a high primate shriek that echoed through the canopy. Its compatriots soon joined in, the welcoming committee announcing the rare arrival of a visitor.

He sat in the back of the approaching hollowed-out canoe, his knees practically to his neck, the lanky bones of him jutting out at all angles. He wore jeans and chambray, all wrong for the climate, but the blue set off the dark mink of his hair, and his eyes -- as green as the river upon which his boat perched -- caught hers from twenty yards away -- they held her gaze as the craft glided to shore, and he leapt off with the galumphing grace of a power forward.

“Dr. Scully I presume,” he said, finding his balance on the slippery shore and reaching a hand forward. She clasped it gratefully, then brought it to her belly, which was protruding out like a carved fertility statue, a life-sized goddess, gravid and full. “I thank God, doctor, that I have been permitted to see you,” he finished, and they embraced on the shores of the jungle river, perspiring and damp and finally, finally feeling at home.

#fanfic #msr #my fic #the x-files #au #prompts #drabble ish

61 notes · View notes